He placed his other hand over her mother’s. He hadn’t reacted at all to the introduction. Smooth, Leanne thought.
Mark gestured to the man behind him. “This is Todd Benton. He’s come to help me—” again he glanced at the casket “—in my search.”
“Leanne Fairbanks?” Todd asked. He stepped forward, his thin eyebrows creeping up on his forehead toward where his hairline should have been. “As well as being a family friend, I’m also the late Mr. Collins’s lawyer. I have information of interest to you.”
Leanne frowned. “What might that be, Mr. Benton?”
“Your inheritance, of course. I’d like to speak to you in private. Perhaps we could set up a time for you to come to my office.”
“What inheritance?” Leanne and Mark said at the same time.
She looked at him, and he glared back. She tried to digest the news while he pierced her with his gaze. His dark eyes narrowed before he turned to the lawyer.
“I seem to be a step behind, Benton. Why is Miss Fairbanks named in my grandfather’s will?”
Leanne’s mouth dropped open. The nerve of the man. She hadn’t expected to inherit anything—nor did she want anything from a man who’d abandoned her mother when she became pregnant. But for Mark to question Lionel’s mentioning her was appalling.
“Because she’s Lionel’s daughter, of course.”
“She’s what?”
He hadn’t known? Leanne would have accused him of deception if he hadn’t gone pale beneath his tan. Emotions crossed his face, but on such short acquaintance, she couldn’t interpret them. He frowned in what could have been confusion. His eyes widened, possibly with disbelief, and was that pain in the tightness around his mouth?
What had the Collins family been told? All these years she thought they’d known about her. If they hadn’t, she could forgive their silence. She’d have only Lionel to blame. Perhaps they’d want to embrace her as a member of the family now that they knew.
“His daughter,” Benton repeated. “You didn’t…? Come on, Mark, you must have known.”
Mark shook his head. Had he lost his power of speech? Leanne felt that way herself.
“Gloria and Warren never told you?” Benton asked.
“Mother knows?” Mark whispered, never breaking eye contact with Leanne.
“Of course she knows. Your entire family knew of Lionel’s scandal.”
A chill washed over Leanne. So much for being embraced.
Benton drew himself upright. “This is obviously not the place for this discussion. Miss Fairbanks, if I may have your current address, I’ll contact you with the details of your inheritance.”
Leanne broke away from the hold Mark’s gaze had on her. She hesitated to leave her mother with Mark, especially after his receiving such news.
After a few hesitant steps, she withdrew a notepad and pen from her purse and jotted down the information. She tore off the paper and handed it to the lawyer. “I wrote my home and work numbers, as well.”
“Thank you, Miss Fairbanks. I know this is a hard time for you—”
“Yes,” Leanne cut in, then returned to her mother’s side. The man had no idea.
“Ms. Fairbanks,” Mark said to her, “my mother is waiting at the hotel where we’re having the luncheon.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then shook his head. “I’m rambling, sorry. I’m still processing this. I want you to come back with me so we can straighten all this out.”
Leanne raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing to straighten out. Talking to your mother won’t change my paternity. Lionel Collins is—was—my father.”
“No one is arguing that point,” said Benton. He glanced at Mark. “It would benefit everyone to understand what’s at stake here. We could stop at my office.”
He turned to her mother and hesitated.
“I don’t believe I’ll come,” her mother said with a slight smile. “I understand Gloria’s feelings, and I’m not up to the stares and gossip myself.”
“What do you mean ‘what’s at stake?’” Mark asked.
Benton peered toward the door. The workers stood smoking under the meager shelter of a tree a few feet away.
“I don’t give a damn about someone overhearing—”
Benton sighed. “Mark, you don’t want it in the news that the Collins heirs were heard fighting at the interment.”
“‘Heirs?’” Mark voiced Leanne’s thought. He looked at her, then her mother.
Leanne put an arm around her mom.
Her mother studied the lawyer. “You said you need to speak with my daughter, Mr. Benton?”
He nodded.
After a moment, she inclined her head, and Benton’s shoulders relaxed. What private communication did they just have? Leanne wondered.
Her mother turned to her. “Why don’t you go with them, honey? I’ve got my car. I’m sure they can bring you home after you finish.”
“Of course,” Mark said. “I’ll see to it myself.”
Leanne heard his formal tone and took it as reticence. “That won’t be necessary. I can afford a cab.”
Benton studied his shoes while Mark frowned.
“He’s only being polite,” her mother said.
Leanne ignored the reprimand. “If we’re discussing the will, shouldn’t my mother come?”
Mark and Leanne regarded the lawyer, who remained silent. After a moment, Mark looked toward the doorway where rain continued to mist the air.
“Honey.” Her mother laid a hand on Leanne’s arm. “I don’t think I’m mentioned in the will.”
Leanne stilled. It wasn’t possible. Even Lionel Collins couldn’t be that cruel. She awaited the lawyer’s denial, but Mr. Benton shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
She gazed at her mom’s tranquil expression, knowing the hurt it must conceal. Glancing around for someone to contradict this idiocy, she saw Mark looking at her with compassion. No, his concern wasn’t aimed at her.
“My grandfather was a hard man,” he said to her mother, “as you may know. I’m sorry he’s done this to you.”
Her mother’s lips quavered. “You’re a kind man, Mr. Collins.”
“No, ma’am, I’m afraid I’m too much like my grandfather.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t think so. Not in the ways that matter.”
Leanne stared at them, disbelieving. What kind of mutual-admiration crap was this? Granted, it wasn’t Mark’s fault her mother had been slighted, but she’d always thought of the Collinses as the enemy. Now here were her mom and the grandson making eyes at each other.
A kind man, she fumed. As though her mother knew anything about him. And him offering compassion as though he could possibly understand their lives. He’d grown up with his parents and grandparents, attending private schools, with privilege and wealth. Her mother had struggled as a hairdresser, living in a small house in a fading middle-class suburb.
“I’m going home,” her mother said. “Call me when you can.”
“Mom—”