The Heir and the Spare

Copyright © 2016 by Emily Albright

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by

Merit Press

an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

www.meritpressbooks.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-9010-9

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9010-8

eISBN 10: 1-4405-9011-7

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9011-5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and F+W Media, Inc. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.

Cover design by Stephanie Hannus.

Cover images © stillfx/123RF, bytedust/123RF, Clipart.com.

For Madie, who never ceases to amaze me.

A gigantic thank you goes to my critique partners. Without them, I can't imagine where I'd be. Victoria Van Tiem, you are a rock star plain and simple. Thank you for your fabulous eye, your kind words, and your brilliant catches. Amy Anhalt, you catch movement inconsistencies like no one else and ask questions that I never thought of, making the story much richer. Kaci, Nicola, Joy, and Shaneen, thank you for all your help in making Evie and Edmund shine. You ladies are truly wonderful.

To my amazing agent, Jessica Watterson, you took a chance on Evie and Edmund and I will always be eternally grateful. I feel truly blessed to have you in my corner. Thank you for being my champion.

Special thanks to my editor, Jacquelyn Mitchard, and all the wonderful people of Merit Press and F+W Media for getting this story out into the world and making it all polished and pretty.

For my parents, I don't think a thank you is quite big enough to cover it. Your unfailing love and support all my life has been invaluable. All I am today is because of you. Not to mention you two financed my serious reading addiction growing up. Love you always.

To my hubby and kidlet, the two loves of my life. You are the reason I even dared to dream I could do this. I can't imagine my life without you. Your love and unceasing belief in me are what motivate me. I love you both to the moon and beyond.

And to you, the readers, I hope you enjoy Evie and Edmund's story. Thank you for picking up my book and giving it a chance. I think each and every one of you is utterly fabulous.

• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Dedication
  
• Acknowledgments
  
• Chapter One: My Brave New World
  
• Chapter Two: Circle of Friends
  
• Chapter Three: New Discoveries
  
• Chapter Four: The Dating Game
  
• Chapter Five: Family Heirlooms
  
• Chapter Six: Confidants
  
• Chapter Seven: Hogwarts Abbey
  
• Chapter Eight: Jane Austen Would Be Proud
  
• Chapter Nine: Best-Laid Plans
  
• Chapter Ten: Shattered
  
• Chapter Eleven: Unexpected Reunions
  
• Chapter Twelve: Flying
  
• Chapter Thirteen: Stalling or Moving On
  
• Chapter Fourteen: Endings and Beginnings
  
• Chapter Fifteen: Life with the Other Half
  
• Chapter Sixteen: Ski Slopes and Firelight
  
• Chapter Seventeen: Uncovered and Naked
  
• Chapter Eighteen: Be Our Guest
  
• Chapter Nineteen: You Can't Pick Your Family
  
• Chapter Twenty: Coming Clean
  
• Chapter Twenty-One: Choices
  
• Chapter Twenty-Two: Limbo
  
• Chapter Twenty-Three: A Glimpse
  
• Chapter Twenty-Four: Friends
  
• Chapter Twenty-Five: Finality
  
• Chapter Twenty-Six: A Royal Pain in the . . .
  
• Chapter Twenty-Seven: A First
  
• Chapter Twenty-Eight: Home
  
• Epilogue: Happiness Is Right Where You Left It
  

Hand on the knob, I closed my eyes and held my breath.
I can do this.
With a gentle shove, I opened the door.
Please, be nice.
I cracked an eyelid, peeking. My breath released in a rush as my eyes opened.
It's perfect.

Look out Oxford! This year's so going to rock.

I tossed my new keycard on the desk and dropped my bags. Twirling, I scanned the room. Next to the minimalist workstation was a twin bed. On the opposite wall, a substantial floor-to-ceiling wardrobe stood. Large windows wrapped around the corner between the two. A black, L-shaped couch filled the space below.

The trunk that had once been my mom's sat by the wall. I'd been so nervous to ship it.
Thank God it made it.

With a jump, I threw myself on the unmade bed and sighed.
I did it. I'm here.
Exactly where Mom had always dreamed I'd be.

Quest one, complete . . . finally.
It had only taken three years.

Where's the second letter?
I shot upright and peered around again; nothing.

How the new letters would find me, I hadn't a clue.

Every year on my birthday I'd get a new letter from Mom. It was tradition. Dad would wake me bright and early and hand me an envelope. My hands would tremble with excitement—it was the letter I'd been dying to get hold of since I'd ripped open the last one.

Together we'd read it. Together, we'd remember.

On my seventeenth birthday, things changed.

Oh, Dad still delivered my birthday letter. But a few days later a second one appeared, postmarked from London. In that moment my adventure with Mom began. She was sending me on a quest. One Dad had no clue about.

I'd expected my next quest letter to be here, waiting to welcome me to my new world.

Maybe it'll come in the mail again?

With a disappointed sigh, I dragged a suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. Grabbing my toiletry bag, I headed for the bathroom. Unlike in the States, everyone here got her own room. There'd be no dealing with a snoring roommate or listening to someone doing the mattress polka.

But, the best part, I'd managed to snag a room with a private loo. That word still made me giggle.

I tossed the bag in the sink and went back to work on my suitcase. My clothes fit in the wardrobe—barely. I fluffed my aqua coverlet over the bed and, exhausted, I nearly crawled in. Instead, I reached for a stack of photos to put up and continued my unpacking.

Above the bed I Sticky Tacked my favorite picture of Dad and me. I was in my cap and gown, Dad in his suit, his arm slung over my shoulder, a proud smile on his face. We each held a light pink peony in memory of Mom—peonies were her favorite flower.

God, I miss her.

Next came a picture of Abby and me. We were fifteen and at a slumber party. Our fingernails freshly painted, red lips perfectly puckered, and two large balloons stuffed down each of our shirts. I laughed, remembering the silliness of the night.

“Oh, Abs, who's gonna make me try new things?” I said to my empty room.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked at the pictures. It'd only been a day, but I already missed home so much it hurt. The pile of pictures dwindled and soon I had a collage of the faces I loved splashed across my wall. Standing back, I smiled at my handiwork then glanced at the shelf above the bed.

What a perfect place for my treasures.

I pulled out the stuffed cat Mom had given me and placed it up there. Its name was Pinky, and for the first seven years of my life I didn't go anywhere without it. Next to Pinky came my books—I loved anything by Jane Austen, L.M. Montgomery, or Louisa May Alcott.

I smiled. My little room was feeling more and more like home.

“Now, a place for my letters.”

Pulling them from my bag, I sat on the bed. My hand ran along the top of the pile. The cream ribbon holding the stack together untied with a gentle tug. I always figured Mom chose the heavyweight paper because she knew the letters would have to stand the test of time.

At the top was the first quest letter. I opened it and scanned down the page to the bottom paragraphs.

How will it find me?

I sighed, refolded it, and carefully tied the letters back together before slipping them into my desk drawer.

I went to my trunk and popped it open. On top of the books, shoes, and favorite munchies from home, sat a wrapped photo. Inside, I knew I'd find the picture of my parents the day they graduated from Oxford. It was my favorite. They looked so young and happy.

Picking it up, I pulled the edge of its pillowcase wrapper back. I stopped when I saw the corner of a plain white envelope peeking out from behind the frame.

Here it is.

Tearing off the protective layer, I sat the photo on my desk, and looked at the letter left in my hands.

What did she have in store for me next? And why was I suddenly so nervous?

“Hi. You must be new,” a voice chirped from my open doorway.

I turned, facing a girl with long blond hair who looked like she'd just come from riding at her country estate.

“I'm Suzy Rees,” she said and smiled.

“Evangeline Gray.” I tossed the letter on the desk and went to shake her hand.

The first thing I noticed was her height. Or lack of. She was tiny. Granted, I considered myself quite tall at five-eight. But she looked like she was barely squeaking in at five feet.

“Evangeline, that's quite a mouthful, isn't it?” Her accent curled around the syllables of my name. “Do you have a nickname?”

“Everyone calls me Evie.” I glanced at the snarled ponytail of strawberry curls draped over my shoulder and envied her smooth golden perfection. “Are you on this floor?”

“I am, just a few doors down. Caroline's your neighbor.” She pointed to the wall behind the wardrobe. “She's fabulous; you'll love her. She's on a date at the moment, but you'll meet her soon, I'm sure.”

“Great.” I smiled as she sat on the couch.

Suzy gave me a quick once-over and arched an eyebrow. “You should meet the rest of the gang.”

“The gang?”

The corner of her mouth turned up. “My group of friends. There's Caroline.” She pointed back toward the wall. “And Marissa, Preston, and Edmund. They're really top drawer. You'll love them.”

“I hope I get to meet them.”

“You will,” she said with a grin. “I should probably go finish unpacking, but I'm absolutely famished. Want to grab a bite to eat?”

“Love to.” I grabbed my sweater and followed her. Closing my door, I bit my lip and stole a glance at the unopened letter.

“So, are you a first year?” Suzy asked as we walked down the hall.

I scrunched my nose. “Yes and no. I did a year in Seattle, but Oxford won't let me transfer my credits. So, technically, yes, I'm a first year.”