The Heir and the Spare (25 page)

“I want to add you to my will.”

“What?”

Clarice impatiently huffed, “I have every intention of adding you to my will.”

“Why? You disowned my mother. You
hate
my father, and you've proven you don't like me either. Why would you want to claim me?” What the hell is she trying to pull?

“You're right, I don't like your father. He took my only daughter away from me. But, I
never
disowned Lilliana.” She looked me straight in the eye, her jaw tightening. “I have little choice in the matter of whether I live or die. So, despite being part of your father, I have accepted that you are also my heir.”

“Why didn't you come to her funeral?” The words burst from my lips. This one question had bothered me my entire life.

She sniffed and looked away. “I doubt your father would've allowed me entrance.”

My temper prickled as I spoke softly to keep myself from yelling. “He would have welcomed you. My father is an amazing man, kind and loving. He's not the monster you've built in your imagination. How can you judge him when you've never met?”

She adjusted the blanket on her lap.

“You could've called—”

Clarice's fiery eyes snapped to mine. “I told your mother, should she marry Henry, I would never see her again or speak to her. I was true to my word.”

“And you're proud of that?” I made no attempt to hide my disgust.

She glared. “Perhaps we might return to the subject at hand. My will, I'd like to add you to it.”

“What exactly would that entail? I don't want anything you have. So, what's the point?”

“The point is, I'd like you to inherit everything. Including my title.”

I paused, feeling dumbstruck and struggling to keep my face blank. “Are you telling me you want me to be the next Duchess of Westminster?”

“Yes. It is my family's title and should have passed to Lilliana. Which makes you next in line. I feel, under my tutelage, you should be able to pull off the role, at least marginally.”

Gee, thanks, you're too kind.
“And what if I don't want to do this? Surely there must be someone else you could saddle with this responsibility.”

This is the choice Mom was talking about.
I closed my eyes, letting that sink in. She knew.

“Aside from you?” She paused. “No, the other alternative is simply unacceptable.” She turned back toward the window.

“But there
is
an alternative, right?” I pushed.

“No.”

“Who's the ‘simply unacceptable' alternative then?” I unsuccessfully mimicked her voice, which earned me an unamused glower.

“There is a distant family member lined up to inherit should no direct heir be available. But here
you
are, an heir.”

“Who is this distant relative?” I walked to the bench at the bottom of the bed and debated sitting down.

“His name is Julian Musgrove. He's a distant cousin, very distant. He's one of the last remaining members of our family line. Beside you and me, that is. Should you reject the title, he'd become the Duke of Westminster.”

“So, there's not a single soul in all that distance between the two of you who could step up?”

“Trust me, everyone else in our line has passed away.”

“This Julian fellow, what's wrong with him?”

“Wrong?” She snapped and met my eyes. “Julian is a drunkard who's squandered away his entire family fortune. He's been foaming at the mouth to get at my money for years. Should he succeed, I have no doubt it would be obliterated within the year. On top of that he's a cheat, a womanizer, and completely dissolute.”

“What a catch.” I watched her chest heave with each breath.

“I'd much rather see my title pass to my worst enemy than that man.” She scowled, making her look like a gargoyle.

“I'm the lesser of two evils then, am I?” Did she know how to make a girl feel special or what?

Clarice sighed and glanced heavenward. “If you want to look at it that way, then yes. You are the lesser of two evils.”

I backed my way to the door. “Flattered as I am, I don't see any reason why I should do this for you.”

“No? Then do it for Edmund.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“He's clearly in love with you. As a commoner you'll never fully be accepted. You might manage to marry him, but you'll be lonely. Our society would be polite to you around Edmund, but you'd never be fully accepted. You'd be the subject of gossip. It would take its toll on your relationship. Do it so Edmund doesn't have to deal with the scandal that being with you would create.”

What a hateful woman.
Is that how she treated outsiders who dared enter her social sphere?

Yes, I could see her point. I knew Edmund's world was vastly different from mine. Still her words had the opposite effect she was hoping for. Sick to my stomach, I was determined to turn her down and leave.

“Your Grace, I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. Quite frankly, I don't want, nor do I need, the acceptance of people whose primary concern is whether my blood is blue enough or if I'm titled. If Edmund loves me, as you say he does,” I began thinking,
because he sure hasn't said anything to me
, “he'll love me regardless of what his friends say. Otherwise, he's not worthy of my time.” My hand was on the doorknob when she chuckled.

“Despite her not raising you for long, you are your mother's daughter. You're
just like
Lilliana. She couldn't be forced or coerced into anything and you appear to be the same.” Clarice's face softened and she actually smiled.

Without a thought, I went to the bed and sat.
I'm really like my mother?
Warm fuzzies sprang up all over my body.

Clarice looked up into my face and spoke softly. “Please, as the dying wish of someone you owe absolutely nothing to, I ask you to do this. It'll give us the chance to get better acquainted during the time I have left.”

She was playing the sympathy card. I tucked my hands under my thighs, not wanting to fidget in front of her.

What would Mom want me to do?
She'd always hoped Clarice would come to her senses. It was Mom who guided me here after all. The answer was obvious.

“I'll agree to this on one condition.” I waited for her to nod before I proceeded. “If you're mean, or say anything negative or hateful about my parents, I'm done. I walk away. My choice is made. Do you understand?”

She took a moment before answering. “Understood and agreed.”

We sat in brief silence before Clarice picked up a little silver bell and jangled it.

Denby appeared in the doorway and bowed unsteadily. “Your Grace?”

“Denby, please assist me to my rooms. I wish to lie down. Miss Gray is going to see if there's anything she wants from her mother's belongings.”

My eyes bulged.
Pick anything of my mother's? How would I ever carry it all?

“Yes, ma'am.” The doddering butler stepped behind the chaise and produced a wheelchair. Locking the wheels, he turned and assisted her into it.

Clarice covered her cream pantsuit with a white chenille blanket and turned to me. “Denby will return to check on you in a little while. Let him know if you need anything.”

“I will, thank you.” I watched Denby slowly roll her out the door.

There was a very high probability this would end in a disaster of epic proportions. But maybe, just maybe, it'd be a good thing.

As I looked around I tried to envision Mom here. I could picture her painting her toenails on the chaise, doing homework at the little desk in the windowed alcove, or draped across the bed reading with her long red hair spilling behind her.

I smiled and went over to her bookshelf. My eyes tumbled over the titles on the spines, stopping when I came to a set of the Bronte sisters' books.
You guys are coming with me.
I gingerly pulled them from the shelf and set them on the bench at the end of the bed.

By the time Denby returned to check on me I'd rounded up a few pictures of my mother and several with my father, a well-worn Oxford sweatshirt, a wire replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a delicate golden chain with a matching disk monogrammed with an L.

“Do you need anything, Miss?”

“Yes, do you have something I can carry these in?”

“Certainly.” He disappeared for only a moment and returned with a cloth grocery tote. “Will this do?”

“That's perfect. Thank you, Denby.” I loaded up my treasures, and Jeeves and I walked to the front door.

“The duchess will be in touch with you. She said you should expect to meet with her several times a week for the foreseeable future.”

My mouth popped open. Several times a week?
What does she have planned?
“Okay.”

I bid Jeeves farewell, turning down his offer of a car, and made my way to the Underground. After a short ride I hopped onto the train at Paddington Station, where I tried to relax. I laughed out loud at the idea of having duchess lessons. It was absurd.
Me? A duchess?

The woman sitting across from me eyed me warily, then abandoned her blue seat and moved to the back of the train.
At least she doesn't recognize me.
I giggled.

By the time I'd made it back to campus it was past dinnertime. I pulled my phone from my pocket, realizing I'd forgotten to un-silence it. I went through the texts I'd missed. Most were from Edmund.

Edmund: You okay?

Edmund: Did she eat you alive?

Edmund: Evie, text me.

Edmund: I'm praying you didn't kill her.

Edmund: Don't panic, I have connections, we can make it look like an accident ;)

I chuckled and quickly texted him back.

Me: Sorry, we both made it out alive. Just got back on campus. Meet me at my room?

Edmund: See you in five.

I hurried and grabbed some fresh fruit, a microwave pasta, and a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby. Bags in hand, I went to my dorm room. When I saw Edmund leaning against my door, waiting, I smiled.

He immediately straightened and walked toward me, reaching for my bags. “How did it go?”

I fished my key out of my pocket. “Totally not what I'd expected.”

“Tell me it wasn't worse than last time.”

“No, definitely not worse.” I slid the key in the lock.

“What a relief. I was nervous with no word from you all day.”

“Sorry about that.” I cringed.

Inside my room Edmund set the bags down. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Well, I get to have duchess lessons.” I watched the confusion cross his face.

“What?”

“Duchess lessons.”

“I thought that's what you said. How did you get from our disastrous meeting with her to having duchess lessons?”

“How long do you have?”

“For you? All night.” He grinned and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me tight.

I sat in Clarice's office, waiting for her to put down her pen and acknowledge me. Studying my nails, I smiled thinking back to my last phone call with Abby. As excited as she was for me and my potential future as a duchess, she was mainly interested in hearing about Edmund.

“Have you told him yet?” Abby had asked.

“About Clarice? Of course.”

She laughed. “No, that you're in love with him.”

“What makes you think I'm in love with him?” I mean, I knew I was, but I hadn't told anyone.

“Oh please, your voice alone whenever you talk about him just oozes love—and lust,” she added with a giggle. “If you weren't in love with him, you would've told your grandmother to blow it out her old wazoo.”

I sighed. “No, I haven't told him. I don't think he's ready to hear it. I don't want to rush this.”

“I think he'd be thrilled. You should tell him.” She yawned.

Yeah, easier said than done.

“Evangeline?” Clarice cleared her throat. “Were you listening?”

My eyes snapped to hers, feeling guilty that I'd been caught daydreaming. “I'm sorry, what were you saying?”

Clarice sat up at her desk and looked down at me disapprovingly. “Your holiday starts next week, correct?”

“Yes, ma'am.” I straightened myself in the chair across from her, feeling small.

At the start of duchess lessons, I hadn't a clue what an upper-class woman ought to know. But, one thing I did know, Clarice hated the term
duchess lessons
—so I used it as often as I could.

“Plan on spending your holiday here. You aren't learning these skills as quickly as I'd hoped you would.”

“Are you saying you want me here for my entire break?” I asked, as my eyebrows shot up to my hairline.

“Was I unclear?”

Whatever, Hagatha.

I didn't answer her. There was no way I could handle a week and a half of nothing but Clarice. Weekends were tough enough. Staying in Mom's room was the only thing that made it bearable. Being surrounded by her things was next to heaven
.

“I believe it's vital that you spend a significant amount of your holiday here. Your etiquette and household maintenance skills are shabby, at best.”

I rolled my eyes. The past week she'd hounded me on proper etiquette and how to best remove stains, along with other household remedies. It was like Emily Post on crack meets Martha Stewart on acid. I couldn't sit through more of that. Besides, I seriously doubted Clarice had ever removed a red wine stain herself.

“Plus, there are several areas we haven't even begun to touch upon,” she continued, tapping a silver pen against the palm of her hand.

“Really? Like what?”

“Music appreciation, horseback riding, flower and tree identification.” She ticked off the items on her fingers with her pen as she ran down her mental list. “The art of bouquet making, wine differentiation, architecture admiration, table etiquette, and how to properly address your aristocratic peers. Oh, and I'm afraid your conversational skills leave much to be desired.”