The Heir and the Spare (7 page)

“Your mother, no matter what you discover, will always be your mum and she'll always love you. Nothing in those letters can change that. This is your chance to get to know her as an adult, not a child.” He still hadn't moved his hand. “It's really quite brilliant. She found a way to give you memories of her that will be yours, and yours alone.”

Mine alone?
I hadn't thought of it that way before.

I stared at him, taking in his words as his hand dropped away.
I blew out a breath
.
“You're right. But whatever it is she's guiding me toward, she never told my dad. Her keeping it a secret from him scares me. It has to be bigger than a forbidden love of mangos.”

He shrugged and looked at me seriously. “Or maybe your dad just
really
hates mangos.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, that's probably it.”

“So, do you want me to get lost? Give you a moment to find out your next task?”

“No, you're fine.” I reached in my bag and slid the unopened letter off the top of the bundle. Clutching it between my fingers, I went to a nearby bench.

My hands were steady as I opened the envelope and pulled out the single page. Edmund quietly stood at my side as I read it to myself.

I turned my attention to Edmund. “Welsington Manor? Ever heard of it?”

He scrunched his brows together. “Do you know where it is?”

“Brighton.”

“It sounds familiar, but I can't picture it.” He shook his head. “Is that your next task?”

I nodded. “She wants me to check it out; apparently it's quite a sight.”

“Think you might want some company on that task?”

“Are you offering?” I coyly looked up at him as I put the letter away.

A corner of his mouth lifted. He shifted his gaze to his hands. “I'd be happy to join you if you like. It's only about an hour south of London.”

Another day alone with Edmund? Yes, please.
“Cool, I'd love the company.”

“Brilliant. How about next weekend?”

Edmund sat across from me in a little pub in Belgravia, holding a worn menu. Looking at him, I smiled. Thank God he'd suggested getting dinner before we drove back to campus. My stomach had started growling back at the museum.

I glanced around the room; it was warm and cozy. Honey-colored wood paneling covered the walls, and rusty metal signs added spots of color.

“Philip and I've been coming here for years. James and Grace are good people.” Edmund's eyes softened as he spoke of the pair. He seemed at ease. It was nice to see him relax and let his guard down. “They always make sure Philip and I aren't bothered by the press when we're here.”

“How do they manage that?” I ran a fingertip across the red carnations in the tiny vase on our table.

“They close off this back room for us, which is great. But mainly, I know they won't tip off the press. Many places consider us free publicity. Not here.”

“That's pretty awesome.”

“It is.” Edmund smoothed the front of his blue button-down.

I glanced at the menu to stop the fantasy of running
my
hands down his chest from forming.
“So what's good here?”

“Everything. I love their pot pies, best in London.”

A dark-haired woman approached the table. “Your Highness, James said you were here. It's wonderful to see you again.”

Edmund stood and grasped her hand. “Always a pleasure, Grace.”

“Oh sit, sit, don't you be getting up for me.” She swatted him away with a grin, her cheeks flushing. “What would you two like this evening?”

Edmund turned, waiting for me to go first.

“Um, could I get a bowl of stew and bread, please? Oh, and a glass of water.”

“Of course.” She took my menu and tucked it under her arm with a grin. Her hazel eyes switched to Edmund. “And will you be having your usual?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I'll get this started.” She turned on her heel and bustled out.

We sat quietly.
It's now or never
.
If I wanted to ask about Jax, this was my chance. I folded my hands under the table and looked down at my lap. “I've been wanting to ask you something.”

“What's that?” he asked.

My eyes followed the wood grain on the tabletop. “I'm curious about what you said in the car the other day. About Jax.”

“Of course.” He leaned over, trying to see around my cascade of curls. “You mean about her being an obligation?”

I forced my head up, even though I could feel the burn in my face. “It's just . . . you don't like her any more than the rest of the gang do, yet you still seem to consider her a friend. I don't get that.”

Grace returned with our drinks and we fell silent.

“Thank you.” I took a sip.

“You're welcome, Miss. I'll be back with your supper shortly.”

Edmund watched Grace leave. “Everyone considers Jax and me friends. But I can't stand her. Never have been able to. We've known each other since we were children and she hasn't changed a bit.” He took a drink from his pint. “Our parents are close friends and it's well hinted that they'd like nothing more than for us to marry. It's a good connection for the family, blah, blah, blah.”

Face scrunched, I asked, “What about what you want?”

“With our very public lives, personal wants and happiness are seldom worried about.”

“Does she love you?"

He paused. “No. We tolerate each other. We're both trying to please our families, and really, her interest only goes as far as my title.”

Grace returned with dinner. “Here we go. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“This is perfect. Thank you.” Edmund smiled.

“I'll leave you to it. Enjoy.” She grinned.

“Thanks,” I chimed as she left. “It smells delicious.”

“It always is.” Edmund took a bite.

I ripped a piece off my crusty roll, preparing to dunk it in my stew. “If she's not in love with you, she's certainly convincing at protecting her claim on you.”

“Oh good Lord, I knew something happened. What did she do?” His voice was low.

“She just advised me to stay away from you. She made it
very
clear that you belong to her.”

His lips tightened and a look of anger flashed across his face. “She's trying to head off any girl I might take a fancy to.”

“Maybe she really does care for you and this is her way of showing you.”

“She doesn't know how to care for someone other than herself.” His gaze steady, he reached across the table and put his hand over mine. “Whatever she did and said, I apologize.”

I shook my head, my gaze darting from his eyes to the large hand covering mine. “Don't worry about it.”

“I am worried about it. She was wrong and I'm sorry.”

“It's really okay. No harm done. Besides, I can handle myself against the likes of Jax.” I chuckled. “I'm just curious how your parents could want you to be with her? Do they seriously like her?”

Edmund cleared his throat and pulled his hand back. “She makes things easier for them.”

“Why? Is there some archaic law or something that makes who you date important?” I'd wanted this question answered since I'd found out who he was.
Is he even an option for me?

“Yes and no. There's no law anymore.” He cracked a smile. “But there are certain expectations. Of course, they were absolutes for Philip, being the heir and all, but I'm not entirely exempt. Girls we date must come from good families, preferably titled, and there can't be any skeletons lurking in their pasts. They must behave properly, dress modestly, and above all be respectful. Jax, believe it or not, fits all those. Of course my parents only see the perfect image she projects. They know nothing of the real Jax.”

Three strikes, I'm definitely out.
I wasn't titled, I wasn't from a good ol' British family, and I probably had a closet full of skeletons that these letters would reveal.
Shit.
I knew it was a long shot.

“Most people I know would rebel against their parents telling them who to date.”

“Rebelling isn't an option for me. I tried it. I partied too hard, drank too much, and ended up on the cover of one too many magazines labeling me a bad boy.”

“You know, I think I remember seeing some of those headlines.” I chuckled. “So, what? Are you a reformed bad boy now?”

“No, I was never truly a bad boy.” His grin faltered. “I was just going along and doing what Jax and her friends expected of me. When I realized I didn't enjoy being around them or the attention they attracted, I cut them off. Jax is the only one I'm still in touch with.”

“And you're really okay with all this? Your family dictating your love life? Sacrificing your own happiness?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I didn't say that. At this point it's self-preservation. One day I may have to challenge them. But I haven't come across someone worth fighting for . . . yet.” His eyes steadied on mine.

A fuzzy feeling spiraled up from my toes. I took a sip of my water and cleared my throat. “I don't think I could be as cool about it as you are.”

“It's what's expected of me. I don't really know any different. Surely your father must want certain things for you. Your mum had to have planned it out with him before she . . .” His voice faded off.

“It's okay, you can say it, before she died.” I smiled.

Nodding, he continued. “It's just, if she wrote all these letters for you, she had to have talked to him about your future and how to guide you. They have plans they expect you to fulfill, just like my parents. They wanted you to come to Oxford, right? I'm sure they have a particular type of guy in mind for you. Didn't you ever get the ‘don't bring this type of boy home' speech?”

“I didn't, actually. Dad offered advice and guidance, but he never told me what type of boys I could and couldn't date. I suppose he trusts me. Then again, he knows nice guys are my weakness.” I laughed. “Bad boys come with too much drama and heartache. I don't have time for that.” I blew on a spoonful of stew.

Barely above a whisper, Edmund said, “It's a good thing I'm a nice guy then.”

My head snapped up to look at him.
Did I hear that right?

The Town Car dropped Edmund and me at the dorms. I could see the lights inside were dimmed and the commons looked deserted.
What time is it anyway?

I listened to the crickets chirping while Edmund opened the door.

“Thanks.” I slipped past him, my arm brushing across his chest. “And thanks for coming with me today.”

“Of course.” Smiling, he slid a hand in his pocket as we ambled to the stairwell and up to my floor. “I haven't had this much fun in a long time.”

I pulled at my lightweight scarf, needing something to do with my hands.

He leaned closer. “I'm looking forward to next weekend.”

Thank God it was dark, because my cheeks were molten-lava hot. I bit my lower lip, tingles shooting through me at his nearness. “Me too.”

Is he going to kiss me?

“I should, um, probably let you go, it's late.”

I nodded, not wanting the night to be over. “Night.”

“See you tomorrow.”

I slipped through the door to my hall. Turning, I peeked through the long rectangular window and watched him walk up to his floor. When he rounded the corner, I pulled my phone out.
I have to call Abby.

“Hey, Eves.” Her warm voice carried through the line. “What's up, chica?”

I opened my door in a haze and threw myself on the couch. “I was just working on one of Mom's letters with a friend.” My bag fell to the floor with a soft thump.

“You realize I can hear the giddiness in your voice, right? What kind of
friend
was this to make you sound so dreamy?”

I draped an arm over my forehead. “I just spent the day with the most amazing guy. It was . . . incredible. Abby, I . . . I just . . . can't describe it.”

“Sounds fabulous. Who is Mr. Amazing?”

“You'll never believe me.”

“Try me.”

I laughed. “Edmund Stuart. Prince Edmund.”

“Right.” She chuckled. “And I'm the President. Now, who was it really?”

“Abby, I'm not making this up. We have a couple classes together and I'm hanging out with him and his friends.”

“Seriously? How in the hell did that happen?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What's he like?” The springs of Abby's bed creaked through the phone.

“He's actually really cool and surprisingly normal. And holy moly, Abby, I can't begin to tell you how freaking hot he is.”

She scoffed. “Well, duh. He's smoking on the covers of magazines and on TV; he's bound to be better in person. I can't believe this. You have all the luck.”

I stood and unbuttoned my jeans, needing to get into bed. “I wish you could meet him.”

“You really like this guy, don't you?”

“He's a prince.”

“So what? So he's royalty. You can still like him. You can still
want
him.”