In Love Again (Unruly Royals)

by Mulry, Megan

  She smiled. “I don’t know about that, but there may be a bit of justice yet.”

  Devon was reaching down to take a few documents from the files. Julian turned to him. “Unfortunately, none of the documents can leave the bank.”

  Devon looked slightly disappointed, but Claire had the strange impression her youngest brother had already committed much of the necessary information to memory.

  “Oh that’s a shame—” Devon started.

  “On the other hand”—Julian looked at his watch meaningfully—“I have a meeting starting just now and hate to leave, but you are all welcome to use this conference room for the next half hour. Do you happen to have a phone with a camera?”

  Devon nodded and smiled, and Julian nodded once. “Very well. Lady Wick. Gentlemen. Thank you for taking time to come to the bank this morning. Happy New Year.”

  With that, the older man left the room with his laptop tucked under one arm and shut the door quietly behind him.

  Ben whispered, “Do you know what just happened?”

  “I’ve got an idea or two,” Claire whispered back.

  Max was flipping through the sheets and handing them to Devon. “This one…this…these two…god damn it…this one…these four…” After about fifteen minutes of Max’s culling and Devon’s snapping images with his smartphone, her brothers reorganized the papers into the neat stacks, exactly as they’d been when they first entered the room.

  “All right, then.” Devon looked excited.

  “You don’t have to be quite so happy about it,” Claire joked, but she hugged him to her. It was a bit awkward, what with Devon trying to repress his smile. “Okay, fine then. Be happy about it.”

  His grin spread. “Excellent. This is going to be fun.”

  The four of them rode back to Lyford in Devon’s sports car and spent the rest of the holiday never once mentioning the mysterious trip to the bank. Devon told everyone he had an important work project that had come up unexpectedly and spent a few hours on his computer in the mornings and at night. In the following days, Claire felt as though the walls within her family were finally coming down.

  Claire burst into tears when Lydia came to tell her she’d accepted a job with Sarah James in New York City.

  “Mum?” Lydia pulled her into an awkward hug.

  “Oh darling.” Claire held her tight. “I’m so pleased.”

  “I’m glad you’re glad”—Lydia chuffed a small laugh—“but I wasn’t even sure you’d be glad. I felt like you were sort of inviting me to come visit because you felt like you had to. And that time I called you when you were riding on the bus, I wasn’t even sure if you wanted me there at all.”

  Claire smiled a watery smile and wiped her eyes with a tissue she pulled from the bedside table in the villa. “I didn’t know what to expect or what was best for you. I wanted it to be your decision and not me telling you how desperately I wanted us all to be together, making it some kind of emotional obligation, but I’m so happy, sweetheart. You’re going to love New York.”

  “I think I am.” Lydia’s smile held more than a tourist’s interest.

  “Wait.” Claire cleared her throat. “What else are you not telling me?”

  Lydia looked like she was having to relearn how not to be paranoid, always hearing the suspicious undertones of her mother’s voice from her drug days.

  “I didn’t mean it like that!” Claire backpedaled.

  “I know you didn’t. I’m trying.”

  “So? Other than my lovely company, what are you looking forward to in New York?”

  Lydia looked at the floor. “Turns out…”

  “What is it? This is so unlike you to hesitate. Usually you just blurt everything out and demand I accept it.”

  Laughing at herself and at the joy of her mother’s newfound honesty, Lydia began to appreciate the possibility that her future might not be a total disaster after all. “Well. It looks as though handsome Alistair is taking a new job at a hotel in New York.”

  “Really?” Claire smiled in a conspiratorial way she’d always dreamt of sharing with her daughter, but had lost hope they ever would. “How interesting.”

  Smiling in return, Lydia flopped on her mother’s bed. “He’s so adorable, isn’t he?”

  “He is.”

  They talked for the rest of the afternoon, about Alistair and New York and what Lydia was hoping to do at the Sarah James store, maybe eventually working on some of her own designs for belts and bags. If Claire had been a praying woman, she would have believed nearly all of hers had finally been answered.

  Nearly all.

  Chapter 31

  By the middle of January, Claire had officially moved in with Ben. She only had her suitcases, so it wasn’t much of a monumental event, but it felt monumental. Devon and Max assured her that she would be getting great news from Freddy’s lawyers before the month was up. They never spoke of the particulars, but she trusted her brothers so much more than her former attorneys, so she was finally beginning to accept that her life would soon be her own. Freddy’s hold on her would be over in a matter of weeks.

  Lydia had moved into Sarah’s small apartment on Sixty-Seventh Street and was loving her job at the shop. They’d even had Sunday dinner together last weekend, at the noodle place down in the Village where she and Ben had gone that first night. Alistair and Lydia had come to hear Ben’s band, and then the four of them had walked the few blocks to the restaurant.

  Claire had spent the whole meal gripping Ben’s hand beneath the table as the two of them listened to Lydia and Alistair talk animatedly about each of their new jobs. Something about the way her twenty-year-old daughter rattled on about “possibilities” and “new ideas” made Claire’s heart feel like it was going to burst out of her chest.

  “Apparently pigs really do fly,” Bronte said on a laugh, when they were speaking on the phone a few days later. “Lydia has a paying job and Abby has fallen in love with a man.”

  “What? Abby’s in love? When did that happen? I’m so out of it.”

  “You’ve been a bit preoccupied the past few months,” Bronte agreed. “But we’re all pretty much clueless. It seems she’s been secretly pining for this guy, Eliot Cranbrook, ever since Devon and Sarah’s wedding last year.” Bronte’s voice turned thoughtful. “Or maybe even since Wolf’s christening way before that, now that I think about it.”

  “Really? They’ve been dating this whole time and no one knew?”

  “Not dating exactly.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “I don’t know the details.” Bronte became more pragmatic. “Sarah just called me and we’re all meeting over at her and Devon’s place to have dinner with Abby in a little while.”

  Claire was sitting in her favorite coffee shop on Third Avenue, having a cup of soup for lunch. She listened to Bronte talk while she pictured them all together at Devon and Sarah’s lofty apartment in Mayfair. “Oh, I miss you all even more when I think of you having dinner together.”

  “Me too. Would you and Ben ever consider moving back?”

  Claire looked out to the avenue and the bustle of people walking by with their winter coats and hats and all that American purpose. She was starting to feel like this was where she belonged. At first it had felt like she was unmoored. Now it felt like freedom. “I don’t know, Bron. I think I’m falling in love with New York almost as much as I’ve fallen in love with Ben.”

  “I miss it too. I totally know what you mean.”

  Claire took another sip of soup, then asked, “So when did Abby get back from Africa?”

  “After the New Year, I think. Apparently she’s been in Paris for a few days visiting your mother and trying to get some professors to back one of her projects or something. We’re just all excited to see her and…catch up.”

  “Oh, sure. So what you really mean is that you and Sarah are going to gang up on her.”

  Bronte barked a laugh. “Just being helpful. It worked for you, didn’t it?�
��

  “I suppose it did,” Claire agreed happily.

  “For some reason, you Heyworth women are big into postponing your joy. Sarah and I are just here to give you a little push in the right direction.”

  Claire smiled into the phone and shivered slightly. “Speaking of joy…”

  “Oh my god…don’t even tell me…”

  “Okay, then. I won’t tell you I’m preg—” Claire teased.

  Bronte screamed a wild flood of ecstatic obscenities across the transatlantic phone line.

  When Bronte had worn herself out, Claire asked, “Are you quite finished?”

  Bronte began swearing again. Then she started crying. “I’m just so fucking happy for you. You’re going to have a baby! Oh my god, we’re both going to have babies this year. I’m so excited!”

  “I know, me too. I was dying to tell you in the Bahamas, but it was all so new and there were all these stupid complications with Freddy and his lawsuit.”

  “I understand.” Bronte was still catching her breath. “It’s just the best news.”

  “I want to tell Sarah and Abby myself,” Claire said in a more serious tone. “Do you think you can keep it quiet a little while longer?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. I mean…”

  “Bron!”

  “Yes! Yes! I totally will. I promise.”

  “Okay.” Claire took a deep breath. “Give Abby a hug for me when you see her tonight. I’ll be back in a few weeks to sign the final divorce papers, and hopefully that will coincide with the arrival of your twins—”

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be perfect?”

  “We’ll make it work. You’ve been such an angel, Bron, really. I don’t know how I would have made it through the past six months without you.”

  “Oh, stop. I’m going to start crying again. This whole pregnancy has turned me into such a watering pot. I’m a mess.”

  “It’s lovely. You’re lovely.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. So…can I tell Max?”

  “Of course, please tell Max.”

  “Oh, good! He’s going to be so pleased. Five grandchildren. Oh my god. Your mother is going to be beside herself.” Bronte took a deep breath. “So when are you and Ben going to get married?”

  Claire melted a little inside. “We’re getting married as soon as the divorce goes through. Really soon, I hope.”

  “Oh good. So you’ve been able to move things along with Freddy, then?”

  “I think Devon and Max have totally painted him into a corner. We’ll see, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to sign the documents this week or next. And then we’re free.”

  Claire heard the door open in the background on Bronte’s end of the call.

  “It’s Max! Oh dear, what’s the matter, darling?” There was some shuffling and then Max’s strong voice came down the line. “Claire?”

  “Yes. Max, what is it? You sound so serious?”

  “Has anyone called you yet?” he asked without preamble.

  “No. What about?”

  “I just got a call from my attorney that Freddy’s…shit…” Max sounded tired and old. She barely recognized her own brother’s voice.

  “What is it?” Claire whispered. “Just tell me.”

  “I should have known he’d pull one last thing before he gave up.” Max exhaled with impatience. “Turns out he drained all of the accounts that he had cosigned with Lydia in the past few months. It wasn’t even that much money, in the grand scheme of things—a hundred thousand pounds or so—but I guess he just couldn’t resist stealing one more thing from our family.”

  “What a bastard,” Claire said under her breath. She was unaccustomed to swearing, but whenever she thought of Freddy and his complete lack of morals, she wanted to swear to high heaven. Instead, she took another deep breath. “So where does this leave us? If he’s run off, I guess that means he didn’t sign the divorce papers…”

  “No, that’s the unexpected good news.”

  Claire felt her skin begin to tingle all over. “What—”

  “Apparently that trampy girlfriend of his made him sign the divorce papers and agree to marry her before she would leave the country with him.”

  “Oh my god, Max.”

  “I know. It’s really fabulous news. I suppose we should be grateful that she’s just that trampy.”

  “Max!” But Claire was laughing and crying all at once. She reached for one of the paper napkins and patted her eyes.

  Max’s voice softened. “Still. I’m just sorry about Lydia. She’s going to be so upset—”

  “You know what, Max? I don’t want to tell her.”

  “Really?”

  “What’s the point?”

  “Well, the point is that he can’t take advantage of her again if she sees him for what he really is.”

  “I know. But not right away. Not like this, all right?”

  Max sighed. “All right. I’ll leave it to you to tell her. If and when you want. Meantime, as I said, it’s a relatively small sum of hers he took anyway.”

  “Relative to what?” Claire asked.

  She could hear the smile in her brother’s voice. “Relative to the amount that’s sitting in an account in the Bahamas with your name on it. Devon was able to, er, transfer all of the funds Freddy stole over the years and put them back into your name without Freddy having any idea. Until…” Max’s voice trailed off.

  “Until what?”

  “It’s kind of wonderfully horrible. Apparently, Freddy had written checks all over town on those secret accounts and over the past few weeks, he’s been blackballed everywhere—”

  “Oh Max, that’s terrible!” But Claire knew her words were brimming with joy.

  “I know. Perfectly awful. Devon said he watched him get turned away from Mark’s Club just the other night.”

  “Poor, poor Freddy.”

  “How true!” Max laughed.

  Claire took a deep breath and looked into her empty soup bowl. “I don’t really know how to thank you, Max.”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Claire.” He was silent for a few moments. “I wish we’d all known sooner how unhappy you were, how bad it was. Maybe we could have done something before now.”

  “Oh, don’t think of it like that. I mean, now that Ben and I have found each other, everything feels like it’s exactly as it’s meant to be.”

  “I’m happy for you, Claire.”

  They said a few more words then ended the call. Claire stared at the cell phone in her hand and felt her bones melting at the joyful realization that she could marry Ben in a matter of days. She left a ten-dollar bill on the table and said good-bye to the waitress. She called in to work to see if it was busy and asked if she could swing by a couple of fabric showrooms that afternoon. Hilary said no problem and Claire picked up her pace.

  She reached Ben’s office about twenty minutes later, her feet cold and her heart bursting. He was just coming out of one of the examination rooms when he saw her sitting in the waiting room with a grin that could have lit up the city. He turned to his receptionist and said he’d be a few minutes late for his next appointment, then pulled Claire into his office.

  Turning the lock on the door, he stayed with his back against the smooth wood. “What is it? You look like you’re about to burst with good news.”

  “It’s done,” she whispered. “Freddy signed. Max just called me. We can get married”—she hesitated and glanced at the ceiling to count the days in her head—“in four or five days. Or sooner if we fly to London.”

  Ben was crossing the short distance between them. Claire smiled and took a step back so she was leaning against his immaculate desk. He was right up against her.

  “It’s very tidy.” She dragged her hand along his desk. “Very smooth.”

  He lifted her up onto the desk and pulled her into a kiss. “I love you so much, Claire.” He continued kissing her, pulling at her scarf to get deeper into the warmth of her neck.

  She wrapped her arms
around his neck. “Oh, Ben. Can you believe it?”

  He pulled his face back a few inches. “No.” He shook his head gently. “I really can’t. But I was never much of a believer anyway.”

  “Really?” She smiled and kissed his cheek. “What will convince you?”

  He hummed into her skin. “I’m more of a scientist. I’m going to need a lifetime of physical evidence.”

  Acknowledgments

  This book would not exist in any form had it not been for the affectionate prodding of Janet Webb; she believed in Claire and her story long before I had any idea who Claire really was, much less how I was going to write her book. So many writer friends helped me along the way: Mira Lyn Kelly explained why it might not be such a good idea to have Lydia kill her own father; Grace Burrowes shared heart-wrenching insights into why vengeance is never clean; Miranda Neville was a genius with all things British and motivational (Miranda: “Why would that character do that?” Me: “Uh, no reason.” *delete-delete-delete*); Catherine Bybee offered her continued kick-ass support; Jen Talty let me talk her ear off; Lexi Ryan listened to me hem and haw and fret and wring my hands about self-publishing; Anne Calhoun listened, full stop. Lisa Dunick was an incredible editor: fast, attentive, precise; thank you for being my Editrix Extraordinaire. Allison Hunter and Lisa Vanterpool helped me figure out a Middle Way to self-publish this book while still having the power and expertise of InkWell Management behind the project. Regan Fisher proofread the final manuscript, and if I get any sleep at night, it is thanks to her meticulous attention. Thank you to Deb Werksman, Beth Pehlke, and everyone else at Sourcebooks who supported my efforts to integrate this book into the Unruly Royals series. Alexandra Haughton was supportive and kind and lovely. Ross Beresford and E. M. Tippetts formatted all the files with precision. Kimberley Van Meter set up the cover beautifully. My husband and children do everything all the time, so it’s hard to thank them for anything specific when my gratitude for their patience and understanding is woven into every word I write. Most of all, hugs and thanks to my mother, who always reads my books with a mother’s love and a reader’s honesty. This one’s for you.