Destroyed Destiny (Crowne Point Book 4)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  In the form of my grandfather.

  “Hello, Story. Are you enjoying Christmas?”

  STORY

  Beryl Crowne stood before me in his iconic three-piece suit—the only thing different an emerald pocket square for the holidays—and Grayson was under my skirt.

  He was under my skirt. I gripped the wall behind me for stability. My legs were spread as far as they could go in my crinoline, my hips ached. I fucking prayed it wasn’t noticeable.

  “Are you enjoying Christmas?” Beryl asked, taking a sip of his eggnog.

  Beryl had always been like the monsters in old fairy tales and stories, a shadowy thing. Seen in half glimpses, his booming voice heard like a dragon’s bellow from a cave.

  Now, for the second time in two days, his shark-toothed smile peeked up at me from behind the eggnog in the perfectly polished porcelain cup.

  I kept quiet.

  “Ah…” He noted my silence. “Smart girl.”

  Beryl was handsome—Grayson got his good looks from somewhere—but Beryl was sinister and silver-haired.

  I hated him.

  There was hate in my heart where it didn’t exist before.

  This man had ruined everything. He was at the epicenter of all our pain. West, Lottie, Tansy, and the rest of the du Lacs…they were all a symptom of the greater disease, Beryl Crowne and the world he demanded turned on his say-so.

  He smiled broader, like he could see the thoughts in my head.

  “You know, you had me fooled. I don’t usually make mistakes, and that’s something for you to be proud of. I thought you were nothing more than a bitter distraction. Another whore trying at the crown.”

  I focused hard on something—anything else—so I didn’t give him the satisfaction of my reaction. Grayson’s thumb stroked the bone at my ankle, trying to soothe, but his grip was tense and tight, betraying his anger.

  “How long have you known, Story?”

  Known what?

  Against everything inside me, I met his red-brown eyes. Meeting Beryl Crowne in the eyes. I know I was allowed now, but he would see this for what it was.

  Rebellion.

  He arched a brow. “I see now you’re more, Story. A different, deadlier breed of trash.”

  I felt Grayson tense beneath me, could feel his anger seeping like venom, when out of the bottom of my eyes I saw black—Grayson’s shoes. His shoes had slipped out. I stared unblinking at Beryl, willing him not to look down, where it would be painfully obvious.

  Beryl exhaled—bored—and his gaze started to drift.

  I had no idea what Beryl was talking about, but I was so tired of them talking down to me, of thinking they were allowed that right. I ground my teeth, trying to hold back.

  “Because you’d never expect anything of a servant, would you, Beryl?” I asked. Grayson dug his nails into my thigh, fucking dug—pissed.

  Beryl jerked back, eyes wide.

  Beryl.

  I’d called him Beryl.

  My heart was in my throat. But at least he wasn’t looking down.

  “Mr. Crowne, you look positively dashing this morning.”

  It took a moment for Beryl’s gaze to drift down the hall. “Josephine, you look ravishing as always. Where are the children?”

  I followed his gaze to find Josephine St. Germaine in a stunning white velvet dress.

  Her jaw tightened a fraction. “You know how unpredictable the weather can be.”

  “I do. Dangerous, even.”

  Josephine clenched the stem of her crystal flute. There was something under this conversation, something I couldn’t detect.

  As Josephine and Beryl talked, Josephine casually turned, until Beryl was facing away from me. Her eyes shifted to me, clandestinely looking to my skirts.

  I don’t know how she knew, but I realized now was the time for Grayson to slip out of my skirts. I quickly lifted up my skirts while Beryl had his back to me. Grayson slid out.

  He stood up slowly, rolling out his shoulders, dark glare on me and unblinking. Not even bothered by how close we’d been to getting caught.

  I glared back. What should I have done? I know Grayson is lying—I know what it means if his grandfather catches him. He dragged his pinky along his bottom lip, like he saw the words in my head.

  Silently, I threw my hand out behind me to the Christmas tree.

  Go.

  He rubbed his jaw, walking away from his grandfather and me—and slammed right into West coming around the corner.

  Beryl turned around at the noise.

  “Grayson?” Beryl arched a brow. “Where did you come from?”

  West looked at me and Grayson, then tilted his head, a slow grin spreading. My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for West to do something, say something.

  Then West threw his arm around Grayson. “He was with me.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach. Why would West do that?

  A slight wrinkle formed in Beryl’s brow. “Is that so?”

  West squeezed Gray’s shoulder, wrinkling the soft fabric there.

  Grayson clenched his jaw, gritting, “Yup.”

  Beryl looked between the two. “And what could have brought you two together?”

  West looked to Gray. “Why don’t we tell you all about it over a cigar?”

  Gray looked like he’d rather chew through leather, but nodded. West looked over his shoulder, throwing me a wink before disappearing around the corner.

  Dread wove ugly vines in my chest. What game is he playing?

  Josephine waited until Beryl had long disappeared with Grayson and West, before turning to me.

  “Hello again, Story.” Josephine sighed prettily into her champagne. “I see you got your own castle. Congratulations.”

  Her congratulations sounded like my condolences.

  I tore my gaze from the corner. “You just helped me.”

  She shrugged. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

  “But you spoke to Beryl Crowne.”

  She sipped her champagne leisurely. “It’s our day, so we’re allowed to talk.”

  Interesting. No one told me that.

  I opened, then closed my mouth as the realization hit me. One day out of the year Josephine was allowed to talk? For over a decade she’d lived like this?

  “Thank you,” I said. “Sincerely.”

  Without her, I don’t know what would have happened.

  She put up a hand like, it’s nothing.

  Soft Christmas music like crushed velvet filled the hall and the smell of warm butter drenched the air as the servants prepped for dinner. Josephine lingered.

  “Can…I…” I scratched my head, stumbling over the best way to ask a question when she’d already done so much.

  Her lip tilted slightly. “You must be burning with questions.”

  “Did you go through training?”

  “I trained in Scotland. It had its moments; the songbirds were quite pretty.”

  Songbirds. Had she trained in the very same building as me?

  “What did they do to you?” I asked softly.

  She was quiet for a long time, her gemstone green eyes off somewhere I couldn’t follow. When she spoke, it wasn’t to answer my question.

  “It didn’t used to be this way,” she said softly. “People in our position used to stand next to kings, used to become queens, and they don’t ever want us to remember that, Storybook. Your uncle was always kind to me. I would have done anything for that man. I wish I could have saved you from this.”

  My uncle?

  “Do you know anything about…” I looked around. “Coins?”

  She lowered her champagne, face dropping.

  “You haven’t found it yet?” Josephine had always been airy and fairy-like, and now she was filled with terror and darkness, her voice wobbling. “You should have found it by now.”

  Twenty

  GRAY

  My grandfather rolled his cigar between his knuckles. “So, where have you been?�
��

  Underneath my wife’s skirt while you fucking threatened her.

  My grandfather looked between West and me. “What is the interesting story that teamed you both up, and pulled Grayson away from his family?”

  I narrowed my eyes. My grandfather never opened presents with us—my only memory of him on Christmas morning was to make sure I knew Santa didn’t exist, so I knew who put those presents under the tree: not some “fat fucking socialist”—his hard work.

  He didn’t give a shit where I was, he only wanted to know how I’d slipped my guards again.

  “It’s an interesting story, isn’t it?” West looked to me, grinning wide like the cat that ate the fucking canary. I remembered the confusion on Story’s face as I’d left her with Josephine, obviously wondering why West wasn’t betraying us.

  Truce.

  That was the proposition he’d posed last night, but I didn’t buy it for a second.

  West turned from me, to my grandfather. “I don’t know if you’ll believe it.”

  Around us, du Lac men and Crowne extended family sat on old leather wingbacks, their feet propped up, snowflakes falling past seven-foot windows onto the beach.

  You know how unpredictable the weather can be.

  As my grandfather waited for an explanation I had no answer to, what I’d overheard with Story sprinted back and forth in my mind.

  My father died in a car accident on a perfectly sunny day.

  My grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”

  How long have you known, Story?

  I don’t think Story had any idea what she was saying to him; I think she was just trying to stand up for herself.

  And fuck, any other time I would have cheered her on. But once again, I had that feeling I was missing something vital. I was outmanned. Outgunned.

  What if she’d confirmed something in his mind?

  Something deadly?

  “Grayson saved my ass.” West put his arm around my shoulder again, his garish suit blinding my fucking eyes. While the morning dress code was always somewhat lax compared to the evening, West took that to the extreme. He wore a bright red suit with Christmas trees and snowflakes, complete with a matching tie.

  West continued. “I switched up some presents—nearly sent them addressed to the wrong girl. But Grayson handled it for me—he’s pretty good at juggling women. Isn’t that right?” West squeezed my shoulder; I tamped down the urge to elbow him in the gut.

  “Right,” I gritted.

  My grandfather watched us for what felt like an hour, then set his cigar down without ever lighting it.

  “It’s always good when brothers-in-law get along. See you both tonight then.”

  Giving us an ambivalent smile, he left to join an extended uncle across the room.

  With my grandfather just out of earshot, West grabbed my hand and said, “You smell just like Story.”

  I shoved him off, rubbed my eye.

  Don’t punch West.

  At least, not in public.

  Again.

  “The fuck are you doing?”

  West exhaled. “Now you’re pissed because I didn’t betray you? I’m not the fucking bad guy here.” He paused at my glare. “Fine, I’m not the worst guy here.”

  “Not the highest bar.” I dragged a hand through my hair, pushing strands out of my eyes and narrowing on him. “You could just sink me now. Take over the company. You don’t need a coin for that.”

  “I could.” He nodded. “I promised her I wouldn’t.”

  I laughed. “You suddenly a good guy, West?”

  He worked his jaw. “I’d still be under my father’s thumb.”

  There it is.

  “I wonder if you know what that feels like. To have everything and nothing.”

  I have all the luck in the world…

  I rubbed my jaw, hating the feeling of commiserating with fucking West.

  “I want Story. I’ve wanted Story since I was thirteen and my father has…” he trailed off and folded his arms.

  “So what the fuck do you want, West? What’s your big fucking wish?”

  “I want what you want, Grayson. I want my happily ever after. I want to win her over. I want her to love me. I want your child to call me daddy. Then I want to fill her with more babies who call me daddy. That’s my endgame. That’s always been my endgame. Who’s the real monster here, Grayson?”

  At that moment, my grandfather looked over and raised his glass to me.

  “You,” I said without hesitation, but my eyes were still on him.

  Everyone broke for dinner, and again I was forced to watch Story leave without a word to her. She stared at me as West pulled her toward their wing. I stayed, leaning against the wall, staring at the spot like she was a ghost I could summon with strong emotion.

  It would be hours until I saw her.

  The smell of salt air mingled with gingerbread being baked in the kitchen. I rustled the coins in my pocket. I’d been thinking for a while now—there was a way to get Story out. I have four coins in my pocket, four coins I could use to just fucking end all of this.

  One caveat: I don’t get to go with her.

  It was a game of chess…one for her, one for our baby, and two so my grandfather doesn’t challenge. Finding the fifth is that Hail Mary for me, that hope for our happily ever after.

  But I could get her out now.

  Get them out—

  Josephine St. Germaine stepped in my way. She stared at me, eyes a broken emerald shining different colors of green—jade, shamrock, deep pine. It was wrong to see those eyes; Josephine never stepped in my way.

  “Christmas always makes me miss home,” she said.

  Josephine never spoke to me, even on Christmas. It was enough to make me pause.

  “I miss your father the most on this day.”

  Then she brought up my father, and anger drenched like hot acid. I worked my jaw, brushing past her.

  “Your father already tried it, Grayson. He gave those coins to your grandfather and was dead the next day.”

  I stopped. Coins—she said coins, as in, plural. Everyone else has only talked about finding the one. I slowly turned around. Josephine still smiled into her champagne, as if we were discussing the weather.

  “I did everything I was supposed to do, but…Story didn’t find it. She didn’t find the coin.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  She sucked in air, eyes crossing the room to where one of my cousins had stumbled into the hallway, drunk and singing sexist Christmas songs. “Not here. Tonight, after dinner when everyone is drunk and fighting and distracted.”

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I don’t want any part in it.”

  Her brow knitted. “Don’t you ever wonder who gave you those coins at the funeral?”

  I stared at her, jaw clenched. I didn’t say it aloud. I couldn’t. But the question burned in my mind.

  You gave them to me?

  It seemed like forever until she spoke again, then slowly her eyes traveled back to mine. “There is no getting out of this world, Grayson. Not alive.”

  STORY

  I reworked what Josephine said to me over and over, staring at myself in the mirror as my girl undid the braids in my hair.

  You should have found it by now.

  What did that mean? The unknowns were piling too high inside me. I was suffocating.

  “Ow.” I winced.

  “Sorry, miss,” my girl said meekly. She fingered the knots at the root of my scalp with conditioner, slowly undoing each intricate braid. I glanced at the clock. Two hours had passed since she began, and we weren’t yet halfway finished, yet there was still hours to go until dinner.

  Dinner…maybe I’d get another chance with Grayson then.

  This was so much harder than I realized it would be. I was naive. Thinking it would be like before, but now we were both watched, and I had no way of contacting him.

  He was keeping secrets
again…but I only had minutes to glance into his heart.

  After a bath—once again filled with so many oils my skin was like ice—my girl sat me on the vanity and prepped me. My hair was slicked and parted on the side, a slight wave visible at the roots. My natural curls were wild and glossy and free at the nape of my neck.

  She placed a hood of gossamer embroidered with jewels and gold thread a few inches from my forehead. I fiddled with the matching thread embroidered on my gown.

  I was ready for Christmas dinner.

  For a night of whispers even the servants didn’t hear.

  This isn’t the holidays, Story. The holidays haven’t even begun—

  “You look beautiful, Angel.”

  I lifted my head at West’s voice. He had shed his festive suit for something more dapper. A sleek, black tux and bow tie—as dinner was a black tie affair.

  “An—”

  I cut him off. “I can’t tell you until after dinner. I won’t.”

  “I was going to say, I need you to give something to my sister.”

  “What? Why?”

  The muscle in West’s jaw flexed. He stared at me, and then after a moment, pulled what looked like an EpiPen from his breast pocket. “I can’t have just anyone bring this to her. My mother would be pissed if she knew—”

  He broke off, like he was upset for telling me, then handed me the pen. I rolled it over between my fingers, that annoying West feeling clenching my chest. This felt…nice. Sweet, even. I couldn’t help but wonder, if he was asking because he actually trusted me.

  Like he knew I was thinking about him, he grabbed my chin. “Servants talk. But you…you can’t speak to anyone.”

  He let me go and though shame flooded my chest, I stared at the pen.

  It suddenly appeared a key to me.

  I could see Grayson. I could sneak into his room before I went to Lottie, or even after. There was still some time before dinner—

  “Grayson will be downstairs with me, and all the men.”

  With that last spearing mock, West turned to leave.

  “Wait!” I stood up, nearly tripping on my dress. “What did you mean when you said the Holidays hadn’t begun?”

  His jaw tightened, eyes slimming. “You won’t have any part in it. You’re pregnant.”