The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1)

by Banks, Evie

  The ride back to the hotel was unendurable. Leanne alternated between flirting with the three men in the vehicle, embarrassing Renee with stories from her childhood, and trying to get a sense of how much money Renee was going to come into. Her mother rode in the passenger seat next to Harry, who was driving. In the mirror, Renee could see that Harry had a look of grim concentration on his face. She leaned over to Chase and whispered in his ear. “She cannot stay with us!” Chase nodded once to acknowledge that he had heard her. As they approached the hotel he said, “Ms. Montshire, for security reasons you will be staying in a different hotel.”

  “Oh. But I had counted on staying with my family. I don’t have much in the way of funds just at the moment.” She cast a sly look at Renee, who just crossed her arms. “Not until I get some gigs like that man promised.”

  Chase, Roberts and Harry simultaneously reached for their wallets and pulled out everything they had, pressing an impressive wad of cash into Leanne’s hands, who shamelessly began counting it.

  “Why do I have to stay somewhere else? This hotel looks good enough. Besides, I want to spend time with my Renee and Catherine.”

  Renee was really beginning to resent the possessive my part of my Renee.

  Chase’s tone left no doubt that he was speaking from professional experience and his instructions were to be obeyed. “We do have to take security into consideration so you might not be able to spend as much time with your family as you initially want. It’s not safe to be seen together too much.”

  “Oh, like how the President and Vice President aren’t ever in the same building together or on the same airplane?” said Leanne.

  “Exactly,” said Chase. “Very well put. Harry, take her to the hotel in Luton.”

  Harry looked at him quizzically.

  “You know, the hotel in Luton,” said Chase slowly, staring at him hard.

  Harry’s face lit with understanding. “Oh, right. Luton. Absolutely.”

  “Is Loo-ton nice?” asked Leanne.

  “It’s a charming locale. A spa-like setting. Enjoy yourself and don’t hesitate to put anything you need on the room tab, but you will remember to keep a low profile, won’t you Ms. Montshire? Don’t reveal to anyone who you are or your connection to the royal family. The fate of the monarchy depends on you,” said Chase.

  Leanne nodded fervently. Renee and Cassandra quickly said goodbye and then dashed from the minivan to the back entrance of the hotel. She heard her mother yell that she would call as soon as she arrived. As the van pulled away, Renee saw Harry smiling smugly and Renee couldn’t help smiling herself as the pile of blonde hair grew more distant. They passed the concierge who bowed his head towards them and then took the service stairs to avoid too much notice from the hotel guests. “Where’s Luton?” asked Renee once they had reached the suite.

  “Far away from London,” said Chase and smiled.

  They understood each other so well.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DARLA KENT, seasoned broadcast journalist, leaned towards the subject. She had interviewed hundreds of celebrities and minor politicians without fumbling her notes, but every time she looked up her guest’s pale, disconcerting eyes were on her and her thoughts got jumbled. Most guests were either seasoned professionals who could take any of her talking points and run with it, or they were new and uncomfortable under the spotlight and ready to cling to any assistance she might offer.

  This guest, however, was neither of those things. He was new to the limelight—as far as she knew this was his first television interview—but he wasn’t nervous at all. In fact, he sat there, coolly staring at her, a small smile on his lips, waiting for her to ask questions as if she were the novice because the questions fled her mind every time she looked up. Before the cameras had started rolling, he had told her what a lovely neck she had. There was something so unnerving and yet so attractive about him. She concentrated hard on her note cards.

  “Tell me,” she said and flipped her long, blow-dried hair over her shoulder, “why are you seeking the throne? Why you?”

  “Well, you see, Darla, I’m not choosing to put myself in this situation; the situation has chosen me. What befell this country two months ago is appalling. A true disaster on every level. I’ve always been aware of my pedigree—my parents put a framed copy of the Bretton coat of arms on the wall despite their reduced circumstances—and I was taught to always put others first. If you see a need, jump in and help. I see a need here. The royal family tree has been scorched from the trunk all the way through the twigs, leaving only a few leaves to represent it. Why shouldn’t it be me? I did not grow up rich, you know. I would bring a different perspective to the monarchy, a view more in line with modern circumstances.”

  Across the country viewers nodded and said to themselves how much they liked this humble man. He had a steady air about him and didn’t fidget or look shifty eyed. He was handsome too. That scar gave him an interesting aspect. Where did he get it? Darla blushed. Was she flirting?

  “So if called upon, you will accept the crown?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  “What are your qualifications?”

  He laughed heartily.

  “Has any royal ever been called upon to present qualifications? Some monarchs have been mentally ill. There was Henry VI who lost his mind for a year and had to be reintroduced to his baby son. Others have been less interested in affairs of state than in seeking their own pleasure: hunting, drinking, fornication. Some have been timid or were mere pawns in another’s game. The Lady Jane Grey—that poor, young girl—discovered she was being put up as the next queen without her even having a say so in the matter and lost her pretty head, literally, a few days later.” His eyes gleamed under the studio lights. “I am none of those things. I am not mentally ill or self-interested or weak. I even have work experience. So in a way, I come already more qualified than the bulk of British monarchs.”

  “That’s true.” The interviewer and her guest laughed together. The viewing audience chuckled when they recalled some of the disasters who had been their leaders.

  Darla asked her next question. “If you are ready to step into the role of monarch, what do you make of this American woman? The rumors are swirling, but no one will confirm or deny anything. Is she being considered for the crown and what do you think she would bring to the role?”

  Bretton steepled his fingers together and thought a moment. “Ms. Krebs is a lovely lady, I’ve met her personally. But is she ready to be queen? How does growing up in a small, isolated town prepare one to be the representative and symbol of not only a great nation, but a great history?” The interviewer nodded and made a note. “From our conversation, she wasn’t even aware of her English roots prior to a few weeks ago, and yet she is going to come here and be vested with all the symbols of the United Kingdom?” He shook his head as if he couldn’t imagine such a ridiculous thing. “I may have been born in the States, but my parents emigrated from England only shortly before that and I grew up with a strong sense of the identity.”

  “Does that explain your accent?” asked the interviewer.

  “Yes. I grew up hearing it in the home and it grows stronger when I’m around British people.”

  “So you understand both American culture and British culture.”

  “Yes.

  “There are rumors that you have run afoul of the law in the United States. Do you care to comment?”

  Bretton leaned forward, all hint of nonchalance gone. “Yes, I do want to address this because I know it will be used against me. All charges were dropped because there was nothing that could be proven. Unfortunately, I was in the wrong place and the wrong time and the caliber of the investigating officers…well, let’s just say that my faith in the American criminal justice system has been damaged.”

  Bretton returned to his casual demeanor and leaned back in his chair.

  “I understand,” said the interviewer. “Well, we’re almost out of time.
Do you have anything else you would like to add?”

  “Yes, I would also like to add that apples usually do not fall far from the tree. The Montshire reign was a disaster, you know. Five months of murder, chaos, and fratricide. Not exactly a proud legacy. Can we really be sure that the youngest brother escaped and put down roots in America just because the name popped up there? For all we know, a former servant of the Montshires emigrated and adopted the name as his own. Whereas my family tree is clear as day. Nor do we have to go back several centuries to see that the proof is in the pudding. Mrs. Krebs’s father, George Montshire, drunkenly fell off a horse and died. And Mrs. Krebs herself….It pains me to say it, but she did have a child out of wedlock and doesn’t even know who the father is. Can you imagine what it must be like for her little girl wondering why there is no name on the birth certificate? She’s held only menial jobs, is delinquent on her bills, and abandoned her husband at the first whiff of money. Is this the type of woman you want providing a role model for young British children?”

  He looked directly at the camera as he said it and Renee, who was watching from the privacy of her luxurious suite, was sure she heard the entire nation respond with a hushed “no.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE INTERVIEW WAS DEVASTATING.

  The worst part about it was that there was a grain of truth in each of Bretton’s allegations. He had certainly done his homework.

  Yes, she had left the name of Cassandra’s father off of the birth certificate, angry as she was about his abandonment of her at the time she needed him most. Come to think of it, she was still angry at him. Yes, she had at times been late with bill payments, but she always hustled and paid them off. The thought of an unpaid debt left her horrified. The slur on her father left her fuming. She had not been close to him, but she saw now that although she had chaffed under his rules at the time, he had done his best to raise her after Leanne had scooted on out. He hadn’t fallen off his horse, he had been thrown by a wild, terrified horse that escaped from his neighbor’s burning barn. He had been attempting to corral and calm the animal so that his neighbor wouldn’t lose any more property.

  She felt the judgment of everyone in the room. Britchford and Chase had hurried over as soon as they had gotten word that Bretton was scheduled for an interview and they sat there silently now. She could feel them wondering now if they had made the wrong decision.

  But she had bigger problems.

  Cassandra had bolted to her room and locked herself in. Renee was not ready to have this conversation and had been hoping to get away with never having it. Cassandra had occasionally asked about her father, but had been satisfied with the vague answers Renee had provided. After she had married Ray, whenever Cass would ask about her father, Renee would reply, “Ray’s your daddy now.” Well, that bird had flown. She had to talk to Cassandra and she was furious at Bretton for causing her daughter distress and forcing her to discuss something she wasn’t ready to discuss. She knocked quietly on Cassandra’s door. “Can I come in?” There was a thump on the other side of the door that caused Renee to jump back. Cassandra must have thrown something against the door, but she hadn’t said she couldn’t come in so Renee cracked open the door and slipped in, closing it behind her. She saw a shoe on the floor by the door, which was the prime suspect in the thump she had heard.

  Cassandra was sprawled across the bed, her face buried in a pillow. Renee sat down next to her and began rubbing her back.

  “What he said isn’t true. I do know who your father is. I just wanted to wait until you were older.”

  Cassandra rolled over. Her eyes were rimmed red. “You said that when I was four. I’m older now.”

  Renee sighed. “His name is Colt Bowman. I met him while I was bartending in San Antonio. He liked to work on cars and play pool. Had a temper if he didn’t get his own way. You’ve got the same crease in your forehead when you’re being stubborn.”

  Cassandra half-smiled. “Cassandra Bowman,” she said, trying out the name. “I like it better than Cassandra Krebs.”

  Renee continued. “The lease was up on my apartment and I could either renew it or move in with him, so I moved in with him. I was in love, Cassandra. Your father was so handsome and strong. My car back then wouldn’t start without a good push and he could push it as far as it needed for the ignition to catch. Well, things were going ok for a few months, we got married on a whim in Las Vegas, and then a couple of weeks later I found out I was pregnant with you,” she reached out and brushed Cassandra’s cheek, “and I was a little worried about telling him because he was so into his cars and hanging out with his friends, I didn’t know if he could handle being a dad…” Renee’s voice broke. “I told him and he got kind of glassy-eyed like he was in shock, but he seemed fine and went and picked us up some burgers—I craved beef like you wouldn’t believe while I was pregnant. I guess he wasn’t so okay after all because the next day he said he was leaving. He packed his pickup truck and that was that. He never called. He left me with a car I couldn’t push and an apartment that was more expensive than the one I had left in order to be with him. To put a point on it: he left me in deep trouble and I’ve been trying to find my way out ever since. We were divorced before you were born. I really know how to pick them, huh?”

  Renee hung her head. She was so ashamed of the mess she had made of her life and of dragging Cassandra down with her. To her surprise, Cassandra climbed into her lap like she used to do when she was a little girl and nestled her head under Renee’s chin. Renee wrapped her arms around her and held her tight.

  “You have me, Mama. You chose me.”

  Renee kissed the top of Cassandra’s head. “Yes, I did choose you. It’s the best choice I ever made.”

  They sat like that for several minutes, mother and daughter. “Do you want to change your name to Bowman? We can do it legally once the divorce from Ray goes through.”

  Cassandra shook her head. “I’m not a Krebs and I’m not a Bowman. I’m a Montshire, just like my mommy and my granddaddy.”

  Renee thought her heart would burst from love. Cassandra was her best choice. The rest was just scenery.

  When she and Cassandra emerged from the room, arm in arm, Britchford, Chase and Roberts were in animated discussion. They fell silent when they saw Renee.

  “I want to explain,” said Renee.

  Roberts held up his hand to stop her. “There is no need, Ma’am. We already did a thorough vetting of your background before we even met you. There was nothing in your background that caused even three minutes of worry. Two minutes, maybe, but it didn’t reach three.”

  “Did you really think we had changed our minds about you because of one deranged man’s statements?” said Chase.

  “Umm, maybe?” said Renee. She was flooded with relief. She had really believed that they were about to drop her. Bretton had done so well on television. The whole country was likely now infatuated with him. “That bastard stole my speech.”

  “And he didn’t deliver it half so well,” assured Roberts and brought her a cup of tea. Really, sometimes Roberts was amazing.

  Britchford, however, wasn’t nearly as sanguine and paced the room. His pink head had turned a shade of scarlet. He pulled out his mobile phone and punched in some numbers. “Rufus,” he barked, “this means war!” and he hung up. His phone rang back and he answered it. “What do you mean you don’t know what I’m talking about? That mangled hack job I just saw on the telly. You want more funding for the BBC? You can forget it!”

  For the first time, Renee saw the politician in him. He wasn’t just the friendly, bumbling leader of the Conservative Party. He was a pit bull. He turned to Renee. “Are you ready to go out and fight for your rightful place?”

  Renee thought about it. So far events had been happening to her. It was time for her to happen to events. She had felt like an imposter this whole time, but she was no more an imposter than that liar Bretton. It was fine if he insulted her—she knew the truth and therefore
could take just about anything—but she couldn’t let that slur on her family name stand. Insulting her was one thing, but insulting her father, who had been so honest it broke him, was something she would not tolerate. There was no way she was going to let that lying psychopath head the country.

  “Yes, I’m ready to fight for it.”

  Chase stepped forward. “Renee—Mrs. Krebs. You don’t have to put yourself in such a public position. We brought you into this, but I…Nobody wants to see you get hurt.”

  His face was so worried. She wasn’t used to a man looking at her like that: trying to protect her.

  “I’ll be fine. This is what you brought me here to do, right? I’m not going to back down now.”

  He still looked worried, but dropped his objections as she and Britchford and Roberts sat down to plan their counter attack.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IT WAS EASY to talk about fighting for her rightful place, but what did that really mean? The first order of business was to craft a statement that Britchford’s party was officially backing Renee as the heiress presumptive.