The Impostors: Complete Collection

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  It was more than apparent to Alexandra that Claire was besotted—and why not? Ian was a charming prince, to be sure. And really, it was fascinating to observe the brothers together. Even their mannerisms were uncannily similar. One was raised a prince, groomed to rule a nation; the other was raised in exile, none the wiser that he, too, was a prince. And yet somehow, even their taste in partners was the same as well. Both Chloe and Claire had rich auburn hair, both were slight of build. And while Chloe’s eyes were bright blue and Claire’s were a vivid green, both ladies’ gazes were marked with intelligence.

  “Excuse me just a moment,” said Claire, and she wandered away to whisper into Ian’s ear. After a moment, the two of them quit the parlor, and Alexandra sighed wistfully, her gaze automatically seeking Ben.

  He was gone.

  It shouldn’t be like this, but the room felt entirely depleted in his absence, the mood entirely deflated.

  Where was he? Out wandering the halls? Was he too plagued by that Christmas kiss so long ago?

  No matter how she tried, Alexandra couldn’t seem to forget, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep romantic thoughts out of her head. Fortunately, it was only a moment before Claire and Ian returned, and behind them came a manservant carrying a tray, urging everyone to take a goblet of champagne. After everyone was served, Claire awarded them each with a nod and a smile. And then, performing like a seasoned toastmistress, she said, “Welcome, friends! Welcome! Welcome!” Casting a loving glance at her fiancé, her eyes sparkling brighter than the polished marble floors, she said, “As you must know… we will soon be swept away by a joyous occasion. However, before then, we hoped to spend a quiet holiday amidst those we love best—that’s you. And to show our appreciation for all you have done for us through the ages, we have a small token of our affection.”

  She urged another manservant to enter; this man was holding a golden, velvet sack.

  Everyone raised their goblets when Claire did, but Claire wasn’t through. “Ben,” she said, singling out her brother, standing on tiptoes, searching for Ben and frowning when she didn’t spy him. But then she waved him away, dismissing him for the instant, and turned to Alexandra. “Lexie,” she said. “My dearest, most beloved friend.”

  She gave Alexandra the sweetest smile as the manservant lifted his golden sack, and Claire reached inside, rummaging about, lifting up a small package and putting it back. At last, she found the precise gift she was searching for, and handed it out to Alexandra. “Please don’t open it yet,” she said.

  And then, she turned to Prince Merrick and his lovely wife. “Chloe, Merrick,” she said. And she repeated the effort with the golden sack, handing each in turn a small golden gift.

  Smiling still, she turned to Wes Cameron and to his lovely, but mysterious companion. “Mr. Cameron, Lady Morrissey, thank you so much for all you have done for us. We will ever be in your debt.” And then she handed both guests small packages as well. “Thank you, Ryo,” she said, hugging the manservant before he left, then she turned to lift her glass for a toast. “Thank you all so much for sharing our holiday!”

  “Hear, hear!” said Ian, and barely suppressing his grin, he tossed his entire glass of champagne down his gullet.

  When Claire drank as well, Alexandra lifted her goblet to her lips, wishing she had the gumption to drink as Ian drank and then ask for a dozen more.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling of distress. She was grateful to be with Claire, and she was very glad to know Claire’s new friends, but something wasn’t right at all, and she could hardly bear the fact that Ben was so aloof.

  But then again, how could she blame him?

  Unlike Chloe, Alexandra was no diamond in the rough. She was the daughter of a fiend, and very, very clearly, neither Claire nor Chloe nor Lady Morrissey were pretending to be other than they were. Meanwhile, for all these past years, Alexandra had tried so desperately to mold herself to please her mother and father, and she’d tried no less to mold Claire as well—all to no avail. Thank God, or else where would Claire be?

  Alone, like Alexandra.

  Certainly not marrying her charming prince.

  Prince Merrick was the next to speak. He toasted his twin, and clearly emotional, the brothers embraced, clapping each other fiercely upon their backs. It was difficult not to catch a sting to the eye when they broke free of their embrace and Merrick took his brother by the face, kissing his cheek.

  (At least Alexandra presumed it was Prince Merrick, since he was not the one giving googly eyes to Claire.)

  “You may now open your gifts,” announced Claire, and Alexandra set down her goblet, lifting up the gilded gift, so beautifully wrapped.

  Upon closer inspection, she realized the golden wrapping was patterned differently for each guest. Hers displayed an explosion of silver-leaf butterflies— a shared love for both Lexie and Claire, though for very different reasons. Ever since she was a child, Claire had imagined herself a butterfly cocooned, and Alexandra had dearly loved discovering chrysalises in her garden.

  Excited, she made short work of the wrapping and tucked inside a small velvet box she found a necklace, with a lovely clasp in the shape of a butterfly. On the chain itself was an engraved locket, and inside the locket she found a portrait of Claire…

  Beautiful, beautiful Claire, whom she’d known most of her life.

  Sweet, wonderful Claire… who would be gone all too soon.

  Alexandra swallowed with some difficulty, hard-pressed to note what anyone else had received. Her own gift shattered her heart to small bits. It was beautiful, certainly, though it was a bittersweet reminder that very soon this golden locket was all she would have remaining of oldest, dearest friend… and… Claire was no longer a butterfly cocooned… she was a lovely winged butterfly preparing to fly away soon.

  Her very first instinct—her only instinct—was indubitably the one thing she could never again do… seek solace against Ben’s shoulder.

  Chapter 5

  Rule No. 5:

  On keeping one’s breath fresh.

  Fresh breath is festal breath! Keep peppermints in your reticule, or, if your reticule is not handy, opt for a sip of brandy or port. Also, please remember you are not required to kiss any animal, no matter how adorable, although you may sometimes find it preferable.

  Already well in his cups, Ben reappeared shortly before dinner, still avoiding Alexandra’s gaze.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t need Ben’s approval, nor his attention, but then, to make matters worse, she was assigned the worst possible seat at the table. To her right sat Ben—of course—his body rigid and his demeanor inhospitable.

  Directly across from her sat Prince Merrick, and flouting all convention, he sat beside his cheery wife.

  Naturally, Ian and Claire took seats of honor, and after everyone was settled there were still a few empty seats remaining for the Duchess and her brood. It was all Lexie could do not to rise up and take one of those, because Ben’s proximity was making her feel… confined.

  Tipping her goblet, she drained what little remained of her champagne then smiled amenably at Prince Merrick, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t remember the horrible night at Almacks. To her relief, he smiled back, and said conversationally, “As I understand it, you and Claire have been friends for quite some years?”

  Very gently, as though the glass might break, Alexandra put down her now empty goblet. “Yes, Your Highness,” she said very politely.

  “Call me Merrick,” he insisted. “Amidst friends, I am neither prince nor regent.” He lifted his glass, knocking it toward his brothers and said, “In any case, the honor now belongs to my brother.”

  “Merrick,” she relented. “Thank you.”

  But she couldn’t help it; tears stung her eyes as she cast Claire a discomfited glance. It seemed inevitable that every person in attendance must know her history with Claire… and her father’s, as well.

  “Oh, but M
errick,” said Ben, lifting his gaze—like a viper. “Perhaps you don’t recall, but you two have already had the pleasure of an introduction…”

  Judas!

  Alexandra blinked, refraining from casting Ben a baleful glance. Forcing a smile, she tried hard not to fling out an elbow and “accidentally” poke him in the eye. That night at Almacks was easily the most embarrassing evening of Alexandra’s life. She’d gushed incessantly over Prince Merrick, only to share a very brief dance with him—completely orchestrated by her mother—and then, after suffering his unyielding silence and countering it with endless chatter, he’d discarded her wordlessly by her mother’s side, his boredom and disdain perfectly equitable in his expression.

  Far from that now, Prince Merrick smiled very warmly, casting yet another loving glance at his wife. “Actually, I do recall,” he said good-naturedly. “One of Victoria’s soirees, is that correct?”

  “Yes,” said Alexandra, her cheeks burning hot. “I believe it must have been the first time you visited London.”

  More to the point, it was the first time he was invited by the Duchess of Kent to shop for a bride amidst her protégées. Her mother had gotten it into her head that Alexandra should be the one, and despite that she hadn’t had any romantic notions over becoming a queen, she’d felt beautiful that night, dressed in blue-pink shot silk taffeta—until.

  She slid Ben a thankless glance, only to discover he was watching her now, one brow raised. So then, was he trying to embarrass her on purpose?

  “If memory serves,” continued Merrick. “I recall you to be quite the cheerful young lady. I’m afraid, for personal reasons, that was not my finest moment.” He gave her an apologetic tilt of his head. “At any rate, it is, indeed, a pleasure to see you again, Lady Alexandra—and this time under far more pleasant circumstances. I very much look forward to your good cheer.”

  “As do I,” said his wife. “I’m so pleased to meet you, Lady Alexandra.”

  Alexandra swallowed. “Yes… well… I, too am thankful for the opportunity.”

  And she was.

  Truly, she was.

  But heaven knew, she hadn’t felt “cheerful” in months and months, and she was beginning to fear she might never again—certainly not with stabs in the back such as the one perpetrated by Ben. Why in the name of love would he say such a thing? Only to needle her?

  Lady Morrissey added, “If you’re anything at all like my dearest Claire, something tells me we shall all be fast friends!”

  “Claire is wonderful,” agreed Lexie, and she lifted up her fork—not because she was hungry, but imagining herself thrusting it at Ben, and wishing vehemently the evening were already over. With her left hand, she fingered the locket at her breast, taking comfort in Claire’s thoughtful gift.

  Except for Ben, everybody was treating her so kindly, their joy over being together more than apparent—so why did she feel so inexorably glum?

  Because Ben mattered, she realized. And it seemed to Lexie that he must despise her. The entire evening was proving to be almost as much a disaster as Almacks and it was all she could do to hold back tears as she sat listening to the remainder of the discourse.

  Only perhaps to make her feel more comfortable, Claire went on and on about hers and Alexandra’s childhood together—to utter exhaustion, because despite her bright and colorful description of Alexandra, Alexandra didn’t like the way it made her sound: vacuous, insipid, puerile, silly, frivolous and completely irresponsible. Really, how could anyone have any adulation for the girl Claire described?

  Oh, yes, she understood Claire meant her account with the kindest of regards, but Lexie was no longer that same foolish chit. And neither did she care to remember how very close she had been with Ben—not when he seemed so perfectly content to toss her beneath a carriage!

  Gracious as ever, Claire thanked Alexandra for dragging her out of the house on the night of Prince Merrick’s London reception, mainly because, had she not, Claire might never have married the man of her dreams. Despite that she and Ian met previously, it wasn’t until that reception that she suddenly, unexpectedly found herself engaged to a Prince—or so everyone believed.

  (As it turned out, Merrick was not Merrick at all. Prince Merrick was really Ian. And Prince Ian was really Merrick. It was all so confusing!)

  Thankfully, Claire left out the one reason they’d gone to the silly ball in the first place—because she had dearly hoped to make Ben jealous.

  Sadly, it was true. She had only ever longed for Ben to realize that if he didn’t make some move forthwith, she might be lost to him evermore.

  And then, when she was proven to be less than desirable, he was a witness to the entire disaster.

  That was the only reason she’d cried—not because Prince Merrick discarded her. There was simply nothing about the Prince that appealed to her, and it was only now, in the comfort of this holiday-inspired home, that she realized he must be more than she’d once supposed. It was quite evident that he loved his wife, and he wasn’t as cold as she’d feared. In fact, he was far, far kinder to her throughout the evening than Ben seemed inclined to be.

  She was grateful when the conversation ventured elsewhere, but all the while she quietly drank whilst she listened to Benjamin and Wes discuss their recent collaboration—what it could be Alexandra daren’t ask because it sounded suspiciously as though it were born of the troubles Ben endured with her father—not a topic that would endear her to anyone. So, then, every time her champagne glass was refilled, Alexandra lifted the bubbly to her lips, quaffing the contents.

  During the course of the evening she also learned that the abdication of Meridian’s throne was not yet official, that Prince Ian would accept his crown in a ceremony to be held in the province of Meridian one month following his and Claire’s nuptials. As a compromise to the bride and her family, the wedding itself would be held in London, witnessed and blessed by King William.

  Alexandra herself might have been wounded over the fact that not only did she not know anything about the extraordinary event, but now she wondered who would be Claire’s maiden of honor… Chloe… Lady Morrissey… God forbid, please not Victoria?

  And yet, so much as she would like to take offense over it all, it was really impossible to feel any enmity toward anyone but Ben, because amidst all the things Alexandra learned this evening, she was also discovering how very rude Ben could be—utterly and hopelessly.

  Rude.

  Indeed, she was only beginning to realize how very fine that line was between love and hate—and, yes, indeed, she had loved Ben… truly, madly and passionately. As passionately as she was beginning to loathe him right now.

  Blackguard.

  Cad.

  Rude, insufferable bore.

  She took yet another sip of champagne, her melancholy turning to unmitigated fury.

  “Alexandra,” said Chloe, lowering a hand to her belly—a gesture not entirely encouraged in polite society, though it gave a very nice sense that she was caressing her unborn child. “Will you be joining us in Meridian for the coronation?”

  “I…”

  “Oh, we haven’t discussed that yet,” interrupted Claire. “But I suppose now is as good a time as any.” She turned to address Alexandra, smiling genuinely. “Alexandra, since we are rushing away directly after the ceremony… I dearly hoped you would allow—” She turned her brilliant gaze upon Ben— “My brother to escort you to Meridian.”

  Blinking in surprise, both Alexandra and Ben turned to look at each another, their gazes mirroring the same sense of horror. Ben smiled tightly. And then suddenly, their gazes skittered away—Alexandra’s to her plate, and Ben’s to meet his sister’s hopeful gaze. He sighed then, and it sounded as though his entire chest deflated before answering, but he said, “Yes, yes, of course. It would be my pleasure.”

  And then he glanced at Alexandra—or at least she felt his regard, and realizing all eyes must be upon them, Alexandra lifted her gaze to meet Ben’s glinting g
reen eyes. She forced a smile. “Yes,” she said. “I, too, would be delighted.” Though her heart beat so ferociously over that lie that she feared the entire company must hear it.

  “Wonderful,” said Ben.

  “Wonderful,” said Alexandra.

  “Wonderful,” said Claire. “Now that that’s settled, would anybody like to try a bit of plum pudding?”

  When nobody reached for it, she said, “Funny. The General and his wife made us promise to try it. They made it weeks and weeks ago, only to learn they would be traveling. Alas, we did the same, never dreaming we would eat so much plum pudding!”

  Like a small brown hill, the lump of pudding sat unclaimed, pitifully ignored—like Alexandra. All eyes traveled elsewhere—the ceiling, the walls, the buffet, and Alexandra’s gaze traveled to the door, feeling as lamentable as the lump of pudding. Why, oh why had she come?

  Escaping the very instant she could, Lexie found a quiet place to hide in the parterre. What a change—Claire holding court, whilst she hid from the revelry. Only tonight Alexandra felt quite certain Claire wouldn’t be searching high and low for her, because Claire herself was at the center of attention and in rare form.

  The entire lot of them were now ensconced in the parlor, drinking arrack punch and playing charades.

  Alexandra didn’t need any punch. She’d had more than enough sparkling champagne over dinner—nervous drinking, she supposed. A little time out in the fresh, crisp air would do her good.

  Except… now she wished she’d brought herself a heavier coat, especially if she was going to be sequestering herself out in the garden. And nevertheless, at the moment she was far too furious with Ben to be the least bit sad, or even cold. Anger kept her warm as surely as would a hearth fire. And still there was nothing cozy about this holiday—nothing at all to remind her of those days in Shropshire. Those days were done!

  You must not grieve them, she told herself.