The Last in Line (The Royal Inheritance Series Book 1) (23 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AUDREY DIDN’T MINCE WORDS. Nor did she sit still. She was a firecracker who, even when at rest, had eyes that flitted and danced and missed nothing. Audrey’s first clash with Roberts occurred about thirty seconds after she walked into the room. She removed a scarf that had circlets of mirror sewn all over it that threw shards of light around the room as she unwound it.

“No more parlor teas,” she said.

“I beg your pardon,” said Roberts.

“She’s not posh. She’s a cowboy. The newspapers will eat her for lunch every time she mispronounces a word or uses the wrong fork for her salad.”

“These things can be taught,” said Roberts.

“Of course they can, but we’re on a time crunch. It’s only six weeks until the final vote. I’ve followed her in the news and she’s remarkable when she’s relaxed, but apt to say embarrassing things when put on the spot. Shall I replay the Yorkshire pudding comment for you or would you prefer the video of the heiress losing her cookies?”

Renee turned red, but had to agree with Audrey’s assessment, although she wished they wouldn’t talk about her as if she wasn’t in the room.

“Look, we’ve got a product that no one has ever seen here before. Let’s use that to our advantage,” said Audrey.

“I’m not a product,” said Renee, jutting out her chin much as Cassandra would have.

“Of course you’re not, duckie,” said Audrey soothingly, “except that you
are
and no one is buying it. People are buying Bretton, though.”

              Renee couldn’t deny it. Even though she was the official heiress presumptive, Bretton got all the press. His stunt at the League of Royal Bastards ball had leaked to the papers. Somehow, each story neglected to mention that he had eaten a knuckle sandwich prior to being escorted out.              The current newspaper lying on the table had a headline screaming that the League of Royal Bastards were now split. Erastus Hughes had just called to say that he was issuing a statement denying it and that the organization whole-heartedly backed the true legal heiress. Renee sighed.
The Telegraph
, which generally supported Britchford’s party, had published gorgeous photographs of the League Ball and Renee looked very elegant, but it was no match for the image of Bretton in a riding outfit, standing amongst a group of financiers out for a foxhunt. Renee noticed that Bretton wore sunglasses in all of the pictures—no doubt hiding his black eye—and she doubted if Bretton could even sit on a horse without falling off, but the image was all that mattered. He looked handsome, he looked casual, and he looked at home in a lifestyle fit for a king.

“What should we do?” asked Renee. “I’m trying my damnedest here, to live up to everyone’s expectations, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

Audrey softened her brisk demeanor. “You’re new to the country and to its traditions so let’s put you in situations where you will shine. A visit to a farm for rescued horses, perhaps? You grew up in an agricultural environment so time spent in the countryside with regular people would be a natural place for you. A couple of glam photo shoots wouldn’t hurt either.” Audrey continued to toss out ideas and although Roberts completely nixed the idea of staging an American-style rodeo, he came around to Audrey’s point of view that they shouldn’t shy away from Renee’s past, but embrace it.

And that was how Renee found herself facing thirty pairs of hardened, cynical eyes at a Liverpool home for struggling, young mothers. None of them looked older than twenty and despite their hostile, slack expressions, Renee recognized the dark circles under their eyes and knew that it was due to financial worry and nights disrupted by the needs of babies and children. The home director whispered that Renee shouldn’t worry if the young women seemed rude because they were rude to everyone, but Renee didn’t worry. She understood these girls. She had been there.

“Hi y’all,” said Renee, taking a seat on wooden chair in the front of the small classroom where they had gathered. More than one woman rolled her eyes. They clearly were only here because they were required to be as part of their assistance. Several children squirmed in their mothers’ arms or ran between the seats. A small boy tripped and Renee swooped him up before he hit the floor and plopped him on her lap. Renee asked who he belonged to and a woman in the back, who looked no more than eighteen, shyly raised her hand. “You mind if I borrow him for a few minutes?” asked Renee and the girl shook her head. The little boy decided he liked it on Renee’s lap and snuggled in her shoulder as she talked. “I’m going to tell you a story about a woman who found herself pregnant and completely alone. The boyfriend ran off and the car wouldn’t start. Sounds like a great beginning, huh?”

No one smiled, but no one rolled their eyes either. Renee took encouragement from that and continued to speak for the next hour about how she’d had to work herself to the bone simply to pay the rent, and then come home after a long shift and babysit the neighbor’s children until midnight simply so they in turn would look after Cassandra during the day. It was a lot of scrambling and belt-tightening and missed school meetings, but she did what she had to do and her daughter continued to grow and impress her. Life improved slightly after her marriage, but well, they could all see how that had turned out. This time the classroom of women laughed or nodded their heads. They understood. By the end of the hour the women were raising their hands and asking questions.

When it was time to leave, Renee was mobbed by the women who had lost their angry expressions and now looked like the frightened girls they really were. Renee hugged each of them and listened to them as they told her their life stories. Some of them clung to her with tears in their eyes, happy to have someone finally understand what they were going through. One heavily pregnant woman, who already had a little girl holding on to her leg, promised that she would name her new baby George or Georgina when it was born. Renee put her hand to the woman’s belly and said she would be honored to be considered the child’s godmother. And it was this picture that was printed in the newspaper the next day.

Another day saw her serving meals at a homeless shelter and staying for the cleanup, cheerfully calling out the day’s “specials” and exchanging jokes with the “customers”.  Many of the people seemed overwhelmed to be served by a royal heir, but when one bewildered man asked how she could lower herself to work in a shelter, she simply laughed and replied that if he had seen some of the places she had worked in, he wouldn’t think she was lowering herself. A little work never hurt anybody, she said and added a bread roll to his plate.

Nobody worked harder than Renee in those weeks. It was Audrey’s goal to have her visit every county in the United Kingdom, not only so that Renee could be seen, but so that she could come to understand the country and people she would be representing. They stopped in at pubs for meals, shook hands, signed autographs and posed for pictures. Renee felt like a politician, but the thought of Bretton gaining the throne fueled her to keep going, keep smiling, and keep listening. Renee and Cassandra were eager pupils and Cassandra, especially, delighted listeners by mimicking the accent of whatever locale they were in that day. It began to be whispered in many quarters that even if Renee were an awkward fit for the throne, Cassandra would grow into it.

Renee was beginning to receive so much press that Bretton was pressured into missing a glamorous event or two in order to do a public service project. It was becoming a race as to who could win the hearts and minds of the populace and even though the vote was in the hands of Parliament and the Parliament was in the hands of Rufus, there was still a chance that if she gained enough momentum, Rufus would be forced to back Renee.

If the race was becoming a battle of optics, it was also a battle of narratives. The whole country had suddenly become experts in royal genealogy and programs going into the details of the Bretton and Montshire lines never failed to receive high ratings. Audrey, in her role as publicist, did not hesitate to utilize the discoveries made at Highlowe House or accidentally refer to Ammon Bretton as Rafe Bretton and never tired of pointing out that the Brettons had no direct descent from any royal line, but had merely married into a family that had royal connections. Erastus Hughes joked that Bretton should apply for membership in the League of Royal Bastards, a joke that clearly grated on Bretton, who replied publically that he didn’t need to join the League because the League, if it had any pride at all and didn’t want to always be subservient, would join him.

Hughes laughed heartily at this, but Renee was worried. She sometimes wondered if she could completely trust Erastus. His deliverance of the League to her was a present that might turn out to bite her in the end. Its members prized tradition, but felt they had been excluded from their heritage, and Renee could not promise to bring about what they wanted. If she did recognize the Bastards as legitimate descendants, wouldn’t many of them then have stronger claims to the throne than herself? Bretton’s claim certainly became more compelling if she did so and Erastus himself would then be elevated to a position as one of the first inheritors if something should happen to her or Cassandra. There was so much to consider, but one thing was certain, before she could make promises to anyone, she had to learn who to trust and so far that circle of trust included only Cassandra, Roberts, Chase, and Audrey. And possibly Simon Coakely, she thought warmly. Even Britchford was on her trust-but-verify list ever since her talk with Erastus at Highlowe. It didn’t feel much like a stable foundation, but it was all she had at the moment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

THE LIGHTS SHINED right into Renee’s eyes, but she fought the urge to put her hand up to shield them. She couldn’t see the audience, but she could hear them shift in their seats and whisper quietly to each other. She glanced to her right and saw Audrey, Roberts and Chase standing in the wings. Audrey was biting her nails and Chase flashed her a thumbs up sign. Cassandra was at the hotel suite with Leanne watching on television. She turned back to the man interviewing her, a pleasant older man with a Yorkshire accent who seemed instinctively to know how to put her at ease for her first interview. He started out easy, noting her upbringing on a horse ranch and subsequent interest in horses and competition in rodeos. He joked that perhaps the Queen’s equestrian guards should swap their military hats for ten gallon hats. This prompted smiles from Renee and the audience. Renee replied that they had a very good military use because they kept the rain off.

They had considered several interviewers for her first television appearance. Audrey had rejected about twenty names and frequently clashed with Roberts during the discussions. She was very insistent that no one from the “smart” set should be given the coveted first interview because they were sure to patronize her for her lack of education and style.

“It’s got to be Michael Hutchison of the
Hey Hutch Show
,” she had said. “He’s an institution. Everyone knows him and likes him. He’s like everyone’s grandfather. If he approves of you then all of his grandchildren—the viewers—will approve of you too.” Renee asked how she would know he approved of her. “Easy, he’ll put his hand on your knee sometime during the interview. He’s a notorious flirt.”

Not if he wants to keep his hand, Renee had replied, but secretly she prayed that he would.

Hutchison leaned on the arm of his chair. The audience was so quiet she swore she could hear her eyelashes beat together as she blinked.

“And what was it like, when you first found out who you were? How did that come about?” he asked.

This was it. This is what a worldwide audience was tuning in to hear.

“I was in disbelief.”

“How did you react?” he asked.

“I might have taken a swing at them with the baseball bat.” she admitted. “I thought my husband had sent the two British gentlemen to play a practical joke on me.”

The audience chuckled. Renee smiled with them and looked down. Her gaze landed on her shoe ware. Even her outfit had been agonized over; the gorgeous black cowboy boots had been custom ordered from a small outfit in Texas just for this interview. The boot buckle caught the light like jewelry.

“How did your husband take the news?” asked Hutchison.

Renee took a breath. This was one of the sticker subjects that might sink her if she wasn’t careful.

Despite being hauled out of Renee’s hotel suite, Chase had been unable to deport him. He was under a restraining order to keep his distance from Renee, but was free to talk to reporters and talk he did. No detail of their married life was sacrosanct. The public knew that Renee burned shirts with an iron, had been estranged from her father and mother, and had once been fired from a job for talking back to the boss. He also never failed to play the role of the aggrieved husband who was ditched as soon as his wife found out she was going to inherit a fortune, which infuriated Renee more than anything else. Renee didn’t know how Ray was keeping afloat financially while he was in England, but suspected that Bretton had something to do with it. In fact, Bretton could afford to sit back and keep silent since Ray was doing the work for him. She needed to put an end to this and recalled the words Audrey had told her after Renee had angrily switched off yet another news show where Ray was spewing his lies: she had something to offer that no one else did, the truth. And the truth would ring as clear as bells on a beautiful day.

Renee felt calm as she spoke.

“By the time I learned who I was, he had already walked out on me. He spent the rent money at the pool hall and paying for a boob job for one of his floozies. I had to work double shifts at the diner just to buy food. I filed for divorce a week before I learned the unbelievable news and now he’s holding the divorce papers hostage and refusing to sign them unless I cut a deal with him agreeing to give him a portion of the assets, meaning a portion of the royal assets.” She let those words sink in so everyone would understand the blackmail that was being held over her head. Renee leaned forward and looked right at the camera. “But honey, the only assets you’re ever going to get your hands on are the ones you paid for on that two-bit, home-wrecking tramp. Enjoy them.”

The audience erupted in cheers. Renee leaned weakly back in her chair. Her hands shook slightly as she took a drink from the glass of water provided for her, but no one noticed.

“I think you just spoke for every wronged woman in existence,” said Hutchison, slapping her on the knee and squeezing. “I might know one or two of them myself.” He mimed pulling at his collar like he was feeling the heat.

The audience continued to applaud and whistle, and for the rest of the interview she felt that they were on her side. They liked her and believed her. More importantly, Hutch had touched her knee.

When the interview was over, Renee felt terrific.

“That was incredible!” said Audrey, flinging herself at Renee when she walked back into the wings.

“Well done,” said Roberts with his usual calm. “And to you, Miss Finch.”

Audrey beamed.

Chase seemed to be working hard to keep from smiling. “He paid for a boob job, eh?” He paused and stared intently at her. “He’s crazy.” Both Chase and Renee looked away from each other feeling all the awkwardness of the moment. His mobile buzzed and he walked a few paces away to take the call.

Hutchison strolled up to greet her.

“Lady Montshire, that was a smashing good interview. People will be talking about it tomorrow. I doubt any interview since the punk musician Wretch Roth announced he was going New Wave will have as much impact. I hope to have you on again as a guest. Perhaps
mano a mano
with Ammon Bretton, or—dare I even breathe it—perhaps after the coronation?”

“Let’s not put the plow before the horse,” said Renee. “There’s still the little matter of whose name will be on the Bill of Succession.”

Renee had been careful to avoid politics in the interview and not cast aspersions on the Prime Minister, but her very reticence to speak about it after Hutchison asked her direct questions spoke volumes.

The jovial Hutchison scowled. “I’ve heard some grumblings on this point and how it’s been handled, but I believe your odds are better now than they were an hour ago before the interview.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Hutchison,” said Renee and meant it.

“It’s Hutch. And it was your words that did the trick. I merely provided the platform. This country has never been too long without a monarch. It feels unnatural.”

“But you would have one even if Bretton is chosen,” Renee pointed out.

“Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, don’t you think? And we know an awful lot about you now.” Hutch winked.

They parted and when Renee stepped into the light of day, instead of smiling shyly and waving at the paparazzi as she usually did, she waded into the mix, saying “Thank you,” and “How y’all doing?”
No problem,
she thought,
just remember how you acted when you won Rodeo Queen
.
You were everybody’s best friend.

Her security team tried to prevent people from getting too close, but she shook as many hands as she could. “Get used to it,” she said to Chase as she signed an autograph. He had been trying to create some space between her and the horde.

A black limousine pulled up and she was bustled inside. Chase told her that Harry would ride in front and that he, Roberts, and Audrey would take a second car.

“But we didn’t arrive this way,” she said.

Chase shrugged and from the clench of his jaw she judged that he wasn’t happy about something. She continued to wave and say thank you until he closed the door. She settled back into the deep leather seat, relieved that her first interview had gone so well, and nearly screamed when she realized she wasn’t alone in the vehicle. A man with a bushy mustache and eyebrows, and with a nose like a street boxer sat in the far corner across from her. He looked furious.

“Prime Minister Rufus! What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he said.

Renee stared at him levelly. “I am going back to the hotel to eat dinner. If you would like a full itinerary, I’m sure Roberts can get that information to you. Would you like to join us?”

The Prime Minister rolled a cigar stub between his thumb and forefinger. He looked as he was weighing his words. “No. Thank you.”

Renee waited. She was still trying to get control of her galloping heart rate.

“What were you doing giving an interview?” he asked.

“Is there something wrong with giving an interview?”

“No. Yes. Yes, there is, in fact. You implied that my government is playing politics with the monarchy.”

“Are you?” asked Renee.

“Absolutely not! But you implied it.”

“No, I didn’t. All I said was that I can’t speak for the government about how things will be decided.”

Rufus put the cigar stub between his teeth and chewed on it.

“Do you remember what I said—that I would help you if you would help me?” said Rufus.

“How could I forget?” said Renee.

“That offer still stands, but you are not doing yourself any favors by giving interviews.”

Renee had had enough. “Mr. Prime Minister, can we stop talking bull and start talking cattle? What is it you want?”

Rufus’s eyes widened, but then he smiled, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “There’s something to be said for the American way of doing business. All right, Queenie, here it is. I will personally write your name onto the Bill of Succession if you will publicly support my agenda.”

“And what is your agenda?”

“To help the downtrodden, those who can’t help themselves.”

Renee considered his words. “How
exactly
do you plan on helping the downtrodden?”

“By bringing Britain into the modern world. It’s easier to get things done when part of a larger whole, rather than floating isolated out here in the sea like a turd floating in the toilet. Full monetary union with Europe and adoption of the Euro would give us access to so much: to expert workers and different ways of doing things and we’d be plugged into the monetary distribution system which would boost what the government could do here at home in Britain. We wouldn’t be limited by what our taxes could bring in. We could have more. ” Rufus, who had leaned forward while making his pitch, now sat back. “It’s a win-win situation. Americans like win-win situations.”

“Americans also know that it works both way. If Europe is giving up something to Britain, then Britain is going to have to give up something to Europe, like it’s freedom,” said Renee.

“But it works for the Americans. Think of it—a United States of Europe!”

“I don’t know,” said Renee, doubtfully. “I kind of like Britain the way it is.”

“We could increase the royal budget,” said Rufus, abandoning all niceties. “We could allocate funds to rebuild that little house you were looking at with that fool, Hughes. Oh, yes, I know all about that, the Montshire ruins,” he said with a sneer.

“I’m not for sale,” snapped Renee.

“You are a sweet, young lady and new to politics. You will soon learn that everyone has their point of persuasion.”

“I’m not going to sell out England for the promise of a house.”

“Helping England is not selling out. And you’ll need somewhere to live. The hotel is paid for by the government,” he said.

“That’s true.”

“We could stop paying it.”

“Oh,” said Renee, raising an eyebrow. “Have you decided to pass the Bill of Succession with Bretton’s name on it?”

The very mention of his name made the bile rise in her throat.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t be so hasty,” said Rufus.

“What other meaning could there be?” she asked. “You threatened to cut off my funding, which means you don’t think I will be the monarch.”

“Threats? Who is speaking of threats? I merely reminded you that the sovereign’s expenses are paid for out of the public purse.”

“Thank you for the reminder. I’ll be sure to remind the public of this when I’m kicked out of the hotel for unpaid bills.”

Rufus ground the cigar so much he had to spit bits of it out.

“You should take up chewing tobacco,” said Renee, disgusted.

Rufus turned red.

“Mrs. Krebs—”

“It’s Lady Montshire,” said Renee.

“Oh ho, you’ve certainly come up in the world since I met you, haven’t you,
Lady Montshire
? You’re not fooling anybody. Well, I come from the gutter too, from council estates in Leeds, and I understand you. I understand your need to prove yourself to the swells, but they’ll never accept you. They don’t even accept me and I’m the bloody Prime Minister. They fear me, though. And I could help you. If you work with me, I’ll work with you. This is my final offer.”