The Impostor Prince Read online

  Claire wasn’t certain she was hearing him correctly. “Why?”

  He smiled. “Well, you see, Claire, I was just a hideous little caterpillar when I met you. And now—well, I’m still just a hideous little caterpillar,” he admitted. “But I think I can grow to be that butterfly you so admire…with you in my life.”

  It was the most beautiful proposal Claire had ever heard—not that she’d heard many, but it was certainly better than her first.

  She choked on a giggle.

  “I’ll never lie to you again!” he swore vehemently, moving to the edge of the bed. “And I’ll buy you a thousand books—you can read them any time you like. And I promise you’ll never have to wear shoes again if you don’t want to.” He lifted his brows. “Or even dresses, for that matter.”

  Claire gasped, covering her mouth, laughing as fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “What do you say, lass? Will you be my wife?”

  Claire nodded and flew into his arms. “Yes!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him. “Oh, yes!”

  But then she suddenly pushed him away. “What will your father say?”

  “I wouldn’t worry overmuch about him,” Ian reassured her, reaching up to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. “He’s on his way to making his own amends. And if I know my mother, she’ll keep him far too preoccupied with restitution to worry about either of his wayward sons.”

  Claire choked on another giggle, joy overwhelming her.

  He pushed her gently back down upon the bed. “You, on the other hand, must worry about this particular son quite a lot!” And he bent to kiss her on the mouth.

  “I love you,” he said again.

  “I love you,” Claire confessed, laughing against his puckering lips. “And, yes, I will marry you…on one condition.”

  “And what might that be?”

  She clutched his shirt, pulling him down atop her. “You must never, never stop kissing me,” she demanded.

  He chuckled low, the sound heartwarming. “I’d like tae see you try and keep me from it,” he warned her, pressing his mouth against her lips once more.

  She whispered in his ear. “Not like that…”

  He lifted his head and tilted her a curious look, spying the wicked expression on her face, the glimmer in her eyes. “I see,” he said, raising his eyebrows and laughing as he dove beneath the sheets.

  Epilogue

  The sky was uncharacteristically blue, belying the soberness of the day. More appropriately, there should have been another gray London sunrise.

  Julian Merrick Welbourne II stood staring at the grave where his half brother lay. The freshly packed soil was rich and black, speckled with upturned clippings of brilliant green—a stark symbol of life and death, and the swiftness and violence with which life could be upturned.

  He’d buried Edward without ever having acknowledged their relation.

  It seemed pointless to confess it now, when the man was dead and there was no hope for atonement.

  He’d like to have shed a tear, at least. But his eyes remained dry for the brother who, despite the fact that he’d been denied kinship, and in spite of his obvious unresolved anger, and despite the fact that time and distance had placed wedges between them, had taken the bullet meant for Julian.

  Blood was, indeed, thicker than water.

  Somehow, that fact left him feeling hollow as he stood alone in a final, anonymous tribute to a man he’d never really bothered to know. He had sent Edward, his father’s “mistake,” away. He had also banished Fiona—his “lapse in judgment,” as his father had called her—and he’d kept one of their twin sons to raise in a house full of lies. Merrick had never suspected. In the end, the guilt had driven Julian nearly to madness.

  He stared at the ground, clearheaded for the first time in months, maybe years.

  Edward had been the last of his blood kin except for his sons. And both of them surely loathed him now, after discovering the truth.

  After their encounter with Lord Huntington, Ian had left London without ever giving Julian the opportunity to explain himself. Apparently, he felt he knew all he needed to know. And, evidently, there had been little love lost between him and Edward, as well, because Ian hadn’t even considered remaining to see the man put into the ground.

  And Merrick…if he didn’t already despise Julian after facing his true mother for the first time in his life, Ian would surely turn his heart once he returned to Glen Abbey.

  Julian removed his hat and tossed it down upon the grave, then walked away, disgusted—more with himself than with anything else.

  Someday, his own funeral would not be so different, he feared. Perhaps, perforce, strangers and acquaintances would pay him respects, but his own family—the word was somehow alien to him—would be painfully absent.

  Would he look down from some higher place and see blank, unfamiliar faces?

  Shuddering, he walked out of the cemetery to find Ryo waiting by the carriage. The loyal servant spared Julian the benefit of his wisdom, for the moment, and simply gave a sober nod as he opened the carriage door.

  Julian gave the cemetery one last backward glance. Though they spent a great deal of time in London, their family had no official parish here. Members of the Meridian Royal House were traditionally laid to rest on familial soil. But because Edward was, to everyone’s best knowledge, nothing more than a servant, Julian had had him interred in Kensal Green’s All Souls public cemetery. At least he had a gravestone that bore his name. At this point, that was all Julian could do. He mounted the carriage and closed the door.

  The return trip to Berkeley Square was dreary, despite the sunny day. Once home, Julian went to his office, pulled the drapes and withdrew the image of Fiona from his drawer. He set it down upon the desk to contemplate. It was only then that he noticed the package that had been delivered and placed on one corner of his desk. It was a small, wrapped handkerchief with a dirty note attached to it.

  He untied the handkerchief and unwrapped it, revealing its contents: Merrick’s ring bearing the royal crest of Meridian.

  A multitude of emotions assaulted him at once. At the forefront came self-disgust. He’d never, even once, noticed the ring missing from Ian’s finger. He’d been so self-involved, and so concerned with Merrick fulfilling his duty to Meridian, that he hadn’t paid a single moment of attention to what his son was saying, or, more importantly, what he wasn’t saying.

  With trembling hands, he lifted up the note. It read “My dearest brother, wear it in good health.” And it was signed J. Merrick Welbourne III.

  Merrick had disowned himself.

  All these years, the fear of loss had led Julian to commit acts that now tormented him. And his son had so easily discarded his position, along with everything that went with it.

  Stunned, he stared at the ring, trying to determine what could be so bloody important that a man could walk away from everything.

  It was almost more than he could bear.

  “Ryosan!” he shouted.

  As though he’d been waiting just outside the door, Ryo popped his head in at once.

  Julian could feel his face heating. “What is this?” he demanded to know, pointing at the filthy handkerchief cradling the royal insignia ring.

  Very calmly, Ryo approached the desk. “It appears to be denka-sama’s ring,” he said, announcing the obvious.

  Julian stood. “I know what it is!” he returned, smacking his hand upon the desk. “What I want to know is how it arrived here!”

  Unaffected by his anger, Ryo’s deep black eyes twinkled. “It was delivered earlier this morning, before the funeral, by a man who called himself Rusty Broun. The package was addressed to Ian, but since denka has gone, I thought it best be given to you.”

  As the import of the missive fully penetrated, Julian sank back down into his chair.

  Both of his sons had abandoned him.

  He was completely alone.

  Everything that mattered in this wor
ld was in Glen Abbey.

  “Where did I go so wrong?” he asked aloud.

  “Saru mo ki kara ochiru,” Ryo said in his native tongue.

  The words penetrated, but Julian hadn’t a blessed clue what the man was trying to say. Everything with Ryo was a bloody riddle. “Even monkeys fall from trees?” he translated, confused.

  “Even experts make mistakes,” Ryo enlightened him. “It is what you do with the mistake once you become aware of it that is the true measure of a man’s character.”

  Julian blinked, trying to make sense of the events of the past months…of the emotions assailing him now.

  He’d met Ryo during a diplomatic visit to Siam when Merrick was merely five. The Asian had come to serve him after his own master had threatened to have him beheaded for thievery. In fact, it had been a very, very inquisitive little Merrick who’d taken the master’s carved ivory dragon’s egg. Having hidden the fascinating bauble with the express purpose of spiriting it away to Meridian, Merrick had watched, wide-eyed, as Ryo’s master had accused him, then sentenced him in the same breath. Ryo had known the thief’s true identity, but he hadn’t revealed it. And Merrick had scurried away then, returned at once with the egg in hand, confessed his crime before Ryo’s master, and begged that Ryo be spared. Though they wouldn’t have harmed him, Merrick couldn’t have known that, and he’d earned himself a lifetime servant and friend for confessing to a crime that would have resulted in most men’s heads being served upon a platter—literally. Saved from his fate, Ryo had pledged to become Merrick’s sensei, teaching him the ways of the world. The two had been inseparable ever since.

  Julian stared at the ring.

  Perhaps he should take a lesson from his son.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late to confess himself.

  It might even earn him his sons’ forgiveness.

  At worst, well, it could be no worse than the fate laid out before him now: to live the rest of his years alone, without anyone who mattered.

  At best, well, he couldn’t count on that…but it was worth a try.

  “Prepare the carriage,” he commanded Ryo.

  Ryo’s eyes glinted. “Where shall we go, heika?”

  “To Glen Abbey,” Julian announced.

  The last time Fiona saw her sons together they were infants in Meridian, twin little golden-haired cherubs sharing the same crib and the same sweet little smile. Now, they were grown men, uncannily similar in appearance—only side-by-side was it possible to see that Ian was slightly larger of build, that Merrick’s skin was slightly lighter, Ian’s hair a little more sunkissed. But instead of seeming distant and cold toward one another, or even merely cordial, they were like true brothers, she mused, debating philosophies, sharing secrets, teasing one another and laughing heartily. It was as though by wearing the other’s shoes, each brother had come to know the other in a way that even years together could not have accomplished.

  And now, both had women who adored them, whom they adored in return. It was all a mother could hope for—someone to love her sons as much as she did.

  What was more, both Chloe and Claire seemed to be fast friends, and Claire had begun to accompany Chloe on sick visits to the villagers’ homes. At the moment, the two were busy planning Chloe’s and Merrick’s wedding, which was to be held in the little chapel that had once safeguarded the Stone of Scone. She’d left her sons to discuss their renewal plans for Glen Abbey, as they were overseeing the manor’s reconstruction together. Once the manor was restored, they intended to begin construction on a new hospital. Chloe was beside herself with joy over the prospect.

  Fiona dismissed the distant sound of hammers and saws as she immersed herself in the peace of her rose garden. A butterfly flitted past, then landed gently upon a fat green leaf. For Fiona’s part, she was relieved just to have salvaged her roses from the fire. The garden was her tribute to a distant time, when love was hers to cherish and hopes were still as high and strong as Meridian’s peaks.

  But enough about losses. She was eternally grateful for the second chance to see her sons live out their lives and to know her grandchildren. Chloe was expecting a Christmas baby. And she was both saddened and relieved to learn that Edward had passed away—she refused to dwell upon that, however. There were no dark clouds on the horizon on this fine, brisk day.

  Noticing a hint of bright red amid the green foliage, she hurried toward the promise of a bud. In all her years of trying to coax her tiny, exotic roses to flower, she had merely a handful of successes. This bright morning, with the sun warming her shoulders, the mere possibility of finding a healthy blossom elated her.

  She bent to inspect the tiny bud, breathing in the scent of greenery and just a wee hint of perfume. This time, instead of plucking the blossom, she would leave it to grow. Maybe in whisking past buds indoors to coax blooms from the protection of her vases, she had prevented their flourishing. No, this time, she planned to watch the bud stretch wide so that butterflies and bees could dance upon its petals. She would leave it to soak in the dew and to dry in the sun…and maybe next year she would be rewarded with many more blossoms.

  No more secrets.

  No more fear.

  No more sorrow.

  It was a new day.

  “Fiona?” a distantly familiar voice intruded.

  Fiona’s stomach twisted. She stood and turned to face the man she had both loved and feared for so many years.

  For the longest moment, she could only stand there, staring, her heart hammering.

  She had not looked into those pale blue eyes in nearly twenty-eight years, but she knew them. They still held her enthralled.

  Though he was handsome still, his face was just a bit too gaunt. Otherwise, he was largely unchanged, except for a few lines etched about the eyes and mouth.

  But she was not the same.

  She was a mature woman and she’d lived a lifetime without him. She certainly didn’t need him now. She turned away, her tone steady, despite her shaking limbs. “What are you doing here, Julian?”

  “Forgive me,” he begged her.

  An aching moment of silence passed as Fiona refused to look at him.

  “I suffer a ringing in my ears that will not cease to torment me,” he said, his voice breaking.

  It was hardly the first thing she had expected him to say to her.

  A sob caught in her throat. Her legs felt weak. Tears pricked at her eyes.

  She had once sent him a portrait signed in that fashion, wanting him to know how much she missed him, how terrible the distance was between them.

  Despite her resolve to keep her barriers intact, his statement penetrated her defenses. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “I’ve been a fool,” he said, his eyes glistening. “A stupid fool. Can you ever forgive me, Fiona?”

  For just an instant, she was again that young girl who would have given anything to hear those words from his lips. She had to remind herself that too many years had passed, that she could never so easily dismiss the pain he had brought upon them all.

  “Do Merrick and Ian know you are here?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he told her. “But you have my word I’ll not interfere. I’ve resolved to accept whatever decisions our sons have made, and I am desperate to prove myself to you, if only you’ll allow it.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

  What had he expected her to say? Too many years had passed to simply fly into his arms.

  “I have something to give you,” he said, producing a package from behind his back.

  It looked like an ordinary hatbox—an old one, at that. Did he think he could ply her with presents?

  Fiona lifted her chin. “I don’t need any gifts from you,” she assured him. “I have everything I could possibly desire.”

  Almost everything, a little voice countered.

  “But this was yours to begin with,” he persisted. “I am merely returning it.”

  The only thing Fion
a wanted returned was the deed to her ancestral home—at least, what was left of it. She tilted her head.

  He took a step forward. “Will you accept it?”

  She hesitated a moment, then accepted the package from his outstretched hand, still afraid to hope. Eyeing him suspiciously, she held the box in one hand and opened the lid with the other, revealing a familiar piece of parchment lying atop what seemed to be a collection of letters. Her heart tripped at the sight of it, and she peered up at him, surprised. “The deed to Glen Abbey?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Why now?”

  “I want you to be completely free to follow your heart after you read the accompanying letters.”

  She placed the deed inside the box and lifted one of the letters. It was addressed to her. They were all addressed to her, she realized—so many of them!

  “I should have sent them long ago,” he lamented. “I never stopped loving you, Fiona.”

  Confusion stole away her thoughts. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing. Simply read them,” he requested of her. “Afterward, if you feel you wish to see me, I’ll be waiting at the inn. If you choose not to, send word and I will go.” He turned to leave.

  Tears slid down her cheeks. “Julian!” she called to him.

  He turned, hope nestled in his blue eyes.

  “Stay,” she relented. “For dinner,” she clarified as she set the box on the ground so she could swipe away her tears.

  He smiled, and she could see that it was genuine.

  She stretched out her hand. “Come…let me show you my rose garden,” she offered.

  He reached out to take her hand, and as their fingers entwined, years of pain and anger seemed to slip away.

  Together, they took the first steps toward healing and forgiveness.

  What Julian didn’t reveal was what lay below the letters at the bottom of the hatbox.

  Together, for the first time in nearly thirty years, lay the complete set of Meridian’s crown jewels—the sapphire and diamond necklace, the tiara and the ring.