Beating the System

by E V Darcy

  Beating the System

  The Royals of Avalone - Inheritance: Henrietta Part 1

  E V Darcy

  Copyright © 2021 E. V. Darcy

  Cover Design © 2021 Victoria Smith

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Info@evdarcy.com

  For those who wish for a second chance

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Cheating the System Sample

  Also by E V Darcy

  About the Author

  Introduction

  Before immersing yourself into the world of The Royals of Avalone, please allow me to give you some information that will help your experience a little.

  The island nation of Avalone resides within the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and is tied loosely to Europe after it broke from English rule in the 1500s. However, it prefers to be self-sufficient, only forming trade deals where it absolutely must, and forgoing any involvement in other nation’s military matters. While they are a very insular nation, they hold a particular dislike for their British cousins.

  Due to their desire not to be reliant on other nations, Avalone uses the Gold Standard for their economy. Therefore, their money is valued differently to those who use the Dollar Standard.

  In Avalone they use bits, slivers, and crowns, with 100 bits making 1 sliver, and 100 slivers making 1 crown.

  A crown is worth 1 gram of gold, so the wealthy citizens of Avalone will often refer to having gold over having money. This is important to note, as at the time of writing the series 1 gram of gold is currently worth approx. £45.00 GB or $60.00 US. This means that having a million crowns is not the same as having a million pounds or dollars! This is something to keep in mind when reading… This is a very wealthy nation, and these are very, very wealthy people!

  For more information and history of Avalone, please visit www.evdarcy.com.

  Enjoy!

  Chapter One

  Lady Henrietta Constantine Snape, twenty-fifth in line for the Crown of Avalone, swirled her drink with her straw as she stared at the twisting oranges, reds, and yellows of the juices that did nothing to hide the liberal quantities of alcohol the bar owner had poured into the bottom of her glass.

  Flicking her finger at the paper umbrella, she scowled at the wasted pieces of fruit mixed between the ice. Although the juices in the drink were also a waste; they were slowing down her quest to get a nice fuzzy feeling to forget all about her sisters and their problems.

  Bitches wouldn’t know a real problem if it slapped them in the face. Alexandra wanting to be a queen—although Hattie wasn’t sure she didn’t already have something up her sleeve from the way she spoke at Victoria’s wedding—Philippa worrying over her business, the most successful accountancy firm in the country, and Victoria… Yeah, okay Victoria had problems with Cormac almost being killed at Christmas. But she needed to stop stressing about the lack of a baby.

  She rolled her eyes at herself in the mirror over the bar. Perfect bloody Victoria. Somehow she’d managed to find a great guy in the weirdest of circumstances, paying him to marry her, and then falling totally and utterly in love with him. And he with her! But it wasn’t enough, the baby that would ensure Victoria control over her share of their inheritance was eluding them. Why she was fretting, Hattie didn’t know. After all, things always seemed to work out for Victoria. She’d have a baby in no time if she just stopped thinking about it.

  Well, that and telling her three sisters to hurry up about getting their own inheritance sorted. Hattie wasn’t bothered; no, she didn’t want the money being bestowed on her grandfather—something her father had put in to encourage them all up the aisle, she’d bet—but she didn’t need the money. When she worked, she was well paid. She owned her home outright, and she had no plans of ever having children. There wasn’t a deep-seated need within her to start a family; the mere idea of wiping a kid’s nose—or worse, an arse!—churned her stomach, and the thought of something latching on to her breasts to be fed—

  Her hand flew to her mouth automatically as her body threatened to vomit over the shiny bar.

  ‘Everything okay with your drink, my lady?’ the far handsomer and much younger bartender asked as he wiped down the counter with a cloth. She forced a smile to her lips, before wrapping them around the straw and sucking, long and slow. The man’s eyes dropped to watch, and she ensured she caught the last drop off the straw with her tongue before she sat back.

  ‘Perfect,’ she purred. She wouldn’t mind him sucking her breasts. The bartender made to say something in return when someone jumped up on the stool next to her.

  ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ a familiar, deep voice rumbled in her ear.

  ‘Back in town, Jensen?’ she said, turning her barstool to face the new arrival. She cocked her head to one side; the suit was certainly a new look for her beach loving friend, whose usual attire consisted of flip-flops and shorts. His calves were probably wondering why the hell they were covered for the first time in over a decade.

  ‘How’d you know it was me? Everyone else thought I was Roman,’ he said with a pout as she met his amber eyes. Sighing, she raised her brows, silently asking him to get real. ‘Ah, I should’ve known I’d never be able to fool you.’ He shifted on his stool to face the bar and waved for the young bartender he’d chased off to come back. ‘You love my brother too much to ever believe I was him.’

  It may have been years since her young heart had been given to the man who looked identical to the one who sat next to her, but still; just the idea of Roman Tyrrell quickened her pulse and stole her breath. The way he smiled at her, the secretive grin he kept just for when they were alone, or the deep timbre of his voice as he murmured his hopes and dreams in her ear…

  ‘I don’t love Roman,’ she protested, a little too quickly even for her own ears.

  ‘Hattie, c’mon—whisky neat,’ he told the other man before facing her again. ‘You were his little shadow; wherever my brother went, you were right there with him.’

  ‘He was my friend nothing more,’ she lied. As she took another long pull of her drink, she pretended not to picture the identical, yet—at least in her eyes—very different face of Jensen’s twin brother. Finishing her fruity concoction off far quicker than she really should have, she motioned to the bar’s owner with her finger that she wanted another.

  ‘We never understood it,’ Jensen said, his voice low, as he stared down at the wood of the counter, his fingers tracing the grain of the wood. ‘How he never fell in love with you the way you loved him.’ She made to protest, but Jensen’s hand closed over hers, silencing her before she could speak. ‘Don’t deny it, we all saw it. He was it for you, and what he did was a dick move.’

/>   Hattie rolled her head back as she made an ugh sound. Sure, Roman had stolen her heart, but he hadn’t loved her back. She didn’t hold that against him, even if she did lament it.

  ‘All he did was back his girlfriend,’ she said firmly, nodding her thanks to the owner as he put their drinks in front of them. She waited for the man to walk away before huffing in irritation as she removed the decorations around the top of the cocktail again. ‘Who had every right to defend her relationship, no matter how wrong she was.’

  Liar.

  ‘It was, what?’ she asked, fingers reaching inside the glass to pluck out an orange slice. ‘Fifteen-ish years ago? He’s still with her, they must be very happy together’—Jensen snorted—‘and I wish them all the best. I don’t hold grudges.’

  Stop telling porkies…

  ‘Fiona’—Jensen’s upper lip curled up in disgust at saying the name of his soon to be sister-in-law—‘was and still is a cow. He should have put her in her place when she accused you of being a stalker, sorry a bloody bunny boiler, not sided with her. And certainly not in front of all of us.’ Jensen raised his glass to her before downing it in one. He held the tumbler back out to the nearest barman and ordered the same again. Hattie frowned at the action.

  Jensen was never a spirit drinker, always a beer kind of guy, he’d nurse one for hours before someone would take it off him and replace it with another; fresh and cooler.

  ‘It was like he had forgotten all about the four years he’d spent with you because he was suddenly getting his leg over. It was just so unlike Roman. I mean give him his due, he’s an absolute bastard in every aspect of his life, but until that moment he’d always been loyal to his friends.’

  ‘Look,’ she snapped, irritation bubbling up. Why couldn’t she ever just have a nice quiet drink? ‘I don’t know why Roman never returned my feelings. I don’t know what he sees in Fiona or why he fell for her and not me, but I do know that I wasn’t a guaranteed lay. Maybe she was, and that’s what he wanted.’

  Liar, liar pants on fire!

  Jensen threw his head back and roared with laughter. The barman she’d been hoping would take her into the back room during his next break, eyed her friend as he delivered his second drink.

  Elbows up on the bar and chin in her hand, she watched the hot, young bartender go on his break, glancing over to her as he slowly closed the door to the stock room behind him. Hattie sighed.

  She had been a sure thing. So sure, she’d spread her legs for Roman the first chance she’d got. It had been their last Christmas at Guildford University, and Jensen had brought them drinks from the student union. She’d had a sip of one of the beers and found it disgusting and pushed it back at Jensen, saying no, thank you. They’d all laughed at her, told her she was still a baby.

  Sweet sixteen and never been kissed, they’d all teased, and while she’d laughed it off with them, Roman—who had flat out refused the beers from the start, calling them vile—had later found her hiding in her suite, desperately trying to stop the tears that fell.

  How was she supposed to get kissed? She was only sixteen and stuck at university! Men filled the hallways and lecture theatres. She might have the mental capacity and work ethic akin to her professors, but everyone saw her as a child. Even he saw her as such, she’d accused in her ire.

  No, never. He’d said it with such conviction, such truth, she’d felt it in her heart. He’d shook his head while holding her gaze; his warm whisky eyes filled with a fire, a surety she’d never seen in anyone before or since, and it had taken her breath away as he’d lowered his head to hers.

  Their lips met, and she gave him her first kiss; an hour later, her virginity.

  The following morning she’d woken up slightly sore but deeply satisfied and wholly content as she snuggled deeper into his arms. She felt she was exactly where she was supposed to be, that perhaps everything she’d endured in her short life was to lead her to him, to be in that moment, wrapped in his embrace. But the universe wasn’t that kind to her.

  She remembered every word he’d thrown at her after he’d woken up and realised he’d cheated on his girlfriend. How Roman had accused her of tricking him into her bed, trying to get her twisted, infatuated claws into him in an attempt to snatch him from Fiona. She couldn’t stand that he had someone and she didn’t.

  That someone else had taken his heart.

  She also vividly recalled how he’d threatened her, that if she ever spoke of what had happened between them to anyone, she’d be sorry.

  She’d spent so long trying to work out what she’d done to make him fall into bed with her; it had taken years before she’d understood that he’d been eighteen, filled with hormones, and that even the sensible, level-headed, overly serious Roman Tyrrell could be controlled by his penis for a few minutes. Everything he’d said had merely been man-speak for I’ve colossally screwed up and I’m going to use you as a means to get out of the blame.

  She should have told Fiona. Perhaps if she had, the poor woman might have found a man to give her the solid gold ring to match the diamond Roman had finally given her at Christmas—although no official announcement had followed. But Fiona’s perseverance had finally paid off; maybe in another fifteen years she’d finally get to say I do.

  ‘So, what’s with the get up?’ Hattie asked, peering at Jensen through her lashes as she took another sip of her drink. He downed his immediately. She pursed her lips together to stop herself from berating him when he asked for a third and settled on saying, ‘Did you suddenly grow up?’

  ‘How very dare you!’ he said in mock outrage, slamming his once again empty glass on the counter. ‘I will never grow up. Never!’ Hattie couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled from her lips. That was the Jensen they all knew and loved; always the class clown, the fun one of their small group.

  ‘So?’ she prompted.

  ‘So, I’m playing a game.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She quickly pushed her glass across the bar and grabbed her bag ready to leave, her sobriety immediately returning. ‘I’m not getting involved in another one of your games,’ she told him as she spun away from her guest. The last time they’d played a game had been three years ago when she’d ended up practically naked in the middle of London with no passport, no money, and a bleary memory of how she’d even got there in the first place.

  Her father had gone ballistic when she’d called home asking for help, promptly forbidding her from ever seeing Jensen or their small group of friends again. She’d promised him, but reneged on it a few months later when Jensen and a couple of others had rolled back into her part of Avalone. While they hadn’t played any games, her father had found out and kept his word—he’d refused to speak to her.

  Okay, that she definitely held a grudge for. Her father should have accepted her calls, especially when he knew he was ill. He was the parent. He should have realised that children, no matter how old, made mistakes and needed their mothers and fathers to turn to. He’d abandoned her. Left her alone and pointedly ignored her until she’d eventually given up… Only two months before his death.

  The bastard.

  ‘Hattie.’ Jensen’s hand closed over her own, as she’d braced it against the bar to jump down from the stool. ‘Please don’t go.’ She glanced at him over her shoulder, freezing at the look of loss, hurt, helplessness, and a myriad of other emotions on his face. She saw so much pain and sadness in his being, that Hattie wondered how anyone could feel so much and still be standing.

  ‘Jensen, what’s happened?’ she asked, but the moment the words were out of her mouth, his serious demeanour changed, and the smile was back on his lips. However, this time she noticed the usual playfulness he exuded didn’t reach his eyes; eyes usually so open and warm no matter what, were now closed and empty. He turned back to the bar and waved his empty glass at the bar’s owner, ignoring her question.

  ‘Jensen?’ She twisted her hand in his and grasped at it, surprised when he clung back so fiercely, as if it were
a lifeline for a man cast away into the tumultuous ocean, but he didn’t turn to face her.

  ‘Not here,’ he told her, releasing her hand and knocking back the drink the barman put in front of him. ‘I- I’ve got a car—you’re not far from here, right?’

  ‘It’s walkable,’ she told him, not liking the idea of either of them behind the wheel that night. ‘And the sand beneath our feet will be nice.’

  He nodded, rubbing his hands on his trousers nervously, before glancing down at his leather covered feet with another frown.

  They left the bar in silence, a far cry from the way they’d left such establishments in the past. A night out with Jensen was always something to remember, always a time she ended up doing something she’d never have done without him there, giving her the confidence, cheering her on… She had so many good memories with the man at her side. Yet, she realised as they stopped to remove their shoes at the edge of the sandy beach that lined miles of the north eastern shores of Avalone, she’d never been out alone with Jensen before. They’d always been in a group.

  Roman, Jensen, Constance, Fiona, Julia, Ben, Heidi, Freddie and little Hattie, the brainiacs sent off to the Guildford University Gifted Programme. And oh, how they’d clung together, even after they’d graduated.

  They’d been peerless; too young for university life, too smart to attend an academy. None of them had friends their own age, save for their small clique. It had been worse for her; she’d been almost two years younger than the rest of them, just turned thirteen-years-old. The soil on her mother’s grave not even settled before she’d been torn from her sisters and packed off across the country. She wasn’t the only one with a tale to tell, but hers was by far the most obvious and rawest.