“Uh, sure,” said Mel, reaching for her water glass. “I didn’t really set aside much of my budget for buying antiques, but if there’s like a really tiny hairpin or something . . .”
“Oh, you don’t have to use your own money,” he said quickly. “Bid on whatever you like, and I’ll pay for it—anything up to, say, two thousand euro.”
Mel almost choked on her water. “Two thousand euro? Isn’t the euro basically the same as the dollar?”
“It’s worth a little more than the dollar at the moment actually,” Joss piped up. What are you doing with your life, kid? Mel wondered.
“Well,” she said to Jasper, “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’m not gonna try to buy a summer home.”
“Those are worth millions of euro,” Joss informed her.
“Okay,” said Mel flatly. Evonians really do NOT get sarcasm, do they? she thought.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Jasper. “I’m perfectly comfortable setting aside that amount. Spend as much or as little of it as you want.”
“Are you trying to buy Mel’s love, Dad?” asked Jess with a completely straight face.
“Of course not, sweetheart,” Jasper replied—a little too quickly, Mel thought. But at the moment, she was in no mood to worry about that.
4
The next morning, Mel met Jasper in the front hall. “Hi,” she said brightly. “Is it okay if I go dressed like this?” She gestured vaguely at her T-shirt and jeans. “Ro picked out some really nice clothes for me but they’re not quite my size.” This was actually a lie—Ro’s estimates had been eerily accurate—but Jasper didn’t need to know that.
“Oh, I’m sure that’ll be fine,” said Jasper in a tone that wasn’t very convincing. “LaRue’s waiting out front. Shall we?”
“Sure,” said Mel.
Once they were in the car, Jasper asked, “So . . . how was your breakfast?”
Talking about meals again, thought Mel with a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Very tasty. It was really nice of Baines to bring it up on a tray. I wasn’t totally sure what flavor the jam was . . .”
“It was probably elderberry,” said Jasper. “At least, that’s what came with my toast this morning.”
I’m going to die of boredom before we even get to this auction, thought Mel in despair. Why can’t he ask me something about myself? Like what I do for fun or who my friends are or what I think of my mom’s new boyfriend . . . Would talking to What’s His Name be this boring? Is Sir Jasper Valmont of the Evonian royal family more boring than WHAT’S HIS NAME? How can this be happening?!
Mel flung herself into a last-ditch attempt at a real conversation. “So about this birthday party for your mom—what should I expect?”
“Ah, well, it’ll be at my father’s country house, about a half hour’s drive from Alaborn. I expect it to be fairly elaborate. My parents have actually been on quite a tight budget for the past several years—”
“Really? I assumed you were all insanely rich.” Quickly, Mel added, “Not that I care, just—aren’t royal families usually rich?”
“You would think so,” said Jasper. “But we live on a fixed income provided by the government, and some of us have spent it more wisely than others. Or married into richer noble families.” Ah, thought Mel. So Ro’s family is rolling in money. “My parents have been a little reckless with their money, I’m afraid. But they would never admit that to anyone outside the immediate family. They’re going to put on a good show for my mother’s party. Especially because my mother’s brother died recently and my mother is becoming, er, more aware of her own mortality, I think.”
“So it’s gonna be an I’m-not-dead-yet blowout?”
“Essentially. In a classy way.”
“Sure.” Mel and Jasper exchanged a little smile.
“And since the guest list will be very large, you won’t have to worry about your presence drawing too much attention.”
Mel’s smile faltered. “Uh—it hadn’t occurred to me to worry about that.” Though after the Bellamy’s outing, maybe it should’ve.
“I don’t mean negative attention necessarily, it’s just—there aren’t that many members of the royal family who have illegitimate children.”
“Illegitimate?” A surprised little snort escaped Mel’s throat. “Why is that a big deal? People who aren’t married have kids all the time.”
“Not people like us.”
Right.
“You see, everything we do is about carrying on the family line,” said Jasper. “Preserving the family legacy. That’s our job, our life’s work. Anything that happens outside those lines is seen as . . . questionable. It’s nothing personal against you—I want you to know that.”
Wow, thanks, thought Mel dryly.
“It’s just that the Valmont family prefers to play by its established rules.”
Mel mulled this over for a minute. “So you didn’t marry Ro for love?”
Jasper’s eyes widened a little. “Of course I did. Ro is wonderful.”
“But she was also somebody your parents signed off on?”
“Well, yes. The two things did line up like that.”
“And what happens if they don’t?”
Jasper was silent. But Mel already knew the answer.
***
Swithby’s was basically a large room filled with rows of folding chairs and a podium at the front. When Mel and Jasper walked in, people were milling around and chatting, but hardly anyone had actually sat down yet. A woman greeted Jasper by name and handed him a stack of paper paddles with wooden handles.
“So you’ve never been to one of these, I take it?” Jasper asked Mel.
“Auctions for expensive old stuff? Nah, can’t say it’s really what the youth of America are into these days. How does this work?”
“Well, everyone gets these paddles—you hold up the appropriate paddle when you want to make a bid for something.” He showed her how different numbers were printed on each paddle. “The auctioneer runs the event, so she’ll start by showing off an item and explaining its background. Then she’ll suggest a starting bid.”
“And people bid until nobody wants to go any higher.”
“Right. See, you’ll catch on quickly.”
Mel felt a little kick of pride in her chest. Even though this wasn’t exactly rocket science, it was nice to know that Jasper—her father—had faith in her ability to keep up with what was happening.
Then, without warning, the color drained out of Jasper’s face and his whole body went stiff. Mel followed his gaze and saw an older man walking toward them. The guy was probably in his late sixties and looked like he didn’t work out much, but he was moving across the room pretty fast.
“Good morning, Jasper.”
“Dad!” Jasper stuttered. It was extremely weird to hear such an informal word burst out of his mouth in that refined accent. “What, er, what brings you here?”
“Your mother sent me to take care of some business for her. And what about you?”
“Well, I just thought I’d pop by with . . .” Jasper turned to look at Mel as if he’d suddenly remembered she was there. “With Melissa. This is Melissa, by the way. She’s my—that is—I’ve been telling you about her.”
Daughter, Mel thought in a flash of irritation. The word you’re looking for is DAUGHTER. As in, yours. As in, this guy’s granddaughter.
“Mmmm, yes,” said the older man dryly, looking at Mel as if she were a tough stain on a jacket.
So this was her grandfather—one half of the team that had split up her parents. Unlike Ro and the Js, he gave off exactly the kind of vibe she’d expected: hostile and smug.
“And of course, Melissa, this is my father, Sir Reginald Strathney,” Jasper added unnecessarily. Mel wondered briefly why he was suddenly calling her by her full name. Maybe it was his way of reminding her to be polite. Well, she wasn’t some little kid. She could act mature in front of a man who’d called her mom trash. They had no idea
how mature she could be. She would boggle their minds with her maturity.
“Nice to meet you,” Mel said to Sir Reginald, holding out her hand.
Sir Reginald ignored her outstretched hand. “Looks like her mother, doesn’t she?”
Mel dropped her hand. “Not really,” she said. So much for acting mature. “You can call me Mel, by the way.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Sir Reginald. “Jasper, I’ll let you find a seat. We’ll see you at the party.”
“Right, yes, thank you, Dad,” Jasper said quickly—but not quickly enough to finish before Sir Reginald had turned and walked away.
“Well, that was interesting,” said Mel, proud of herself for keeping her tone neutral.
“Let’s just sit down,” said Jasper. He sounded exhausted. On one level Mel felt sorry for him. Interacting with his dad had obviously stressed him out. On another level . . . Dude, you couldn’t even call me your daughter in front of that jerk?
***
From Mel’s point of view, the auction did not get off to a promising start. Lot One, the first item up for sale, was a collection of eighteenth-century china dishes. Somebody eventually bid twelve thousand euro on it. Next came an early twentieth-century landscape painting that showed what Alaborn had looked like a hundred years ago. Jasper bought it for nine hundred euro. Then there was a set of super old decorative hair combs that looked like gaudy seashells. Mel was starting to wonder how she would break it to Jasper that nothing here was interesting enough for her to bid on.
“And now for Lot Thirteen,” announced the auctioneer. “The complete correspondence between Lord Maximilian Valmont, the Duke of Rotherham, and Miss Beatrice Allard.”
“Ohhhh no,” said Jasper in a strangled whisper.
“What?” Mel asked him. “Who’s Maximilian Valmont?”
“My grandfather,” replied Jasper in the same mortified voice.
With her gloved hands, the auctioneer gently picked up a packet of papers tied together with twine. Mel glanced at Jasper again. “Are those letters?”
“Erm,” said Jasper—half stutter, half gulp.
“The letters,” the auctioneer went on, “were written between 1942 and 1957 and were recently rediscovered by the Allard family. They are rumored to be of an amorous nature . . .”
Mel sat bolt upright in her chair. “They’re love letters?”
Her voice came out a little more loudly than she’d intended. It was still technically a whisper, but it carried through the whole room. Several people turned to glance in her direction. Jasper’s eyes widened with alarm.
“Sorry,” she mouthed at him.
The auctioneer cleared her throat and continued. “The Duke of Rotherham, the favorite brother of Her Royal Highness Queen Emilia the First, carried on a love affair with Miss Allard for several years before marrying Lady Anne Irvine. They continued to correspond by letter for several years after that. This collection has been in the possession of Miss Allard’s family for the past several decades. The owners are now asking for a starting bid of five hundred euro.”
Mel’s eyes were now glued to the stack of papers the auctioneer was holding. Love letters between her royal great-grandfather and an ordinary woman like her mom.
Someone raised a paddle.
Wait—not just someone. She recognized the man. It was Sir Reginald.
“Very good,” said the auctioneer, nodding at Mel’s grandfather. “Do I see six hundred?”
Mel raised her paddle.
The auctioneer pointed to her. “Six hundred, do I see seven hundred?”
Sir Reginald held up his paddle again without looking her way.
“Seven hundred,” the auctioneer confirmed, pointing to Mel’s grandfather. “Do I see . . .”
Mel’s arm shot into the air before he had even said “Eight hundred.”
This time, Sir Reginald turned to see who was bidding against him. And when he saw Mel holding up her paddle, his eyes bulged. So did a vein in his neck. Mel raised her eyebrows at him. Oh, I’m so sorry, did you want these letters? Whoops.
Beside her, Jasper coughed nervously. “Mel, are you certain this is what you want?”
Mel flashed him her most innocent smile. “Definitely.”
The auctioneer was still trying to drive up the price. Sir Reginald bid nine hundred, then Mel bid again, and back and forth and back and forth until—
“Two thousand from Sir Reginald,” the auctioneer announced.
Crap. That was her limit.
“Do I hear two thousand one-hundred?”
Mel didn’t move. Her grandfather shot her a look of cold triumph.
“Going once,” said the auctioneer. “Going twice . . .”
Mel raised her paddle again.
She ignored Jasper’s cough, which sounded a little more urgent this time.
“Twenty one hun—twenty two hundred,” said the auctioneer, tripping over herself as Sir Reginald outbid Mel yet again.
This was going to drag on for years at this rate. Before she could stop herself, Mel blurted out, “Three thousand!”
A collective gasp filled the room, as if the walls themselves were sucking in their breath.
“Ahhhh,” stammered the auctioneer. “Three thousand euro. Going once . . . going twice . . . sold to the young lady in the green shirt!”
Mel glanced down at her shirt to confirm its color. Yep, green. She’d won.
5
When the auction ended, Jasper hastily signed some paperwork and arranged for their winnings to be delivered to Darnley Place later that day. While he was doing that, several people walked up to Mel and introduced themselves. They all seemed to know who she was—and they all seemed to want something.
One guy said he ran a fashion line and asked if she was interested in modeling. Before she could even answer, he gave her his card, saying, “One of the LePointe girls models for us, you know, and a couple of the Fontaines. But we’d love to have someone from the actual royal family in our ranks.”
One lady in charge of some charity foundation wondered if she would like to make a donation. Mel stammered out something polite about having to check with her dad first.
And then there was the guy who owned a newspaper. “I would be very interested in interviewing you for the Alaborn Star, Miss Novak. Just an informal conversation. A newcomer’s perspective on the inner workings of the royal family. I’d also be interested in taking a look at those letters you’ve just bought, if you’d be willing to arrange that . . .”
At this point, Jasper was finally done with the paperwork. “If you’re looking for your next front-page story, I suggest you look elsewhere,” he said to the newspaper owner with surprising firmness. Then he turned to Mel.
“Let’s get out of here . . .”
But then Sir Reginald’s voice boomed out behind them. “Jasper! May I have a word?”
Jasper and Mel both turned to see Sir Reginald glowering at them.
“Yes, Dad?” Jasper said, his voice cracking with nervousness. The confidence he’d shown when he brushed off the newspaper owner vanished instantly.
“I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you, Jasper, that your grandmother sent me here specifically to buy those letters. I’d appreciate it if you would turn them over to me now.”
“Uh, sorry, did I miss something?” said Mel. “Last time I checked, I bought the letters.”
Sir Reginald ignored her. “They belong in our family vault, Jasper. They’re your grandfather’s private correspondence. Your mother would be mortified if her father’s personal life was splashed all over the tabloids.”
“Who said anything about tabloids?” Mel blurted out. “These people have been dead for ages, haven’t they? Why would gossip columnists care about their letters?”
Sir Reginald gave her a stony look. “Young lady, clearly you don’t understand the stature of the royal family. My wife’s father was not merely the Duke of Rotherham. He was a prince—the son of a king, and
the brother of a queen. His life may be over, but it will always matter to the citizens of this country.”
Mel fought the urge to roll her eyes.
Sir Reginald turned back to Jasper. “It is crucial that those letters be kept out of public view, Jasper. To preserve your grandfather’s reputation and your mother’s peace of mind.”
“But—” Mel started to protest.
Sir Reginald cut her off. “This is absolutely none of your business, young lady. It is no one’s business.”
“Except yours and your wife’s? I’m not following your logic here.”
“Erm . . .” said Jasper.
“I’m not gonna sell these letters to a tabloid, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mel went on. “I’m not gonna post excerpts on my social media. I just bought them because I’d like to have them—the same way Jasper bought that painting.”
Sir Reginald aimed a shocked look at Jasper. “She calls you Jasper?”
Was there anything that didn’t scandalize this guy? “You’re gonna have to excuse us,” Mel said. “We’re meeting my stepmother and sisters for lunch, and we don’t want to be late.”
***
Jasper didn’t say anything else until they’d left Swithby’s and gotten into the car. Then he burst out, “What were you thinking? That was incredibly embarrassing for me.”
“Embarrassing for you?” Mel echoed in disbelief. “You let your dad walk all over me.”
“It looked to me as if you were walking all over him.”
“Well, that makes me feel better.”
“It was highly inappropriate!”
“What, so you think I should’ve given him the letters?”
“That’s not what I said.” He looked away from her, glancing out the window at the street rolling by.
“Look, I’m sorry I bid more than I was supposed to,” said Mel. “But I don’t get why these letters are such a huge scandal. I mean, so your grandfather had a girlfriend before he got married. And then he stayed in touch with her after he was married. That’s kinda shady and not really fair to his wife, I guess, but it’s not like he was a serial killer or something.”
Jasper shook his head in exasperation. “It’s the fact that the woman he was involved with was Beatrice Allard, a well-known anti-monarchist journalist.”
Family Business Page 3
