Cheating the system, p.1
Cheating the System, page 1
Cheating the System
The Royals of Avalone - Inheritance: Henrietta Part 2
E V Darcy
Edited by
CookieLynne Publishing Services
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
It takes hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars to produce a novel, so thank you for buying this book and supporting an author’s dream.
* * *
If you got this book for free (outside of your local library) then this book has been pirated against the author’s wishes.
* * *
Please enjoy immersing yourself into the world of Avalone and falling in love with the people of this unique nation.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Defeating the System Sample
Also by E V Darcy
About the Author
Chapter One
Mr Daven eyed Henrietta speculatively over the rim of his glasses.
‘I just want to clarify,’ the old solicitor said slowly, his grey bushy brows lowering so much they almost touched his glasses. ‘You want a will drawing up, one that says everything is left to your current unborn babe upon your death and not to Mr Tyrrell, your betrothed?’
Hattie took a deep breath, her sweating hands clutching at the hem of her skirt just out of the man’s view and nodded far more confidently than she really felt.
A swarm of bees buzzed around inside her head while her stomach was being attacked by a kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering around without rhyme or reason. The sick and discombobulated feeling she’d woken with that morning hadn’t left her, even after she’d deposited the contents of her stomach several times into the bottom of the toilet. And having Mr Daven sizing her up through his beady, ice cold, blue eyes—that reminded her so much of her grandfather—wasn’t helping to settle her mind or her stomach.
Nor was the constant doubt swirling around inside her head.
This was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?
When Pippa had suggested denying Roman access to anything she inherited, even upon pain of death, Hattie had thought it a good idea. No, she’d thought it a bloody fantastic idea. If her money was indeed what Roman was after by marrying her, it would be one last way to give him the finger. Even Victoria and Alexi had wholeheartedly agreed. All three of them had been egging her own as she called to make today’s appointment, but without her sisters to back her up, to fuel her ire, she was starting to waiver.
What if Gerald Tyrrell, Roman’s father, lost Seymour Medical? Roman had his own money, of course, but her fortune would far outstrip anything he had access to; what if his trust fund couldn’t support the life she’d help build with him?
And he would be the one raising the child in her absence. Even if he passed the job off to an army of nannies. Nannies weren’t cheap, especially the best ones…
The thought of her child being raised by strangers, handed from one nanny to the next as they outgrew their role, then being packed up and sent off to boarding school as quickly as Roman could get him or her there, made her heart sink.
That was exactly the life she didn’t want for her child—after all, she’d lived part of it. And growing up away from your family at such an age was just too difficult, regardless of if they eventually had a tight clique of friends around them.
Hattie wasn’t a maternal person. She’d never desired children, never sat and daydreamed about what her children would look like. She’d never joined in in conversations with the other girls about how many kids they were going to pop out and what their names would be. But if she was having a child, she was damn well going to raise it herself! No boarding schools, no gifted programme, no nannies. Okay, maybe a nanny just to help her—no, definitely a nanny, she wasn’t going to cope with baby duty twenty-four hours day. Good grief! But if she was dead, the only way she could ensure they weren’t passed from nanny to nanny to boarding school, was…
‘I also want to make my sister, Lady Victoria Georgina Blake, the legal guardian of my child upon my death.’
The solicitor’s bushy brows flew up into his hairline at the comment. Mr Daven blinked a few times before taking a deep breath.
‘I have to say, you Snape women really know how to keep an old man on his toes.’ He shook his head and removed his glasses, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, staring at her long and hard. She resisted the urge to shift in her chair under his scrutiny and was tempted to ask what he saw. However, there was one more thing she needed to say, and she had to get it out there before she lost her nerve.
‘I also want a pre-nuptial agreement,’ she told the solicitor in a rush of breath. ‘I don’t want him to have access to anything I inherit or any assets I purchase with said inheritance; not now or in the event of my death or if we should divorce—no matter the reason for the split.’
‘Of course, you do, and that I wholeheartedly agree with.’ Mr Daven slid his glasses back onto his nose. Hattie’s shoulders sagged a little in relief at the old man’s words and she sat back in her chair a little more relaxed.
Of course, this was the right thing to do. People in her position did this sort of thing all the time. In fact, her cousins and peers would probably think her mad if she didn’t request such a thing. It was commonplace in their social circles. You could even say normal.
Then why are you trying to convince yourself? her brain taunted.
‘Your sister’s demands of her husband having access to everything was extremely vexing, I must say,’ Mr Daven continued, and Hattie had to agree with the man. Victoria had been an utter idiot; she could have lost everything. But I do believe he is a lord now. What times we live in.’
‘Yes, well,’ Hattie managed, not trusting herself to spit out exactly what she thought of the whole situation. But clearly, it had been the right thing for Dick, her grandfather, to do. The announcement of her brother-in-law’s rise into the ranks of aristocracy—even of the lowest order—over the weekend, had given the country a sense of relief. It seemed the nation of Avalone wasn’t ready to see their Royal Family, even lowly members such as the Snape Ladies, giving up their titles.
Although, if Dick had hoped that releasing such news—against Cormac and Victoria’s wishes—would distract from the story of her surprise pregnancy and Roman’s very public faux pas of dumping Fiona, they had been most certainly dashed.
Every day—a few times a day, or maybe a few times an hour—there was a new story or article popping up on the internet. The British tabloids were having an absolute field day. Two Avalonian royal spectacles in six months; was the pristine monarchy of Avalone crumbling? Was the snobby, conceited, high and mighty, pretentious nation finally getting their just deserts?
Strippers and Bastards had been the headline on the worst of all the British Tabloids, The Herald, the morning after Cormac’s Lordship had been declared, dragging the story of her poor brother-in-law’s days as a stripper back into the open. Although she secretly had to admit, she rather enjoyed the pictures every time they totted them out. She’d never tell Victoria such a thing, but Cormac was a hottie.
She briefly wondered how Roman’s body had developed over the years since she’d last seen him topless. While his shoulders were naturally broad, his frame was slender; she didn’t imagine bulging muscles like her brother-in-law sported, but she did foresee him having a well-toned, well-defined physique with all the running and swimming he said he did.
Her fingers clutched the hem of her skirt tighter as Roman, dressed only in the tiniest speedos, water running down his naked flesh and glistening in the light, popped into her mind. If this was how he looked in the flesh, she was going to be well and truly—
‘None of this is complicated,’ Mr Daven told her, interrupting her daydreams before they could start. ‘I can have it all completed for you in a day or two. You’ll both need to be present to sign the forms for the pre-nuptial, of course.’ He gave her a pointed look. ‘I’m assuming your betrothed doesn’t yet know about your wishes?’
Hattie’s tongue curled over her lower lip as she shook her head. The squirmy feeling, wiggling around her stomach, once more flipflopped from pleasant tingles at the idea of naked Roman, to a deep dread. She was going to have to be the one to tell him about her wishes. To explain why she was doing this.
‘I see. Well, the will can be witnessed independent ly; that doesn’t need Mr Tyrrell, nor does he need to present for your guardianship wishes to be noted—but I would suggest you give both your sister and your betrothed prior warning in that regard.’
Hattie nodded.
Dammit. She’d not thought about telling Victoria. Her sister was probably going to say that Roman had just as much right to the child; especially as they were both related only via aunt and uncle status. Not that anyone else would know that, of course. Victoria had sworn to take the secret to the grave and Cormac said as long as Hattie stopped staring at him like he was evil incarnate, he’d also keep his mouth shut.
Hattie planned on avoiding him for the rest of her life, hottie or not.
‘I would be remiss in my job if I didn’t tell you that if you do perish before Mr Tyrrell, he would have a good case to legally challenge your wishes, being the child’s father and all. It may very well be the case of him gaining custody regardless of your wishes based simply on that fact alone. Especially if there are no other legal reasons for him to be kept from his own son or daughter. Your own wishes would not supersede the legal parental right he has.’
Hattie fought the twitch in her eye.
She knew it, deep down she knew that even in death they’d have to keep the secret of her child’s paternity. No one could ever know it was Roman’s twin brother, Jensen, who was her baby’s father, or she’d lose every single penny of her inheritance. Dead or not.
If she wanted her child to be secure for the rest of their lives, she knew the continuing deception was necessary, but it didn’t stop the guilt, that seemed to be her constant companion recently. Would it be a yoke she’d wear for the rest of her life? Perhaps one day she’d wake up and begin to believe the lie herself? Was that when the gnawing at her chest would stop? Would that be when she’d be able to look in the mirror again without disgust staring back at her?
‘I understand, and thank you for the warning,’ she managed to get out. She cleared her throat with a little cough, hoping to dislodge the ever-present lump that seemed to sit there, choking her. ‘But I’m sure Roman wouldn’t go against my wishes.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Mr Daven nodded his head as if he’d heard such a thing before. He probably thought Roman was only marrying her for duty’s sake, or perhaps that Dick, was forcing them to wed because of the situation she found herself in. The solicitor more than likely assumed that as soon as Roman had the chance, he’d bolt, leaving the kid behind.
Anger surged through her at the thought. She wanted to jump up and shout at the top of her lungs that Roman wasn’t like that; that he hadn’t just agreed to take on the role of father to his twin brother’s child but had been the one to come up with the bloody crazy, stupid idea! And he’d done it to save her from making the difficult choice she had been facing; becoming a vagrant as she moved between her sister’s homes, staying for as long as they’d have her and scrambling for work when she could, or turning to Ol’ Dick who would demand her unwavering obedience in return for room and board.
She suppressed a shudder at the latter part of the thought. Couch surfing, she could deal with, but she couldn’t stomach the mere idea of being beholden to her grandfather.
Her betrothed may not yet be in her best books, but she couldn’t deny Roman had saved her. He could have easily sent her away from his office last week, simply told her she’d made her bed and thus it was time to lie in it. But he hadn’t. And while his motives may not yet be clear—although she was sure that her antics today would help show some of his true colours when she told him—he had made some severe sacrifices with his offer.
But, at the same time, she didn’t see Roman as a paternal figure, not in the sense of being there for the day to day raising of a child. The idea of him trying to change a nappy was laughable. The image of him tenderly cradling their baby as he fed them a bottle…
The ache in Hattie’s chest intensified. The picture sprung up so clearly in her mind; there was no awkwardness as he stood there, gently swaying, with the baby guzzling their breakfast. She had no idea why her mind made him shirtless in such a scenario, but she wasn’t complaining.
Dream Roman looked up at her, his amber eyes filled with happiness and love. He smiled at her and motioned for her to come over to him with his head. She went willingly, sliding her arm around his waist and accepted a quick, open-mouthed kiss from him, hating that they had to cut it short as the baby gurgled in his arms. She rested her head on his bare bicep and stared down at their baby—
Jensen’s baby. Not Roman’s.
God, she was going to hell.
‘However, if he does,’ Mr Daven continued, once again jarring her from her thoughts. ‘And he wins guardianship, who do you wish to be trustee of the child’s assets? I’m assuming not your betrothed?’
‘No, my other sister, Lady Philippa Patricia Snape will be the trustee, even if Victoria is given guardianship.’
There was no one else Hattie would trust other than Pippa to handle any money matters if she wasn’t around to do it. Pippa had sat and explained all her options to her yesterday and even if Hattie hadn’t been impressed with her sister’s knowledge of the system, the fact she ran the country’s largest accounting firm clearly put her to the forefront for the role.
Mr Daven made a note on his writing pad as he muttered, ‘I see. Well, seeing as your grandfather handled your wedding announcement—I thought that very elegant, by the by—I think we have everything sorted. I’ll get the drafts to Maya shortly, and once she has them typed out, we’ll get Roxanne to arrange an appointment for you, Mr Tyrrell, and two witnesses to attend the signing. I suggest they not be anyone you have named today.’ He gazed at her pointedly, and Hattie nodded.
‘Should Mr Tyrrell wish to have his own legal team look over the pre-nuptial—which I strongly advise he does,’ Mr Daven told her. ‘Then we can arrange to have that sent over to them before we meet again.’ The Solicitor pressed a button on his desk and called Maya. ‘Meanwhile, we can get the paperwork started on getting you access to your own trust fund for now. Just a few forms to sign and you’ll be free to go.’
As her curly signature flowed from the pen, Hattie decided the guilty ache was never going to go away.
While Hattie was sorting the legalities to do with her trust fund in Avon, Roman had headed further north to Wessex to deal with something he should have done immediately after the whole debacle with the King but had been happily avoiding.
‘—and The Morning Star ran the whole transcript!’ Gerald Tyrrell bellowed as he threw the paper across the desk towards his son; the front page showed Roman getting a face full of Fiona’s cocktail.
Roman sighed, resting his forehead in his hand and gently massaging his temple, as he listened to his father rage on about every line the media had printed. They’d already gone through all the newspaper stories—including the British rags—that had appeared in the aftermath of his now very public breakup with Fiona, as well as what felt like every “article” that had popped up online. There had certainly been a social media storm surrounding his declarations, with amateur sleuths—or busybodies as Hattie called them—spotting him, in the corner of photos, being frog marched from Seymour Medical to a vehicle with royal plates and flags shortly after the video appeared on-line. And of course, with their betrothal announcement being posted the very next day, everything was wrapped up in a nice bow for the masses.
‘Did you have to do it in public, son?’ Deidre Seymour-Tyrrell, asked from her seat on the sofa in his father’s office. Roman had hoped to meet them at their residence, but Dad had said his little stunt had caused too many fires at the office, and he was still putting them out. He’d told Roman he had better meet them there that morning at ten else he’d be fired. And disowned.
