Royal Brit Bastard: a badboy stepbrother romance

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Authors: Alice May Ball
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what was said to have been a shooting accident.”

    I said, “I didn’t know you had those here.”

    “On the country estates they do, dearie. Have ’em all the time. This one involved the Earl of Ruttington. Discharged a shotgun and the unfortunate Hardforth got in the way.”

    “How awful.”

    “Yes, dearie. It was awful for Lady Ruttington, too, as she got in the way of the other barrel. Neither of the deceased parties nether garments were recovered it seems.”

    “So,” Roger asked her, “I don’t suppose you have any idea what happened to the results of the DNA tests?”

    “Why, yes, darling. I know exactly where they are. Lord Chatterton made a big show of putting them into the Louis the fourteenth armoire. Most valuable single piece of furniture in the country, he told me it was. One of the family’s most sacred heirlooms.

    “There’s a secret panel behind the second drawer that you can only find if you twist the right front leg anti-clockwise. He was delighted to tell me the secret, just as he was having me evicted from Wimbush Park. Since the armoire is deep inside the house, he knew that I would never be able to put the knowledge to any use whatever.” She held up her empty glass, “Shall we have another?”

The helicopter hung and banked under the whirling, chopping blades. We rose over endless green hills, glistening silver lakes and rivers and thick mottes of dark green trees.  

    We flew out of London and over the English countryside for nearly three hours until at last we crested a high ridge and, spread out before us was a huge formal park with orchards, tennis courts, lawns, hedges and flowerbeds, all groomed and manicured to perfection.

    All of it rose up a gentle, elegant slope to the ornate castellated roofs, the hundreds of gleaming windows, and the magnificent pale gothic arches of a sandstone mansion.

    We landed on the lawn. As one apparently does not. A white-haired butler burst out of the massive paneled doors and down the wide stone staircase, waving a white-gloved hand in the air.

    “Wait, wait, you can’t land here. Not on the lawns, you don’t have permission, wait.” He came rushing at us with the vigor of a much younger man. “Wait, oh, wait,” then he stopped and he looked at Roger. “Wait, it’s not true, is it?” He seized roger by the shoulders, “Is it really you, young master?”

    Whithers, the old family butler showed us courteously up the long staircase, in through doors that would have looked oversized on many a cathedral and into a wooden, vaulted hall.

    Then we were guided into a plush study, thickly carpeted and furnished with heavy, leather padded mahogany chairs, polished desks and bookcases, from the floor to the paneled and painted roof.

    Withers sat us at a table by a stone fireplace and brought cut crystal glasses, a sparkling decanter of port and another of cognac. “I’d offer you a meal but there’s nobody expected, young master. I was going into the village later to have some fish and chips.”

    Roger asked after Whithers and the other servants. The old man shook his head. “All laid off. All except for me, Tariq, the gardner and blacksmith and little Polly Saunders, the kitchen maid. Not even a cook or a housekeeper now. If someone’s coming, we get agency staff.”

    Roger asked Whithers to sit, but he said, “Pshaw” and would have none of it. They talked about the house, the village, the local news and then Roger brought the subject around to the armoire.

    “The Louis XIV armoire, young master? Wonderful piece. Almost inestimable value, they did say. Marvelous, intricate marquetry. Stood in the Trellis Hall since it came from the Chateau de Versailles, in sixteen and seventy six, young master A wonder to behold.”

    “So, thank you Whithers. I’m very glad to hear all of that. And where is it?”

    “The Trellis Hall, sir?”

    “Well, yes, where is the Trellis Hall.”

    Whithers looked at him, astonished, “Why,

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