The Impostor Prince. Tanya Crosby Anne

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      Had he moved forward a single inch more, it would have earned him a broken nose. As it was, she left him staring eye-to-eye with blue velvet.

      As the carriage lurched forward, the interior seemed emptier than it had before.

      Outside, thunder flared and rain began to pelt the rooftop.

      Or maybe it had been storming all along, because it occurred to him in that instant that, in her presence, he hadn’t been aware of anything but her.

       Chapter Four

       C lutching the battered box of silver, Claire waited until the carriage was gone and then hurried to her front door, closing it quickly against the rain and the prying eyes of neighbors.

      From outside, the Grosvenor Square residence might appear as venerable as ever, but inside it was little more than an empty shell. Room by room, Highbury Hall had been stripped of its dignity—pictures removed from the walls, vases and furnishings diminished.

      Only the drawing room remained intact, a facade for the benefit of guests Claire no longer received. She would be too ashamed for anyone to witness the decline of their home since their father’s death. Their good name was sure to follow.

      No one greeted her at the door as she entered the once-grand foyer. Many of the servants had abandoned them. Jasper, bless his ancient soul, had remained, despite the fact that she couldn’t pay him. The old steward and his wife had been with the family as long as Claire could recall, but even Jasper and Mrs. Tandy couldn’t revive the spirit of their dying abode.

      Claire made her way to the dining room and set the box of silverware on the table, patting it once, lovingly, before turning and leaving it to collect dust.

      In the drawing room, she slumped into her father’s favorite chair, easing into the familiar mold his body had etched into its worn fabric.

      She took comfort in the sweet scent of his pipe that lingered, even after so many months. It was hardly ladylike to forget her posture, but she didn’t care—not today.

      “Did everything go as planned, madam?”

      Claire peered up to find Jasper standing in the doorway. She shook her head.

      “I am sorry, madam.”

      “Have we any news?” Claire asked, though she dreaded the answer.

      “No, madam. It has been quiet today.”

      It was always quiet.

      No more male laughter rang through the halls.

      No more giggling maids.

      Claire sighed.

      Well, no news was good news, she supposed. At least, it wasn’t bad news.

      Jasper came into the room, retrieved a folded blanket from the settee and brought it to her, settling it over her lap. “You’ll catch a cold,” he admonished her.

      Claire took comfort in his solicitude but didn’t move or acknowledge his complaint. She had truly never felt so bone weary.

      “I don’t know what we’ll do,” she worried aloud.

      Jasper didn’t reply. He’d never been one to dwell on negativity and there was certainly little positive to say. He retrieved The Times from the desk across the room and returned, offering it to her. Claire took it and he patted her shoulder.

      “I shall have Mrs. Tandy fetch you some tea,” he offered.

      It still amused Claire that he spoke of his wife so formally.

      She wanted to tell him not to bother. Both Jasper and his sweet wife worked hard enough as it was and it was late. And yet, she would, indeed, love a spot of tea. “Thank you,” she relented.

      He left her to peruse the paper.

      Though it was an empty-headed thing to do, Claire ignored the front-page headlines, unable to bear the thought of adding more discord to her life. She turned to the society page and rolled her eyes at the frivolous headlines plastered there.

      Lord Burton had eloped with Emma Percy, a mere merchant’s daughter. Everyone was up in arms about it. Claire could think of far worse things, such as losing a father, then a brother.

      Her eyes stung as she recalled the tears in her father’s eyes during his final moments. He hadn’t wished to die so soon, but he’d known it was his time and he’d held her hand tightly as he’d said his goodbyes. Even some four months later, some nights as she drifted to sleep, the memory of his final breaths haunted her. There had been nothing peaceful about his parting. Riddled with pain, his every breath had been labored and his last had frozen in an openmouthed gasp.

      She pushed the images away, searching the paper for something frivolous.

      She found her distraction in another headline.

      HRH, the Crown Prince of Meridian had gone missing after his much-celebrated arrival in London. Speculation had it that his royal father expected him to find a suitable bride and he, apparently, had no wish to do so. And, much in the fashion of any spoiled, cornered monarch, he’d run away from London.

      What a pity.

      She rolled her eyes. Why should anyone care about some ungrateful prince from some inconsequential province?

      Claire had never met him, but she recalled the hullabaloo after his first visit to London some three years past. Her good friend Alexandra, who’d been invited to a royal soiree in the prince’s honor, had told Claire the prince had seemed arrogant and bored with everyone but himself. Alexandra had said he was rude, rebuffing all attempts at polite conversation. In fact, Alexandra had had a terrible crush on him until she’d suffered the misfortune of sharing a dance with the man. Forced upon her by Lexie’s mother, Lady Huntington, he’d treated Alexandra to a painful ten minutes of unrelenting silence and then had deposited her without a word at her mother’s side. Embarrassed, Alexandra had wept for two days after.

      Disgusted, Claire tossed the paper aside, ignoring the voice in her head that cautioned her to retrieve it before the ink could mar the fine ivory cloth of the settee.

      God’s truth, she couldn’t care less who was doing what to whom. Didn’t anyone have anything better to worry about?

      God bless Emma Percy; may she be blissfully happy every last day of her life! And Mr. Runaway Prince would come home as soon as his royal papa snipped his purse strings.

      In the meantime, how was Claire supposed to raise the remaining banknotes to ensure her brother’s safe return?

      Jasper returned suddenly…without the tea.

      In his right hand, he held a small parcel. He stood in the doorway, his color ashen, a look of horror on his face.

      Mrs. Tandy came to look over his shoulder.

      Claire sat upright, her skin prickling with fear. “What is it, Jasper?”

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