Royal Heir (Westerly Billionaire #3)
Ruth Cardello
Chapter One
Rachelle Westerly stopped halfway down a long corridor lined with closed doors. When her brother Eric had said his London home was large enough for her to stay as long as she wanted without it bothering him, she’d thought he was being kind. No, he’d been serious. In the week since Rachelle had arrived, she’d seen him once. His house staff, large and efficient as it was, could never quite tell her his location.
Having grown up in a modest suburban home outside Boston, Rachelle didn’t know what to think of the majestic seventy-plus-bedroom English estate. Is this what I’d be used to if I had gone with Dad? When her parents divorced, the three youngest children had remained with their mother, who had raised them on a frugal nurse’s salary and taught them the importance of clipping coupons. They’d never been hungry, but they’d all worked and contributed to the family’s budget because their mother considered money the root of all evil. It was—according to her mother—what had torn the family apart.
If this is hell, it has a remarkable number of antiques.
And staff.
Years of teaching first grade had honed Rachelle’s ability to link faces with names. Not much crushed a child more than forgetting his or her name. Still, Eric had such a large staff that she wondered if anyone knew all of them. Some cleaned, some cooked, some tended to the gardens, while others maintained the vehicles or the buildings. There were several pool cleaners, a security team, and Reggie, the full-time electrician who had given Rachelle a tour of which parts of the estate were not currently safe.
Who has a house so large parts of it are unsafe to venture into?
Movie stars.
When Rachelle had asked Eric about those areas, he’d said renovations were the norm for any estate from the 1800s. Homes that were once built and owned by royalty were now often sold off to “commoners” because the cost of maintaining them was staggering.
“Then why own one?” Rachelle had asked.
Eric had shrugged and said, “It seemed a shame to let nature reclaim it. Besides, it’s not like I can’t afford it. You could as well if you asked Dad for your inheritance.”
“Don’t you mean our grandmother?”
Eric had shuddered. “There’s not enough money in the world to make asking Delinda for anything worth it. You don’t have to go through her to get to your inheritance. Just ask Dad for a loan. There’s nothing he likes more than writing a check. It’s what he does best.”
“Is that how you pay for all this?” Rachelle had asked. Getting to know her brother was why she’d come.
“I wish. No, I pay for it with my privacy and my dignity.”
The pain she’d seen in his eyes had validated what she’d sensed as she’d spoken to him at their brother Brett’s wedding when she’d found Eric standing off to one side—alone. He might have always been able to afford anything he wanted, but it hadn’t made him happy. It saddened Rachelle to realize that the fame Eric had found on the big screen hadn’t, either.
Her family teased her for always wanting to mother-hen them, but she couldn’t help it. She worried about people. Every child who had ever occupied a chair in her classroom had left with a piece of her heart. She remembered a veteran teacher once telling her she’d need to toughen up or she’d never make it as a teacher. She hadn’t even tried. If caring too much was wrong, she’d never be right.
Unfortunately, that pretty much described how her life had been going lately. She was having difficulty reconciling how she’d always seen herself with how she’d behaved lately. She used to describe herself as caring, honest, confident.
Recently, if she was honest with herself, the woman in the mirror looked scared and clingy. When her brother Spencer had found out his biological father was their mother’s second husband from an affair she’d had while still married to her first husband, all hell had broken loose in her family. She’d tried to contain the damage, but her efforts had only made it worse, and she’d ended up hurting the very people she loved. Although apologies had been made and forgiveness had been granted, the experience had left Rachelle shaken.
Every time her mother had stumbled, Rachelle had been there to help pick her up. After the divorce, Rachelle had cared for her youngest sister, Nicolette, and Spencer. When Mark, her mother’s second husband, had gotten ill, Rachelle had helped care for him as well. She’d picked up the parenting slack as much as she could, and she’d never resented the added responsibility. She thought that’s what people did when they loved their family.
Somehow it had been too much. Like coming here?
But how could I pretend I didn’t see the yearning in Eric? He wants to find his way back to us.
Right now I’d be happy to find my way back to my room.
Or the main foyer.
The corridor dead-ended at a large double door. Rachelle tried to open it, but it was locked. She jostled it again, more out of frustration than because she thought it might suddenly open.
“Are you lost again?” Reggie asked from behind her.
Rachelle spun around. He reminded her of Lurch from The Addams Family, but younger. Tall. Pale. Jet-black hair. She guessed he was not much older than she was—in his early thirties, perhaps. He was American, so Rachelle felt somewhat of an affinity for him, but he was also quite odd. “I thought I saw Eric come this way.”