Interlude I

INTERLUDE I

THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER

Xavier

“ H ave you figured out what you’ll say to your dad?”

The train chugged away from Oxenholme. It was a connector, but not taking it meant I’d have had to tell them I was coming. And I hated telling Rupert Parker I was coming. I hated everything about the man.

Fine, so maybe he tried a little. After Mum died and he chucked me into Eton, he took me to the estate that summer, had the shop closed up, and the flat rented out. I didn’t remember much about that summer except for the horses. Rupert liked horses, and he liked polo, and it was the only thing he could ever convince me to try for myself.

But off the pitch, his attempts at being a real “father” after sixteen years of absence were about as transparent as the last bits of hair he combed over his bald spot. Everything I did was a disappointment. Polo was all right, though I’d never love horses the way he did. I didn’t mind the fresh air, but stalking for deer was probably the most boring thing in the world when I’d have preferred playing football with the lads back home. And having a son who cooked? Please. I might as well have been panhandling every time he saw me in the kitchen.

I turned to where my neighbor Lucy was sitting beside me in the train car. She was a good sport, Luce. Had volunteered to ride up to Kendal with me a week early instead of staying in London for the start of the Season with the rest of her family.

It wasn’t really a surprise. Imogene, her sister, was all for the garden parties and horse shows, all the excuses for the rich and powerful of England to act like anything they did really mattered, but Lucy was never one for that scene. They tired her out too much, and there were too many potential allergens that could set off a reaction. Imagine going through life knowing you could experience spontaneous anaphylaxis for no apparent reason. All I knew was that it made her really sick sometimes and miss out on a lot.

I should have gone. I was supposed to go. But I’d have rather drowned myself in the Thames than wear tails and grin with all the other peacocks, especially since it was always the same bloody faces at every one of those things. Lucy and I had that in common too. I’d had enough of their pompous faces at Eton, then the American sort at Dartmouth, and back to England again at Christ Church.

Well, I was done with all that now. They’d have to lock me in a cage to get me back to university.

“I don’t really think it matters,” I told Lucy. “He’s going to go berserk no matter what I say anyway. Can’t think of a single duke who’d be happy his son got expelled for fighting for the fourth time. Unless it was fencing anyway.”

We both snorted, as if the idea of me dressed like a cotton swab with a rapier was equally ridiculous to both of us.

“I can’t imagine it was only the fight that got you expelled,” Lucy put in wryly. “More the punch you landed on the nose of an actual prince. And the fact that it got you the front page of the Mail . Again.”

“I didn’t mean to hit the prince of Denmark. I was going for his mate. The royal idiot just got in the way.”

Right. So I was full of it. And yeah, it probably wasn’t the greatest thing to give a future king a black eye. Even worse, to do it outdoors, where plenty of students had iPhones and social accounts. And maybe I shouldn’t have shouted right after, “Who’s a prince now, bitch?”

Yeah. Not my finest hour.

I rubbed the bruise forming on my jaw. I had to give it to the prince—his punches were soft, but he’d managed to get in a few. Not enough to save himself a walloping, but enough to command a bit of respect.

“You’re lucky expulsion is all you got, you know,” Lucy pointed out.

“True. He could have had his great auntie lock me in the tower. He’s related to the queen, right? All the royals are related somehow.”

“Don’t be an ass, Xavi. No one gets locked in the Tower of London anymore. She might have had you thrown into Broadmoor, though. You could argue insanity.”

I snorted.

“Here, I brought some ice from the club car. You really do look dreadful.”

Begrudgingly, I accepted the offered bag of ice and pressed it to my jaw, which was admittedly throbbing after yesterday’s scuffle.

“Are they still giving you problems, then?” Lucy asked after about ten minutes.

“Different school, same jokes. Half-breed bastards are easy pickings, don’t you know?”

“Even at uni? I’d have thought it would have stopped after Eton.”

I grunted and dropped the pack on the tray in front of us. “Schools change. People don’t. I thought it would be different in the US, but it wasn’t. Come back here, same old rubbish. I shouldn’t have even tried.”

You’d think in the twenty-first century, things would be a bit more modern, but not with this lot. Not when the names and titles they used were created centuries ago. Not when half the laws governing their precious inheritances were nearly as old.

“I don’t know why he even bothers,” I said. “It’s not like any number of posh schools are going to change the fact that I’m the brat he got on the cook. Honestly, things were better for me in Croydon with?—”

I bit off my words and swallowed back the tears that pricked whenever I thought of Mum, even three years after her death. It was only late at night that I’d let myself think of her sometimes. When I was back from school, and could creep down to the kitchens of Corbray Hall after the staff had gone for the day. There, I’d nose around and make a bento for myself out of whatever I could find. Cut the rice into shapes like Mum used to. Shave a bit of carrot like hair and make faces with sesame seeds.

She always did want me to eat healthy.

And sure, maybe sometimes I’d cry a little. At first.

But not anymore.

“At least they are still trying to help you fit in.” Lucy sighed and kicked her feet out in front of her. She was short, so they barely grazed the floor. “Imogene came out this year, you know. Mummy took her to London and everything. She was so excited. Told Papa, ‘Finally, one of them can actually be a real Viscount’s daughter.’”

I scowled. Maybe this was why Luce and I had always gotten on from the moment Rupert had dragged my stubborn arse up to Cumbria and plopped me on the estate adjoining hers. We both knew what it was like to fall short in our relative positions—me because of the circumstances of my birth and Luce because of her health.

“Your dad gives my dad a run for his money in the arse department.” I looked her over curiously. “I thought they took care of the cancer, though. What did the doctors tell you this time?”

Something in my chest squeezed. Over the years, Lucy had been in and out of the hospital more times than I’d visited the headmaster’s office. Every time she went to London, it was to see another specialist at a different hospital to get another scary diagnosis. There were a few times they weren’t sure she’d make it.

She shrugged. “They say it’s still in remission, but now there are the adrenal insufficiencies to worry about from all the steroids. Not to mention spontaneous anaphylaxis, of course.” She sighed. “I can’t seem to get it right.”

I swallowed, unsure of what to say. I didn’t really understand Lucy’s condition—something called mast cell activation syndrome. From what she said, it was like having extreme allergic reactions all the fucking time, and in her case, actually caused a type of leukemia. That was scary. I spent most of my free weekends that year keeping her company during chemo. It was the only reason I ever studied for A-Levels—I read to her while she lay there feeling sick. If I believed in God, I’d have thanked him when they said she’d recover.

“Well, you look great to me,” I told her, patting her hand. “Ready to join the Premier League, eh? I hear the Arsenal Scouts are having a tryout next week.”

She rolled her eyes. “You never change. Single track mind.”

I grinned. “You can take the boy out of Croydon…”

She sighed and looked out the window as the countryside zoomed by. “Do you ever think about what things could be like away from here? If we didn’t have to come back to Kendal?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked. “Only all the bloody time. I’m counting the days, you know. Taking you with me, too.”

Lucy turned in genuine surprise. “You are not.”

“I am.” I held up my hand like I was framing a painting. “Picture this. You. Me. My mum’s flat in South End. You can have the bedroom, I’ll take the sofa. You’ll go to LSE like you always wanted, and I’ll do culinary school. We’ll get out of fucking Kendal and live our lives the way we actually want. It’ll be perfect, Luce. Just us.”

Lucy seemed enraptured with the dream, looking through my fingers like she could actually see the picture I was describing.

Then, suddenly, she made a face. “I don’t know if I’d want to live with you, Xav. You’re kind of disgusting.”

I scowled. “Disgusting? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that I don’t really fancy living in a sea of condoms and girls’ knickers,” she said. “Especially the kind you go after. Chelsea Nobbs in the stables? Really? She’s shagged half the village, you know.”

I snickered. I wasn’t going to lie. Girls had never been the problem when it came to fitting in around here. It was their brothers who usually hated me. And mothers. And, of course, the fathers.

I nudged Lucy’s arm. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’d never bring any of them around you. Not to our home.”

Lucy snorted. “Just wait until you fall in love with one of them, Xav. Then we’ll see how much I really matter.”

“Nah, that’ll never happen,” I told her. “What’ve we been discussing this whole time, eh? I’m a heartless bastard, Luce, through and through.”

It didn’t seem to make her feel better.

“But, hey.” I pulled at her jumper, making her turn back to me from the window. “I’m also your best friend. You and Jagger and Elsie—you’re the only ones who matter to me. Nothing could ever get in the way of that.”

The train pulled to a stop at the Kendal station, and both of us peered out the window to where a few people were waiting for the arrivals. In the center of the platform stood Lucy’s mother’s personal assistant, whom we both affectionately called Mrs. Poppins for her tendency to carry an umbrella with her, rain or shine.

Beside her, to my surprise, loomed my uncle, Henry Parker.

“Looks like the dean called ahead and told the duke anyway,” Lucy remarked, then looked at me sympathetically.

“Sent his right-hand man, too.”

“He does look a bit peeved,” Lucy agreed.

“Secondhand irritation. I know the duke means business when he sends Uncle Henry to fetch me instead of the driver.”

“That’s because he knows Barney will let you knock off to the pub for a few hours. And possibly end up in Chelsea Nobbs’s bed, which means you won’t get to the estate until, oh, Tuesday.”

“Bah. We never make it to a bed. I can’t fit through the window anymore when her dad gets home.”

We gathered our things and exited the train, Lucy taking my hand as she stepped carefully onto the platform. She was a bit shaky on her feet but not as skinny as she used to be. That was something. Mrs. Poppins rushed to meet us, cane in hand, which Lucy shooed away.

“I can walk,” she said smartly, then clapped a hat on her head full of fine, newly grown curls and waved at me. “Xav!”

I turned back. “Yeah?”

“Tea on Sunday?”

“Tea” was Lucy’s code for “my parents will be at church, so come over and cook.” Unlike everyone else living in this mausoleum, Lucy actually liked it when I experimented in the kitchen. Especially when I made Mum’s old recipes and told her stories about Croydon.

I grinned. “You got it.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make other plans.”

I turned to where my uncle stood a few feet away, watching Lucy leave while we waited for the porters to unload my luggage.

Uncle Henry was one of the many “family” members I’d gained three years earlier, the day when Rupert Parker showed up at my mother’s wake. While the rest of the Parker clan—including Rupert’s wife and her son—tended to treat me like an old shoe they’d prefer was left in a mudroom, Henry was one of the few who attempted legitimate conversation. I wouldn’t have called him friendly. But he actually asked me questions about myself and seemed to be interested in the answers.

Low bar, maybe. But it was something in a world where most everyone’s standard response was, “Mmm, well.”

When I’d first arrived at Kendal, Henry had been the one to show me to my room, tour the grounds, and basically get me acquainted with the ins and outs of life on a large country estate. It made sense, of course, since, as the second son, he was the estate’s steward. He managed everything about my father’s life, from bank accounts to tenants, to investments and staff. Why not an illegitimate son too?

“Looking good, Hal,” I teased him.

Henry just blinked, as implacable as his older brother was testy but otherwise looking almost like his twin, right down to the Barbour jacket and wool cap that covered graying hair. I’d inherited the family eyes and height, but that was it for our resemblance. The rest of the Parkers were as fair as I was dark, with the long noses and hunched backs of aristocrats who had spent too many centuries counting their money.

At least Uncle Henry was reasonably nice. Well, maybe nice wasn’t the right word. Respectful? Didn’t treat me like gum on his shoe?

“Xavier,” he said with a brusque nod. “You’re wanted in time for tea.”

I rolled my eyes at the dour tone. My uncle sounded like he dreaded going back to Corbray Hall as much as I did. “I suppose His Grace received the news of my expulsion.”

“From the dean himself, as it were.” Uncle Henry shook his head. “What were you thinking, fighting a royal? What could you have possibly thought you’d accomplish other than making the papers yet again?”

I shrugged. “He got in the way.”

“That cannot possibly be all.” Henry directed the porters to the exit, and we walked together behind them.

“And I didn’t like his face.” I grimaced. “Or what was coming out of it.”

I wasn’t about to explain myself to my uncle or anyone. It never mattered what my reasons were—reasons like them calling my mum a whore or Lucy a cripple. The rich pricks caught on quick that while I never cared what they called me, I couldn’t shake off what they called the few people in this world I did care about. But whenever I explained why I punched out the Viscount of Arsholebyshire or broke the Marquess of Cuntythwack’s nephew’s nose, the answer was always the same: gentlemen don’t brawl. Or at least they don’t get caught throwing the first punch.

Which, of course, only taught me one thing: I was never going to be no gentleman.

Henry only sighed. He knew when to press and when not to, and the older I got, the less he seemed to try.

I believe that’s why they call me incorrigible.

“So, what’s my punishment this time? No polo? Please, don’t take away my ponies. Or, let me guess, cut off the allowance I don’t use? Stop tuition at the next school I get kicked out of?” I chuckled at the ridiculousness. It was like tempting a bee with honey they had already made themselves.

Henry just shook his head as we stopped at the Rolls, where he opened up the boot for the porters to put my bags. “I’m afraid not. This time you’re staying here. For good.”

I snorted. Fat chance, that. “That is a real punishment. Honestly, Henry, why doesn’t he just disown me and get it over with? Throw me back to the South End. I don’t belong here, just like everyone keeps telling me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, boy.”

Henry gave the porters a tip, then waited until they were fully out of earshot to turn and speak again. “There’s been some records found. In Japan. Your mother’s…people…sent them.”

I frowned. I’d barely heard from my grandfather or my uncle in Okazaki since the funeral. My uncle apparently took it personally when I’d, you know, obeyed the law and gone with the man who now had legal custody. There was no way he would have voluntarily communicated with the family who had shamed his sister.

Henry was solemn, however. He never joked, and certainly not about something like this.

“What did they send?” I asked, hoping it might be good. Some really good salt, maybe. Or some packaged mochi. Once, they sent Mum a bottle of aged soy sauce, which she prized like the crown jewels.

But they were likely letters from Mum, I guessed. Or some old pictures of me when I was young. Maybe my birth certificate, which had been lost a while ago. Deep down, I’d always hoped I’d actually been more in Japan, not England, despite the fact that Mum insisted, again and again, I’d been delivered right there at Croydon Hospital.

I perked up. “Don’t tell me—I’m not Rupert Parker’s son after all. My dad’s in fact a samurai lord who’s been searching for me and his long-lost wife for the last nineteen years. He’s heard of my fighting prowess and wants to bring me home to learn the family trade. Have I got it?”

Even Henry couldn’t help rolling his eyes. I laughed. I might not have had the same coloring as my dad, but even I had to admit, there was no denying that I was half Parker.

“It is a marriage certificate,” he told me. “Between your father and Masumi Sato—your mother, of course. Dated the year before your birth at a Buddhist temple in Okazaki. Rather heathen, of course, but legitimate just the same. It seems that your parents were secretly married in your mother’s hometown just before she ended the relationship. She left Kendal for London just before their divorce went through. But not before you were conceived.”

He looked almost ill as he said it, but to his credit, Henry didn’t show the disgust most people had when they imagined the Duke of Kendal knocking up—or in this case, marrying—a local student who worked part time as his family’s cook. It was more like he was shocked.

I honestly thought I might puke as I reached for the top of the Rolls to steady myself. “I—who—what? They—you mean—I’m not a?—”

“Bastard,” Henry finished, like the word physically hurt. “No, boy, it appears not. Which means you will be the next Duke of Kendal, not some distant cousin. And so, my lord, since you are so determined not to succeed at university, it has been decided that you will continue your education here. You will learn what it means to be a duke. And you’d better get used to it.”