Saving Landon Part 62

"What about the house? The servants?" I asked, thinking about the prized Carlyle Manor, high in the hills.

"The house is part of the inheritance, and the servants are paid out of the interest earned by the family investments," Dad shook his head. "I'm quite flabbergasted that you didn't know all of this."

"Your parents are somewhat lax on the details, it would appear," I bitterly remarked.

This wasn't part of the plan. I was supposed to just inherit a vast sum of money and cruise on it for the rest of my days. I wished I had been allowed to discuss it with my father he might have filled me in on some of the details if I had bothered to ask. However, Raleigh Carlyle was very specific in that I should only talk to them if I wanted to know more... and I hadn't wanted to come off as too eager.

They didn't exactly favor eagerness, when it came to inheriting their wealth.

"There are responsibilities; inherit the Carlyle Fortune, and you'll find yourself caught between the binding chains of succession. To fail to meet the ongoing criteria is to forfeit the fortune to the next in succession and to be legally barred from ever receiving any of it, unless you want to risk their birthright to it as well."

"This is bulls.h.i.+t," I grumbled furiously.

I'd planned for the contingency, but if what he was telling me was true... then taking the money was to submit myself to a lifelong screening beneath their standards.

"Your ancestor, Reginald Carlyle, was very particular in his wishes," Dad muttered. "His will was signed by the reigning King of England, and cannot be overturned by a successive will. His rules dictate when his wealth should be stripped of an inheritor and proceeded down the chain."

"And what happens when there are no successors?" I angrily asked. "What if you drop dead and I never have a child? I'm the last Carlyle in the chain. Can I dictate where the chain goes next?"

"What you have to remember about Reginald is that he became fiercely determined to restore the family name to glory, no matter the consequences," Dad grunted. "Upon demise of the family name, the entire Carlyle Fortune returns to the Crown."

"The monarchy takes it all," I realized with horror. "If there's no direct blood successor, it gets piled into the endless coffers of the King and Queen."

"Precisely."

We sat in silence for a moment.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. All of this was complete, utter bulls.h.i.+t. It had never really occurred to me that I'd ever turn down the Carlyle Fortune. The inheritance apparently came with a plethora of binding strings...

All those strings would be attached to me.

It's not fair. This wasn't the plan.

"So, did you just call me down here to rip away my dreams and send me back into the night, or was there some sort of ulterior motive to requesting my company?" I asked bitterly.

"Ah, yes," Father remembered. "I hadn't even meant to really broach that topic. But you will have all the time you need to question Raleigh Carlyle, so long as you act quickly..."

"What do you mean?"

"Your grandfather is growing old," he replied, taking a final swig from his beer. "You can't really tell, just looking at him, but his health is vastly deteriorating. According to Mum, he's not expected to last the end of the year."

"Granddad is dying?"

"He is, the old b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Father nodded, his eyes lost straight ahead. "The two of them will be here in the States shortly. It's likely that this will be your last chance to see him before he finally keels over and slides back down into whatever pit of h.e.l.l he first crawled out from."

This was all a lot to process.

But I wasn't prepared for the real bombsh.e.l.l.

"What's bringing them stateside? I don't recall ever hearing about my grandparents flying our way."

Dad looked at me with surprise, before finally curling his face into a warm smile. "Oh, that's right, neither of you know... Sarah wanted it to be a surprise, after all. She's not telling Clara for a week."

"Sarah wanted what to be a surprise?" I asked, feeling fear mount in the back of my head.

My father flashed the backs of his knuckles, revealing a modest silver band. "As much as I might hate your grandparents, I wanted them to be present both of them, alive to see it, and how far I've come without them.

"You see... I proposed last night."

45.

Arrogant Brit

Chapter 8.

I grew concerned when Dalton didn't answer my texts all weekend. It wasn't like him to ignore me, and I was beginning to think that something was really wrong.

It was Sunday night when he finally rang. On misguided principle, I almost didn't answer.

"h.e.l.lo, stranger," I greeted him bitterly.

"Clara," he replied over the phone. Something was wrong with his voice. "I'm sorry that I've been distant the last few days, I've just been... dealing with something."

"Oh? What might that be?"

There was a pause over the line.

"My grandfather is dying."

Regret instantly panged inside my heart. Here I was, furious that he hadn't been in touch since leaving early Friday night, and he was grieving the coming loss of his grandfather?

Way to f.u.c.king go, Clara.

"Oh my G.o.d. I'm so sorry, Dalton. Is there anything that I can do?" I asked tenderly, trying to quickly kill the residual frustration inside.

"I want company. Can you come over?"

I paused. This was a big step.

"Are you... are you sure that's what you want?" I asked, swallowing my hesitation. I had a faint idea of the kind of comforting he'd want if I drove over there, and I wasn't quite prepared to give that. "I mean, I just don't want you to be disappointed or anything..."

"You're right. Forget it," he replied tersely.

Second time I've f.u.c.ked up today.

"No, Dalton, I didn't mean it like"

"I said forget it," he insisted. "Anyway. I'm going to just watch some TV and go to sleep. Have a good night. I'll see you in cla.s.s tomorrow."

With that, he hung up.

I stood there, holding the silent phone to my head like an idiot for a couple of minutes. All sorts of thoughts spiraled through my head How could I be so cold? What would really happen if I went? Would he even open the door if I did?

Lowering my phone, I stumbled out into the apartment like an emotionally drained zombie. Natalie was lying on the couch with her boyfriend, Jared. Her head was in his lap, and he was absentmindedly stroking her hair while they watched something together.

As if she had some sort of Super Roommate ESP, she bolted upright as I came out.

"Hey. What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing," I replied apathetically, glancing up at her.

Her eyes slid from mine down to the phone in my hand. "You finally got him on the line, didn't you? And you heard something you didn't like?"

"He, uh, his grandparents are dying. I mean, just his grandfather, I guess," I responded mindlessly. "He asked me to go over, but I didn't think it was a good idea. When I said that, he got mad at me."

"Of course he's mad at you, you big, dumb oaf," Natalie chuckled, shaking her head. "Look, so you're not exactly the most comforting chick on the block. Whatever. You know where he lives, right? Go see him."

Jared nodded quietly, trying to contribute to the conversation in some way.

"But he's angry."

"So what? He'll be fine when he sees you. Maybe not immediately, but if you work some of your feminine charm on the guy... eh, he'll come back around."

"You want me to sleep with him?"

"You do you, girl," she smiled cheerily. "If that's what you want, then yeah. Just don't do anything you're not comfortable with. I don't think he'll exactly be ready to totally jump your bones if this is still sinking in."

"That sounds reasonable," I agreed.

"Good. So, get out of here and go to him."

"You just want me out of here so that you two can f.u.c.k," I grinned sort of slyly, placing my hand on my hip. "Because you guys are. Loud. As. f.u.c.k."

"If f.u.c.k had a volume, I guess it would have to be pretty loud," Natalie nodded to herself. "But the loud s.e.x is how you know it's great s.e.x. You're totally right, though. I want to take this beautiful, stupid boy to Pound Town until the night's halfway gone."

"Did you just call me stupid?" Jared raised his eyebrow at her.

"Oh, baby," Nat replied with a high, cooing voice, caressing his cheek. "Of course I did. Honey, you're as dumb as a burlap sack of c.r.a.p. But you're cute, and your c.o.c.k fits so good inside me..."

"I am not listening to this," I loudly reminded.

"You sure as f.u.c.k are if you're not getting pretty and hopping in that rust-bucket car of yours!" She replied airily, turning towards me and ignoring Jared's contemptuous look. "Go forth, young padawan. Your man doth require thy supple, womanly figure! Fulfill thine destiny and f.u.c.k until the sun rises!"

"I'm not f.u.c.king him tonight!" I declared, covering my ears and retreating from the room.

Natalie was loudly continuing her awful old English accent and reciting pseudo Shakespearean gibberish, but I playfully m.u.f.fled out the noise as I changed into something more flattering than loose pajamas.

Confident in my selection, I modeled it off for her beside the couch.

Natalie responded in her most outlandishly regal voice, accentuating practically every syllable: ""Oh, darrrling, you look magnificent."

After a smug, countering smile, I s.n.a.t.c.hed up my keys and bid them goodnight. As far as I was aware, I was coming back, but I didn't want to make any presumptions about the night.

Especially when Dalton was mad at me.

Pulling up the directions on my smartphone, I kicked my car into drive and navigated into the streets. It was awfully convenient that he didn't live very far at all. Even with some congestion, it was insisting that I could be knocking on his door within a tentative fifteen minutes.

After a few red lights, some jacka.s.s almost sideswiping me to get into my lane, and a flock of pedestrians stalling traffic for a moment, I was pulling in front of his home.

Dalton appeared to be renting a small house, located on the edge of the city. There was enough room for maybe two cars in the driveway I could see his motorcycle, as well as a car I didn't recognize. Makes sense that he has one of each, I figured to myself.

Instead of trying to fit in there, I found a spot a couple of houses down and parallel parked out in front.

My confidence wavered for the first time since leaving my apartment. Confronted with actually seeing him again within a matter of seconds, I wasn't precisely sure what I was going to say to him.

Way to think this through, Clara.

I double-checked the address twice before knocking on his front door. His house was wrapped in white wooden siding, with his front patio receding beneath the overhang of the roof. There were a couple of windows, with the curtains drawn, but I could see light filtering out.

A shadow moved. The curtain drew apart slightly, and I couldn't make out who was behind it. But the silhouette moved back into place without greeting the door.

Oh great, I thought to myself. I've gone through all this effort, and he just doesn't want to see me at all?

Swallowing my frustration, I knocked again. This time, the silhouette moved out of sight, and there came the sound of creaking footsteps from just on the other side of the door.

I noticed the peephole, and stepped back from it to give a better look, although I fully expected to be recognized.

"Hi?" I heard from the other side of the door. The voice belonged to someone else a guy, somewhere between both our ages.

"I'm here for Dalton?" I replied, guessing I was speaking to a roommate. "Do I have the right house? This is where he said he lived."

I heard the sound of the door unlocking, and it creaked open enough for a grimy face to peer out. The stranger was clearly trying to grow out a beard, but he wasn't getting anything more than a thick, scruffy mess. His eyes were jittery, and he could stand to wash his face off.

"For Dalton? Who're you?"