Page 23 of Deposed

“Ah…” Blake rubbed his chin. “But Charlotte’s had her eye on one person for the past few years.”

Henry hunched in his seat and squirmed. “I never led her on.”

I shot Blake a filthy look. Perhaps he had forgotten that I’d overheard him making promises to Charlotte about a potential relationship with Henry. It still baffled me that he would do such a thing to a friend. “But someone else did.”

Blake turned to watch the rest of Charlotte’s speech.

She spread her arms wide. “For far too long, everyone in this school has taken direction from a small group of individuals who have held themselves up as exemplary students worthy of leadership.” A few grumbles broke out across the room, and she paused for effect. When the students fell silent, she continued. “These false idols have fallen to the pyres of scandal, proving themselves just as fallible as anyone else!”

A group of people sitting a few tables away gave her a round of enthusiastic applause. When no one else joined in, they stopped.

“I say the time has come when we look to ourselves for leadership, and I will show you the way.” She raised one fist in the air.

A snort escaped my nostrils. She was happy enough to follow the triumvirate when she thought there was a chance with Henry.

Charlotte placed her hands on her hips. “Did you have something to say, Hobson?”

I rose to my feet. “Actually, I do. You were affected by the scandals, too. What happened to the salary of twelve-thousand pounds your father claimed from the government for secretarial duties performed in Westminster while you were here at school?”

Red blotches appeared on her cheeks. “What would a failed gold digger know about politics?”

“Why don’t you tell me how a girl whose father is facing prison for stealing government money got the cash for cosmetic surgery?”

“Get out, you trollop!” Charlotte pointed at the door.

Spreading my arms wide, I said, “When someone has to resort to insults, they’ve already lost the argument. Be careful who you call a trollop. People might start remembering your cinematic debut from the last school trip.”

A few snickers broke out across the dining room, but not enough to make Charlotte run out in shame. I lowered myself to my seat and turned back to my eggs Florentine, ignoring the barrage of insults Charlotte rained down on our table. At least this marked the end of her coronation speech.

* * *

The following Saturday after classes, Henry and I took a limo down to London to visit his parents. I buried my nose in a copy of Don Quixote for the journey, and Henry played games on his smartphone. Without Edward or Blake to act as a buffer, neither of us had much to say to each other. I still bore a grudge from his failure to clear my name for the kidnapping, and he blamed me for his current state of disgrace and disinheritance.

We reached Piccadilly Circus, which was bustling with people enjoying the Spring bank holiday. But instead of stopping outside the main entrance of the store, the car turned down another street.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“The underground entrance.”

I sucked my bottom lip. “Did your parents tell you to use it?”

He turned his face toward the window. “Sales have only just started picking up since they announced Jonas as the heir. The whole country knows my face from those pictures of Blake and me together.”

My spine curled into the limo’s plush, leather seat. “I didn’t put them on the internet.”

“Rudolph Trommel did. I know,” he replied without casting me a glance. His tone of voice conveyed the unspoken accusation. If I hadn’t worked with the Saturday Correspondent, he wouldn’t be in this awful position.

Guilt weighed in my stomach and wallowed around like a sick pig. I leaned back in my seat and placed the open book on my lap. My methods had been extreme, but because of Mr. Frost’s confession, Jackie managed to get the police to expunge my record, something Henry could have arranged privately with his parents but hadn’t.

At the corner of a busy road lined with stores stood a multi-story parking lot emblazoned with the Bourneville crest. The limo drove through its low entrance and turned right, following signs to the basement. It drove down and around the internal ramps until it reached the bottom level, where a roller shutter stood at a wall.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A passageway that leads to the store,” muttered Henry.

I pursed my lips. By coming with him and pretending to be his girlfriend, I was doing a damned sight more for him than he had for me when his own actions had thrown me into disgrace. I would have said as much, but I didn’t want an argument so close to meeting his parents.

The car drove down a darkened passageway that stretched about two blocks, ending in an underground parking lot that looked more like the garage section of Bruce Wayne’s bat cave. Luxury cars stretched out several feet, some of them vintage. I glanced down at my silk blouse and wool skirt. Given their wealth, his parents were probably as grand as royalty.