Her Royal Baby (10 page)

‘How fascinating,' she snapped. ‘You miss your engineering, do you? Well, can I remind you that I'm not just Henry's aunt? I'm a tree surgeon. I need to get back to
my
work.'

‘You can. Right here.'

‘But you can't design whatever it is you design here as well?'

‘There's no need…'

‘There's every need. I don't know the first thing about running castles. Nor do I intend to try.'

‘You don't need to. The palace will run itself.'

‘Yeah, like it's been running itself for the last ten years. Mrs Burchett's been telling me what a disaster it's been.'

‘She's been telling you too damn much.'

‘She's been telling me how miserable they all were,' she snapped. ‘How everything's been pushed to the side. How Jean-Paul and his elder brother before him refused to take on any responsibility for either the palace or the broader principality. And here you are, ruler for the next twenty-five years whether you like it or not, taking yourself off from responsibility as fast as your legs can carry you. Landing me—'

‘I'm still coping with the political necessities of the crown. I'm not landing you with anything.'

‘No. Not with Henry?'

‘He's your nephew.'

‘He's your heir.'

‘He's not
my
heir. Do you understand nothing about regencies?'

‘I understand enough,' she said through gritted teeth. Henry had closed his eyes now, slumping down on her shoulder with the expression of a baby at peace with his world. ‘I understand that your responsibility is this kingdom—this principality—for twenty-five years. I understand that this place needs a leader. It's desperate for a leader. I hadn't been here for half an hour before I saw that, and according to the staff in the kitchen this palace is just a sample of how much the rest of the country's in need of leadership. And off you go, heading back to your castle to be an aquatic engineer.'

‘I don't need this. I never wanted—'

‘What? Responsibility? Commitment? Mrs Burchett told me how you've been running scared of it all your life. She told me about your mother—'

‘What the hell do you know about my mother?' He was almost speechless.

‘That your father had an affair with Jean-Paul's mother and broke your mother's heart. That she committed suicide when you were twelve years old and your father drank himself to death soon after. That you blamed Jean-Paul's family—the royal family—for destroying your childhood.'

‘I don't believe I'm hearing this.' How dared Mrs Burchett talk about him like this? He should stalk into the castle and sack her on the spot.

But…she'd only reiterated what every woman's magazine in the principality had been saying for years. Like it or not, this was public knowledge.

Tammy was backing away, her anger fading as she realised that maybe she'd gone too far. ‘I know,' she conceded, a hint of apology in her voice. ‘You're right in that your
past history is none of my business. But I didn't have to be here long to see the staff are desperate. They want you here so much. They were trying to make me see…'

‘Make you see what?'

‘That you have to stay. They didn't tell me you intended to go back to your home, but now that you've said it—I guess it explains their attitude. They'll have known you intended to leave me and Henry here alone. Marc, I'm sorry about your past. I shouldn't have brought it up, but…'

But he was past listening to apologies. He was almost past listening—period. ‘This has nothing to do with gossip,' he exploded. ‘It has nothing to do with the past. I'm not a prince. I'm an engineer.'

But she couldn't let him off the hook. She couldn't. It was too important for so many people.

In a way it'd be a relief if he left, she thought. The man unsettled her in a way she hadn't thought was possible. But the alternative—for her to care for Henry by herself in this amazing place…

It wouldn't work. Henry needed her, but he needed Marc even more. For the little boy to be brought up as the future ruler of Broitenburg…

He needed Marc.

‘You're the country's leader,' she told him, and waited.

‘By default. Henry's the leader.'

‘Yeah, right.' She shifted the sleeping little boy on her shoulder and gave him a wry look. ‘Is there anything you'd like him to sign right now? Any acts of parliament you'd like him to draft?'

‘I told you,' he said with exaggerated patience, as if he was dealing with a fool, ‘I'll be ten miles away. I'll be caring for the political necessities. I can be over here in half an hour.'

‘Your place is here.'

‘No.
Your
place is here.'

‘So you brought me here. Very good. Well done. But you're not skiving off.'

‘I told you, I have no intention of skiving…'

‘Marc?'

They hadn't noticed her, but Ingrid was suddenly above them. She was standing on the top step, staring down in amazement at the warring couple below her. Perfectly groomed in country style—a pale cashmere cardigan over an elegantly cut little tweed skirt—she was beautifully made up, without a hair out of place. Her eyes went to Marc's feet in horror. ‘What on earth are you doing outside?' she demanded. ‘In
bare feet
?'

He couldn't work out why she was so offended—whether it was because he was outside without her and talking to another woman, or because he was outside in bare feet. Despite the outrage of the last few moments he was forced to smile.

It was a very strained smile.

‘Sorting gravel with my toes,' he admitted. ‘I wouldn't advise it. Tammy here must have feet of leather. Good morning, Ingrid.'

There was no return smile. ‘Good morning.' Her tones were like ice. Her greeting was addressed to Marc and only to Marc. Obviously she was still smarting from Tammy's responses the night before. ‘I expected you in the breakfast room.'

‘I thought you were breakfasting in bed.'

‘I never breakfast in bed. The servants know that.'

He frowned over that one.
I never breakfast in bed…
‘How long have you been here?'

‘Three days.'

He'd assumed she'd come yesterday. ‘Why on earth have you been here this long? You knew I wasn't due back until yesterday.'

‘Someone has to keep an eye on the place,' she said icily.
‘It's your responsibility now, Marc. You can't let the servants get away with murder.'

‘That's just what I was saying,' Tammy told her, sticking in her two bits' worth. ‘Did you know his Royal Highness is hot-footing it back to his own property as soon as he can?'

‘Hot-footing?' Ingrid's perfect English failed her at that. She stared at Tammy as if she was something that had just crawled out of a piece of cabbage. ‘Hot-footing?'

‘Going back there to live,' Tammy told her. ‘He's planning on leaving me here—just to
keep an eye on the place
.'

‘What? By yourself?' Her tone was incredulous.

‘That's right. Well, just me and Henry.' Tammy smiled at the downy head of her nephew. ‘His Highness says it makes sense. See if you can dissuade him, will you?' She turned back to Marc. ‘Meanwhile, if you don't want me to start ringing up realtors looking for houses to rent, maybe you'd better address the problem yourself. You must see this is impossible.' She gave Marc her very brightest smile, dismissing him to a nicety. ‘I'm sorry, Your Big Highness, but I have to put His Little Highness to bed. If you'll excuse me…?'

And she swept past them both with every appearance of a
grande dame
—bare feet and all.

 

For all her confidence in the face of Marc and his lady, Tammy was badly shaken. This palace was beautiful. This country was magnificent! But she hadn't planned on being landed as mistress of the house.

Was she supposed to take on the role of woman in charge of the destiny of the heir to the country?

She supposed she was, she thought, as she watched Henry sleep, and, being fair, it wasn't Marc's fault that she'd been landed with such a role. It was her sister who'd landed her in it by naming her as Henry's guardian.

Fine. She could look after Henry, she decided, but look
ing after the entire household and training Henry to his future role was another matter entirely.

‘Would you like to check the dinner menu?' Mrs Burchett asked her mid-morning, and Tammy grimaced her dismay.

‘Why on earth would you ask me?'

‘I don't like bothering His Highness.'

‘What about Ingrid?' Tammy asked, and the housekeeper gave a determined little shake of her head.

‘It's you who's the mistress here now. We've been discussing things in the servants' quarters and it seems that's the way that'll suit everyone best. Now, what do you think of quail as main course?'

‘I think chicken'll be better,' Tammy faltered. ‘Because that's what I feel like right now. A chicken without any tail feathers.'

 

Lunch turned out to be a meal of solitary splendour. Tammy decided to avoid a replay of last's night's argument, and after Dominic announced ‘Lunch will be served in fifteen minutes,' she arrived in time. She even wore shoes.

She couldn't make up her mind to be relieved or dismayed when Marc and Ingrid were nowhere to be seen.

‘His Highness and Miss Ingrid will be lunching elsewhere,' Dominic told her in a voice that forbade further questions.

Good, she told herself firmly. This was good. This way she could get to know Marc's butler—a man she'd sensed from the first could turn out to be a friend. He'd been silently watching her at breakfast, but she'd felt that she was being judged. If she got this man on side he could be a powerful ally.

And it worked. It took all of the first course for Tammy to elicit a thaw in the elderly butler, but by the time she'd demolished the home-grown strawberries for dessert she was almost sure she could count him amongst her friends.

So where were Marc and Ingrid?

‘They'll have driven over to His Highness's property,' he told her. ‘Renouys. Although the staff would much prefer him to remain here, his Royal Highness doesn't enjoy this place.'

‘Do you think you'll persuade him to stay?' Tammy asked, and the butler grimaced.

‘I hardly know,' he admitted. ‘But any persuasion you can add would be very much appreciated.'

Yeah, right. How was she going to do that?

She thought about it and she didn't have a clue. What she
did
know was that if Marc was off doing what he wanted she should do the same.

So after lunch she left a sleepy Henry with a clucky Mrs Burchett and took herself off to meet the head gardener. If Marc was off planning his future as an aquatic engineer, she told herself firmly, then maybe she'd better meet a few trees.

The head gardener was older even than Dominic. Otto spoke scant English, but he and Tammy had a common love of gardens. Language aside, here was an instant friend. The old man had been discouraged from doing anything new with the garden for years, but half an hour after they'd met they were poring over plans—Otto's dreams laid out for the garden of the future.

The plans were wonderful. Language difficulties were forgotten, and so was time as they strolled around the property, checking sites for every one of Otto's wonderful fantasies.

‘This is amazing,' Tammy breathed as she stood on the site of a proposed avenue of Manchurian pear. ‘Marvellous.'

‘If M'sieur Marc permits…'

‘M'sieur Marc permits,' Tammy said roundly. ‘Of course he'll permit.'

‘What does M'sieur Marc permit?' a voice asked behind them, and Tammy gave a start. She whirled to find Marc approaching through the trees. He was dressed in a suit, as
though for business, and that was how he seemed. Businesslike. No nonsense.

But Tammy refused to be intimidated. After all, she'd seen him in his full royal regalia back in Australia, so how could a mere business suit throw her off-stride? The fact that the man himself threw her off-stride had to be ignored. ‘Have you seen these plans?' she demanded. ‘They're wonderful.'

‘What plans?'

But Otto was already rolling them up, as if ashamed. Undeterred, Tammy took them from him and unrolled them, refusing to listen to his protests. ‘Otto has so many things he wants to do in this garden,' she told Marc. ‘I can't understand why he hasn't been permitted to do this before. Look at this hill we're standing on. Most of the trees came down in some huge storm ten years ago—at least I think that's what Otto's telling me. But no one's given him permission to replant, and erosion's starting to be a problem. We need to get onto this straight away. It'd be a crime if we lost any more topsoil.'

‘A crime?' There was a strange look on Marc's face, but Tammy ignored it and kept right on going.

‘Yes. And it's not as if money's a problem. Otto's has been propagating plants for years and has enough seedlings to plant a small forest. All you have to do is say the word and we can start.'

‘We?'

Tammy flushed, but she couldn't deny her excitement. This estate was huge. There was so much to do.

‘I'll help. Of course I'll help.'

‘And you'll love helping?'

‘Yes,' she said tilting her chin in an unconsciously defiant reaction to the strangeness in Marc's voice. ‘I can help all I want. Once my living quarters are sorted out.'

‘You'll stay in the castle.'

She closed her eyes. Here it was again. ‘I won't stay in the castle.
You'll
stay in the castle.'

‘This,' he said softly—dangerously—as Otto looked on in confusion, ‘has the makings of a children's argument.
I will. No, I will.'