Her Royal Baby (15 page)

Half an hour after Henry had demolished his last toast finger—while Marc racked his brains for a bedtime story to encourage his little cousin to sleep—half an hour after that Tammy was boarding a plane headed for Australia.

 

‘What do you mean, she's gone?'

‘She left for Australia last night.' Dominic glanced at his watch. ‘I imagine she's nearly in Sydney by now.'

‘She can't have.' It was seven p.m. Time for handover. Marc had driven Henry back to the palace thinking this was the end. He'd make it clear to Tammy that from now on Henry was hers. But now he was standing at the castle entrance with a sleepy Henry in his arms while he stared at the elderly butler in bewilderment.

He and Henry had had a truly excellent day. Aware that this was the last day he'd agree to have him, Marc had shelved work and given himself up to amuse his tiny cousin. Now, almost asleep, Henry twined his little arms around Marc's neck and snuggled into Marc's shoulder. The butler gave the baby a curious glance as he responded to Marc's demand.

‘I'm sorry, sir, but that's just what she has done. She had her things in the car when she dropped Master Henry off to you last night, and went straight on to the airport.'

‘You knew she was leaving?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Marc was staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. ‘You didn't tell me? You didn't contact me?'

‘Miss Tammy asked us not to, and we couldn't see the need.'

‘You couldn't see the need!'

‘No, sir.'

‘But…' He shook his head. Tammy, on a plane. Tammy, returning to Australia. Without him!

The thought made him feel ill. But Dominic was watching him with a strange expression on his face and somehow he forced himself back to practicalities. To things that mattered.

Tammy leaving…

Henry. Think of Henry.

‘She's supposed to be looking after Henry.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘So who's supposed to be looking after him now?'

‘I believe Miss Tammy assumed you would, sir,' Dominic said woodenly, and Marc cast him a sudden suspicious look.

‘You're in on this!'

‘I afraid I don't know what you mean, sir.' The butler's face was impassive—which meant that Marc was even more certain.

‘It's a plot!'

The butler's mouth twitched. ‘Are you going to drag me out at dawn and have me shot?'

‘I should.' Marc eyed him with frustrated bewilderment. ‘Damn, I should. What the hell's going on, Dom?'

Dominic's face relaxed a little, his old eyes creasing in sympathy. ‘I believe Miss Tammy meant this for the best,' he said simply. ‘Would you like to read her note?'

‘She left a note?'

‘Yes, sir.'

Marc took a deep breath. Then he carefully set Henry on the polished wood floor, gave him his shoelace to untie and braced himself.

‘Give it to me.'

‘Yes, sir.'

The note was simple and to the point. Marc stood immobile and read it while Dominic looked on.

I
T WAS
the longest month of his life.

For the first week Marc stayed at Renouys. He hired a nanny who lasted for two whole days—just long enough for Marc to realise he couldn't bear for Henry to be awake and in the care of a stranger. He tried desperately to stay in his study and work, but over and over he'd hear Henry sob in frustration and he didn't have a choice but to investigate.

Then Henry's little face, dull and indifferent in the care of the impeccably referenced and very nice nanny, would crease into laughter at the sight of him. He'd hold out his arms to Marc, and Marc would be hooked.

So the nanny left, smiling her appreciation at a parent who really cared.

After that Henry settled into a predictable schedule. He woke at dawn, played for a couple of hours, slept mid-morning, played again, napped in the afternoon and slept solidly from about seven at night.

So for Marc it was easy. Almost. It was just a matter of fitting his work around Henry's schedule.

It didn't include a social life, but curiously he didn't seem to want one. The thought of the high life his friends were leading without him left him cold.

But staying in his wonderful château for the rest of his life while he cared for Henry wasn't so appealing either.

So what was it that he wanted?

Tammy.

He wanted her to come back, he thought over and over again, as the time she'd been away grew longer. He wanted
her to return and take over Henry so he could get his life back again.

But…he didn't want his life. He'd just told himself he no longer missed the social hubbub he'd existed in before. Ingrid made a few interested phone calls—testing the water, but the water was ice-cold.

So he worked, he played with Henry, and he bonded to his small cousin as he'd never imagined he could bond in his life.

And he thought about Tammy.

She had to come back.

She wouldn't. He knew that about her now. She'd made her decision and she'd stick to it. Maybe if he mistreated his little cousin she'd return and whisk him back to Australia. Mistreating Henry wasn't an option, but that was the only way he'd get her back.

‘So what will we do?' he asked Henry, and Henry gazed back at him and chortled as if extremely amused by the whole situation.

Great!

There were no answers. He could only take one step at a time—settle back at Renouys and wait.

And even that wasn't easy. The pressure was on for him to return to the palace.

‘You should be here,' Dominic told him when he phoned to see how the staff were getting on. ‘You know the whole of Broitenburg wants the royal family to live in residence. You're the state figurehead. You should be here.'

‘Henry's the state figurehead,' Marc growled. ‘And he's too young to live in that damned pile by himself.'

‘You're the Prince Regent,' Dominic reminded him. ‘Like it or not, you're the person everyone wants to see here. The people want you settled, with a family, in the palace where you belong.'

‘I'm settled with Henry right here.'

‘That's not what I meant.'

‘You know damned well that I have no intention of getting married. Or living in that royal rabbit warren…'

‘Whatever you say, sir,' Dominic said gently—and he set down the phone before Marc could say a word.

 

He was going crazy. Another week went past and then another. The press were screaming for a photo-shoot in the grounds of the palace—Henry back where he belonged. Marc delayed it for as long as he could, but finally had to concede. So they stood in the Broitenburg palace gardens while Henry beamed at every photographer as if he was a personal friend. He chortled and chuckled, he offered his teddy for photographers to inspect, and generally behaved as if he was born to stand in the front of the camera.

‘Can we pop him down on the grass and let him crawl?' one of the photographers asked, and Marc obliged. But Henry was intent on practising his new skill, which was hauling himself to his feet and standing upright unsteadily by Marc's side. He could just balance…

‘He could so easily be your son,' one of the photographers said, wondering at the look on Marc's face. ‘You look like you love him.'

‘He's a great kid,' Marc told them, unable to keep the pride from his face, and the photographers snapped on, entranced.

‘We hear you're making the association official?'

‘I'm hoping to eventually adopt him, yes.'

‘All we need here is a mother…' one of the journalists said softly, and Marc's lips tightened. And then he felt the pressure ease from his leg. He looked down, expecting to see Henry plump down onto his bottom.

But Henry did no such thing. He'd released Marc's trouser leg and was intent on the next step, but first he had to check he had an audience. This was a baby with style!

He gazed up into his cousin's face—he gave him a huge grin—and took the very first tottering step of his life. He stepped. He balanced for an interminable moment while the Broitenburg press corps held its collective breath. Then he took one more step for effect before he sat down bump on the grass, deeply satisfied with what he'd achieved.

It was such a moment! Journalists and photographers were cheering and laughing, and Marc was staring down at his tiny charge in stupefaction. Such magic!

She should have been here to share it, he thought savagely, the knowledge of what she was missing hitting him like a thunderbolt. And the knowledge of what she'd given him.

She'd given him this. Tammy knew the joy such a moment would bring and she'd walked away.
She'd given it to him.

The sensation was almost overwhelming. He hadn't seen it until now. He'd been a blind, stupid fool.

She hadn't wanted to go. Of course she hadn't. She'd brought up Lara almost by herself. She knew the hurt such loving could bring but she'd also known the joy. She'd known that in time he'd feel like this—so proud he could burst.

It was a gift that was so precious it took his breath away. Up until now he'd sworn not to love, but he hadn't known what he was doing. He hadn't known what love was.

Tammy had known—and what deeper love to have her walk away—gifting love to him?

Tammy…

 

‘Tammy?'

‘Mother?'

Tammy had been back in Australia for more than a month. An interminable time. Broitenburg was half a world away. She was back sleeping under the stars as she worked
again in the wilderness, and the call on her cellphone late at night made her feel more confused than ever.

‘I need to speak to you.' Her mother's voice was harsh and angry and Tammy came instantly awake.

‘Is something wrong?'

It's Henry, she thought. There hadn't been a minute since she'd left that she hadn't thought about Henry—or his big dark cousin.

She'd heard nothing. The temptation to contact Dominic or Mrs Burchett had been almost irresistible, but she meant to continue as she'd started.

She'd trust Henry with Marc. She must.

So why was her mother ringing?

‘Do you know the trouble I had to get your phone number?' her mother was demanding, and Tammy thought about it. That question, at least, was easy.

‘No,' Tammy said bleakly. ‘I don't. I gave this number to you years ago and you've never rung until now. Even when Lara died you didn't use it.'

‘So I lost it,' her mother snapped. ‘But now…'

‘Now?' A cold dread was creeping round her heart. Had something happened? If something happened to Henry they'd probably contact her mother. Marc would contact her mother. Of course he would.

Why should he contact her?

‘Have you seen the papers?'

The dread deepened. ‘What papers?' Tammy flicked on her torch and checked her watch. Eleven p.m. Not so late then—for her mother. It was only to the likes of Tammy who rose at dawn that eleven o'clock seemed late.

‘He's planning on adopting Henry.'

‘Who…?'

‘That Prince Marc.' Her mother's voice was practically vitriolic. ‘He's wants to adopt Henry without even a by your leave. I'm the child's grandmother. It's plastered all over
the
News of the World—Eligible playboy planning to adopt Heir to Throne.
There's even a picture of him, looking for all the world as if he cares.'

‘And does he?' A rush of pure pleasure surged through Tammy's body and she felt herself grinning like a fool.
Looking for all the world as if he cares…

‘Who the hell knows if he cares or not? That's not the point. I've had journalists here trying to get a comment. A
comment.
From me! I tell you, Tammy, I want more than a damned comment. I rang a lawyer here and he says there's nothing I can do, but there has to be something. I mean, if he wants the kid so much there should be a payment of some sort. Anyway, the lawyer says you're his legal guardian. If he wants to adopt he'll have to send you papers to sign. So you can…'

‘I can what?'

‘Demand your rights.'

Tammy thought about it, trying to see where her mother was coming from. And she knew. Of course she knew. ‘You mean money?'

‘Of course I mean money.'

‘There are other rights besides money,' she said slowly, switching off her torch and settling back into the dark while she let her mother's words sink in. ‘Yes, I have rights to Henry, but I gave them to Marc willingly. I don't…I don't want them back.'

There was an indrawn breath and then a long silence. Communication between mother and daughter had always been thus. Tammy knew exactly what her mother wanted, and by now Isobelle knew exactly what her daughter's reply would be.

‘You're a fool,' Isobelle said at last, and Tammy nodded into the dark.

‘Maybe. It's what you've always called me.'

‘If you'd played your cards right…'

‘I could have stayed at the palace in Broitenburg and done nothing at all for the rest of my life.' While I loved Marc hopelessly from the sidelines, she added silently to herself. There was no way her mother would hear that. It was a comment for Tammy's heart alone.

‘This is a waste of time. You deserve to die a spinster with your blasted trees,' her mother hissed, and Tammy ended the conversation without saying another word.

But she couldn't go back to sleep.

After a while she rose and climbed into her little truck and drove the half-hour into town to the all-night service station. There on the magazine rack was what she was searching for—the latest edition of the
News of the World
. She bought herself a coffee and took herself out to the cab of her truck to read it.

It was after midnight now. Apart from the gangly youth holding up the counter in the service station, no one was awake but her. The coffee was warm between her hands, but she found herself shivering as she turned the pages.

And there they were, splashed across page three. It was a lovely, lovely photograph of Marc holding a laughing Henry. The pair looked supremely happy with each other. They looked…at peace.

‘I've done the right thing by both of them. I have.' But she found she was crying, tears slipping helplessly down her face while she stared sightlessly at the photograph and thought of what she'd thrown away.

But she hadn't thrown it away. What she so desperately wanted had never been offered. What had been offered was a series of one-day access to Henry followed by one day of isolation. It would have been a disrupted upbringing for Henry—and Marc didn't come into the equation at all.

Or complete isolation. Sole guardianship of Henry with Marc not coming close.

‘At least this way Henry's safe. And Marc…he's softened. He'll love him to bits.'

Her coffee was growing cold but she stared on, thinking of the lonely little tent waiting for her back in the clearing. She'd made her choice. It was the right choice—but she'd never felt so lonely in all her life.

Marc…

 

Tammy was up a tree when royalty arrived.

It wasn't the same tree as the last time Marc had arrived, but it might have been. She was thirty feet up a magnificent eucalypt, and she might as well have been alone in the world. There was Tammy and her tree and no one else.

Or that was what she thought. In reality Doug, the team foreman, was straight underneath her, pointing upward, and beside him were Marc and Henry.

‘Hey, Tam. You've got visitors,' Doug called, and then grinned and took his departure. He suspected he might be losing his very favourite worker, but Tammy hadn't been the same since she'd returned from her overseas jaunt. She usually sang as she worked, but she'd returned from Broitenburg pale-faced and silent. Doug had employed enough young men and women in his time to know there was probably a love affair behind this, and by the look on this particular man's face as he'd asked for directions he might just be the cause.

So he had directed Marc to the clearing and then pointed upward. And left them to it.

‘Hi,' Marc said as Tammy stared stupidly down. She was swinging in her harness but her world was spinning far, far faster.

‘H…hi,' she said at last, and her voice cracked a little. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Looking for you.'

‘You've found me.'

‘So I have,' Marc said carefully, and then he set Henry carefully on his feet. The clearing was covered with soft moss and undergrowth; it was a glorious place for a little boy to explore and Henry had been buckled into his baby seat for far too long. ‘I need to speak to your aunt,' Marc told the little boy. ‘So if you'll excuse me for a minute…?'

And he leapt up to catch a lower limb and started to climb.

Which left Tammy breathless with shock. ‘You haven't got a harness,' she managed, and Marc grinned.