Her Royal Baby (8 page)

‘By Marc?'

‘By His Highness, yes.'

She couldn't call him His Highness, Tammy thought ruefully. Maybe if he hadn't kissed her…

Maybe. But for whatever reason she simply didn't think of him as His Highness. She thought of him as Marc.

‘And Miss Ingrid?'

‘She's been here for three days,' Mrs Burchett told her and the disapproval was straight back again. ‘She arrived to wait for him—so she said. She's been acting like she owns the place since she arrived. Like Princess Lara's moth—' She gasped as she realised what she'd nearly said, and bit back the words, but Tammy knew what she'd intended to say.

‘Like my mother?'

‘I didn't mean…' Madge Burchett put a hand up to cover her eyes, and when they reappeared Tammy saw tears glistening on her lashes. ‘I'm so sorry. I'm speaking out of turn. It's just…I seldom see anyone here who's English, and we've been hoping for so long that the little one would come back here. It means everything to us that His Highness has succeeded in bringing him home. And it's not just me who's affected. It's everyone in this country. My tongue's run
away with me. I had no business criticising Miss Ingrid or your mother. My dear, I never meant…'

‘You needn't worry. There's no love lost between my mother and me.'

‘Beg pardon, miss.' The elderly lady gave an audible sniff. ‘But are you thinking you'll stay?'

‘I don't seem to have any choice.' Tammy sat down on the vast and opulent bed in the room next to Henry's and swung her legs. Her toes didn't touch the floor. This was
some
bed. It was
some
palace. More and more she was starting to wonder what she was doing here. She had no role. Aunt to Henry? Here on a permanent basis? She'd be a fish out of water.

But at least there was kindness among the staff. Mrs Burchett might think she'd been out of line, but her welcome couldn't have been warmer. Now she was beaming at her with a smile that would have warmed the coldest of hearts. ‘It's so lovely to see the wee one with someone who cares. We were
that
pleased when His Highness rang and said you'd refused to let Henry come back without you. It's the first time we've had anyone even hinting that they care about the baby's welfare. Poor little mite. And now…' She gave herself a little shake, as if she'd said what she wanted to say and was now moving on. ‘I'll let you unpack and sort yourself out. Is your luggage coming in another car?'

‘This
is
my luggage.'

The woman looked down at the grubby backpack in dismay. ‘But, my dear…'

‘It's all I need.'

‘But what will you wear to dinner?'

‘This. I intend to eat here. I don't want to eat with His Highness. Or…or Ingrid.'

‘You can't eat up here.' The housekeeper sounded appalled.

‘Then I'll eat with you, in the servant quarters.'

‘That would never do.' The thought was clearly horrific.

Damn. Tammy looked around her at the lushly furnished nursery suite. It might be gorgeous, but it needed a stove and a fridge and a few basic essentials. And she just knew there wouldn't be a supermarket for miles! ‘Can't I just have a sandwich up here?'

‘Maybe for tonight…' the housekeeper said doubtfully. ‘I'm not sure… Does His Highness know what you intend?'

‘His Highness knows I intend to be independent.'

‘And he approves?'

‘It hardly matters,' Tammy told her, somehow managing a reassuring smile. ‘I make my own decisions.'

‘I'll send you up your sandwich, dear,' Mrs Burchett told her. ‘If that's what you want. But what the Prince will say I daren't think…'

 

True to her word, Mrs Burchett sent up sandwiches and a glass of milk for her dinner. By that time Tammy had been in the castle for a whole two hours.

She was hardly at home yet. She'd spent the two hours unpacking—well, that had taken her ten minutes. Then she'd explored her surroundings. She seemed to have a vast wing to herself, and it was so huge it took her an hour of prowling before she felt she knew the half of what was there. She wasn't brave enough to leave her wing in case she never found her way back.

She'd fed Henry, whose time clock was out of kilter. He'd eaten and fallen asleep almost straight away. She'd showered, put on clean jeans, and then tried to figure out how she could stop feeling strange.

It was impossible, she thought, and when the sandwiches and milk arrived on silver salvers, complete with uniformed steward carrying them, she felt really, really ridiculous.

Worse was to come. She'd had one bite of a sandwich and there was a knock on the door. There was no wait for
a response. Marc marched right in. He was dressed for dinner. Royal dinner. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, royal blue tie.

He was certainly something! He looked a real prince, Tammy thought, and tried to stop her heart giving the absurd lurch she was almost growing accustomed to.

He stopped two feet inside the door and stared at her sandwich as if it was personally offensive.

‘What do
you
think you're doing?'

‘What do you think?' She was perched on the side of her ridiculous bed and she waved her sandwich at him. ‘Eating dinner.'

‘Dinner's in the dining room. Now.'

‘Nope. Dinner's here.'

He marched across and picked up her sandwich, inspecting it as if it was poison. ‘So Mrs Burchett was right. You're eating ham sandwiches for dinner!'

‘They didn't have Vegemite.'

He didn't even smile. He took a step back and surveyed her as if she'd arrived from another planet.

‘Henry's asleep,' he told her, slowly, as if she might have trouble understanding the language.

‘Mmm.' She smiled.

‘So why are you sitting up here? Alone?'

‘I told you. We keep our lives separate. That's the way I want it, so I might as well start now.'

‘That's ridiculous. Mrs Burchett has prepared a wonderful dinner. I won't allow you to offend the staff.'

‘Mrs Burchett sent me the sandwiches. She understands.'

‘She doesn't understand anything.' He stood back and raked his hair in a gesture that contained both weariness and frustration. ‘Tammy, it's my job to get this place running as it should. In my uncle's time this was a family home. The staff here nearly all worked under him and that's what they want to see. Normality. Most of them have remained
loyal under the most outrageous circumstances. They're delighted that Henry's here and that I've elected to stay tonight as well. The least you can do is come down and enjoy the banquet they've put on for us.'

‘Banquet?'

‘Banquet.'

Tammy's heart sank. She stared across to the far wall. An entire bank of mirrors sent twenty reflections of her bedraggled self straight back.

‘I'm not a princess,' she told him. ‘I don't belong here.'

‘Neither do I.'

‘Yeah, right.'

‘You're Henry's guardian and his aunt,' he said with an attempt at patience. ‘You have as much a place in this house—in this family—as I have. You can't seriously expect to sit up here and sulk in your bedroom for the next twenty-five years.'

‘I'll find a house.' She'd already realized the impossibility of staying where she was. ‘This estate is enormous. There must be somewhere Henry and I can stay independently. A gardener's cottage or something.'

‘Oh, certainly,' he said with exaggerated scorn. ‘Henry is the heir to the crown. Are you seriously saying he'll live in a gardener's cottage until he's twenty-five?'

‘I'm a gardener,' she flashed at him. ‘What's wrong with that?'

‘Nothing. But Henry's the heir to the throne.'

‘If I hear that phrase one more time—'

‘You'll hear it lots of times,' he snapped. ‘Because that's what this whole thing's about. You think I wanted any of this? I have a beautiful property of my own, not ten miles south of here. Renouys is my home. That's where I want to be. I didn't want to be Prince Regent. I didn't want to be responsible for Henry. But someone has to make the hard calls. Someone has to care.'

‘I'm only in this country because
I
care.'

‘Then go the whole way. I thought you had more to you than this. Skulking in your bedroom because you're scared of a formal dinner…'

‘I am not!' She was standing now, her face white with fury. ‘As if I don't know how to eat with the likes of you!'

‘What other reason is there for you to refuse to come down to dinner?'

She glowered. ‘I have jet-lag.'

‘Yeah, right. And I'm the King of Siam. You slept like a top the last six hours in the plane.'

‘I did not.'

‘You slept,' he said harshly, but a glimmer of laughter was returning to the back of his eyes. ‘I should know. You slept on my shoulder while Henry's dampness seeped into my shirt. I have a crick in my neck and a stained shirt to prove it. For six hours I couldn't move—and very uncomfortable it was, too.'

‘I did not sleep on your shoulder!'

‘Shall we ring the airline stewards and have them adjudicate?'

‘This is ridiculous.'

‘It is,' he said politely, and looked at his watch. ‘Ingrid and I are having pre-dinner drinks. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. I ask that you join us.'

‘I don't want—'

‘Neither do I. But I must. And I think you should make up your mind that you must, too.'

‘I've only got jeans…'

The hint of laughter deepened as he surveyed her shabby self. ‘Whose fault is that?'

She glowered even more.

‘You'll come?'

‘I…'

‘You have no choice.'

‘Fine!' she threw at him. ‘Fine. I'll come to dinner in my rags and I'll disgrace myself before your entire staff and you can snigger at me all you want. Fine. Just get out of my room now.'

‘I—'

‘Get out!'

 

Fifteen minutes.

Help.

She could go as she was. She should, she thought grimly. She should do just that.

But…she was Henry's guardian. She had a place in this household until Henry no longer needed it. She should give it a fair go.

The glimmer of laughter in Marc's eyes came back to haunt her. Damn the man. How dared he place her in such a situation?

He had tried to warn her…

She stared at her battered backpack as if it was a personal enemy. What on earth was she to do? She just knew that Ingrid would be gorgeous, and playing beggar maid to a handsome prince and princess was not her cup of tea at all.

But Lara had lived here for a while, she thought slowly. Lara, who chose and discarded clothes on a whim. If she'd lived here even for a short time… She bit her lip, indecision playing over her face. Could she? Should she?

Why not? She was in a fairytale castle. Why not indeed?

‘Call me if there's anything you want,' Mrs Burchett had told her. ‘The bell connects to the kitchens. Normally I'd have one of the girls answer it, but tonight I'll answer it myself.'

She stared at the bell and then made her decision.

She was a long, long way from the bush. She was a long, long way from home.

 

Ingrid was growing impatient. Marc's steward caught him on the stairs and detained him for another few minutes, and by the time he returned to the drawing room she could scarcely conceal her annoyance. ‘Where have you been?'

Her tone was proprietorial enough to annoy him. ‘Inviting Henry's aunt down to join us,' he told her.

‘For dinner?'

‘Yes.'

‘Does she
want
to join us?' Ingrid asked incredulously. ‘I would have thought…'

‘You would have thought what?'

He hadn't been expecting Ingrid to be here waiting for him. In truth he'd been looking forward to a few days to work things out before he contacted her. But she was here now, and the fact that he didn't feel like speaking to anyone had to be overcome.

‘Well, her sort…'

‘Yes?' He stilled, watching Ingrid. ‘What do you mean—her sort?'

‘Well, she's clearly not used to moving in our circles.' Ingrid smiled her gorgeous smile and her gentle laughter tinkled out musically in the beautiful salon. ‘What did you tell me? You've dragged her here from the Australian bush? Darling, you'll be lucky if she knows how to use a knife and fork.'

‘She's Lara's sister,' Marc snapped, and Ingrid nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes. Isn't it amazing? That those two can be sisters…? Lara was a beauty.'

‘Tammy—Tamsin isn't exactly ugly.'

‘No, dear, but those clothes…and those freckles…'

‘Do you want to go in to dinner?' he asked shortly, offering his arm.

‘You don't want to wait for our little mate from the bush?'

‘No need,' said a dangerously controlled voice from the door. ‘Your little mate from the bush is right here.'

 

She took his breath away. Marc turned to face the door and it was all he could do not to gasp.

How had she done this in fifteen minutes?

She was transformed.

Gone were her faded jeans and her old shirt. Gone was Tammy Dexter, tree surgeon. In her place…Tamsin.

The dress was deceptively simple—a sliver of brilliantly cut black silk. It had a scooped neckline and tiny capped sleeves. It curved into a cinched waist and hugged her hips to a short, short hemline. Her long tanned legs went on for ever to a pair of strappy black sandals that made her legs look even longer than they were.

And the rest… Her burnished curls were brushed to a shimmering glory, swinging around her shoulders in a soft cloud. She'd found some make-up—just a little—just enough to add a tiny touch of colour to her lovely mouth and accentuate those huge brown eyes.