The scenery was amazing.
She’d read about these four tiny countries. There’d been a fuss in the Australian press when Pippa’s countrywoman had married the Crown Prince of Alp d’ Azuri. There’d also been a write-up and potted history of how these countries had come to be, and she’d found time to reread it on the internet before she’d come.
A king in a large neighbouring country, way back in the sixteenth century, had had five sons. The boys had grown up warring and the old king had foreseen ruin as the sons had vied for the Crown.
So he’d pre-empted trouble. He’d carved four separate countries from his southern border, and told his younger sons that the cost of their own principality was lifelong allegiance to their oldest brother.
His plan hadn’t worked, the article had told her. Granting whole counties to men with a lust for war was hardly a guarantee of wise rule. The four princes and their descendants had brought four wonderful countries to the brink of ruin.
Ruin? Pippa stared out of the car window and saw lush river valleys, towering mountains, quaint cottages, herds of cream and white cows, the odd goat, tiny settlements that might almost have come from a photograph from a hundred years before. It didn’t look…ruined.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed.
‘If you like postcards,’ Max said shortly. ‘But the reality’s less than beautiful. You were cold and hungry this winter. These people are cold and hungry every winter.’
She glowered again, suspecting pressure. ‘Don’t you dare show me starving peasants. I won’t be responsible.’
‘I couldn’t anyway,’ he conceded. ‘It’s summer and the harvest this year will be a good one. Things are okay at the moment.’
‘But not for long?’
‘Yes, for long. If we can pull this off.’ He looked down at the sleeping Marc and his mouth quirked.
‘I won’t-’
‘No. You agree to nothing. Let’s just see how it goes. Meanwhile if you look to your right you’ll see the castle…now.’
‘Oh.’
As an exclamation it was totally inadequate, but it was all she could think of. Built into the side of one of the towering alps, the castle was a mass of gleaming white stone, set against the purple of the mountains behind. She stared out, stunned, as the castle grew larger against its magnificent backdrop. It was all turrets, battlements and towers, like something straight out of a fairy story.
She nudged Marc, but he’d settled back into sleep. They were now in the middle of the children’s night and the future Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella had drifted back where he belonged.
Frustrated, she bent over to wake the twins, but Max caught her hand.
‘Leave them. They’ll see enough of it in the future.’
There was something in his voice that caught her. She stared across at him, and then turned and looked again at the castle. The battlements seemed to be looming above them, towering over the tiny town nestled underneath.
‘You don’t like it,’ she said.
‘I don’t like what it represents.’
‘What does it represent?’
‘Too much power. Too much money by too few people.’
‘You’re rich yourself.’
‘I earned my money through hard work,’ he said shortly. ‘The princes in this place got their money by taxing their people until they bled. You’d think I’d have anything to do with that?’
She thought about it, wondering. Thinking back to the family tree.
‘Your grandfather left the palace and went to France?’
‘Yes. But he’s not really my grandfather.’
‘So you’ve had no contact with the palace?’
‘I…no.’
‘Does that mean maybe?’
‘My…my father did,’ Max said shortly. ‘More fool him.’
‘You blame the palace for what happened to your father? And to Thiérry?’
‘My mother does and she should know.’
‘Right,’ Pippa said and cast an uneasy glance down at Marc. This was getting tricky. ‘So if Marc takes on the Crown you’ll hold Thiérry’s death against him?’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘As ridiculous as staring out at that great hunk of stone and saying that’s what killed your brother?’
‘I didn’t say-’
‘No, but you meant,’ she said. ‘I look at that castle and think fairy tale. But you look and see a dead brother. A psychologist could have a field-day with that.’
‘A field-day!’
‘Yes, you know-a day when everything’s on show. Like your emotions now.’
‘They’re not on show.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
She grinned. She had the great Maxsim de Gautier flummoxed. Excellent.
‘This is serious,’ he told her.
‘Nonsense,’ she said soundly, beginning to relax. ‘This is fun.’
It might have fun potential but it was so grand it took her breath away.
The limousine swept inside the castle grounds and pulled to a halt in a vast forecourt ringed by fountains. The chauffeur moved swiftly, opening the door for them, even saluting.
Ignoring Max’s protest-her back really was better-she gathered the nearest twin-Claire-into her arms and climbed out. At the sight of what lay ahead she gasped. She stared around her for a couple of awed moments while her stomach sank at the enormity of where she’d found herself.
There were thirty or more servants forming a guard of honour to the grand front entrance-vast marble steps set between marble columns flanking doors wide enough to accommodate a Sherman tank. The servants were dressed as the type of domestic servants Pippa had seen on television. The women were in severe black with frilled white aprons and white caps. The men were in total black, or, even more amazingly, red and black livery.
‘You’re kidding?’ Pippa breathed to Max. ‘This is something out of a movie.’
‘These people take royalty seriously,’ Max said severely, and Pippa gulped and nodded, stifling an inappropriate desire to giggle.
‘I can see that they do.’
A middle-aged man was standing apart from the servants, dressed in what looked like a military uniform, heavily decorated. He was big and heavy set, with a handle-bar moustache that made Pippa want to giggle again.
‘Welcome home, Your Highness,’ he told Max in careful English and Max winced.
‘I’m not Your Highness until I’m sworn in as Regent, and this is not my home.’ He gestured to Marc who was stirring into wakefulness in his arms. He set Marc onto his feet and reached back into the car to collect Sophie. ‘This is the new Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella and his sisters. I’d like to take them straight to the nursery. It’s been prepared?’
‘Of course.’ The man looked at Marc for a long moment, an enigmatic expression on his face. Then he shrugged and turned his attention to Pippa. ‘This would be the children’s nanny?’
‘I’m their guardian,’ Pippa said, more firmly than she felt, and she clutched Claire so hard that the little girl muttered a protest.
‘I see,’ the man said, assessing her from her toes up. She was wearing faded jeans and a comfortable windcheater. Max should have warned her, she thought, starting to feel vaguely hysterical. She needed a tiara or six. ‘We’ll prepare a bedroom for you in the Queen’s wing,’ the man said and she forgot about tiaras.
‘Where are the children sleeping?’
‘In the nursery.’
‘Is that in the Queen’s wing?’
‘No, but-’
‘I sleep where the children sleep,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that right, Max?’
‘Of course it is,’ Max said. ‘Pippa, this is Carver Levout. Carver is Chief of Staff here. Carver, this is Miss Phillippa Donohue, the children’s guardian. Whatever Pippa says regarding the children’s welfare goes.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the man said woodenly, but the glance he gave Pippa wasn’t wooden. It was appraising.
It made Pippa stop feeling like giggling. She shivered.
‘You’ll be fine here,’ Max said bracingly. ‘Carver will introduce you to the staff and they’ll look after you. I guess you’ll all need to sleep. I’ll carry the kids up to their bed before I leave.’
She froze. ‘Before you go where?’
‘To a hotel down in the village. I’ll check with you tomorrow that you have everything you need.’
He was the picture of innocence, she thought. His nerve was breathtaking. ‘Excuse me, but you’re staying here,’ she managed.
‘As I agreed to,’ he said smoothly. ‘In the hotel in the village.’
‘You’re staying at the castle.’
‘I never said-’
‘You did,’ she said, more bluntly than was polite but she wasn’t feeling polite. She was damned if she was going to be left alone with…Carver? What sort of name was that? He even waxed his moustache, she thought. Urk.
They were all waiting for Max to reply. Pippa and thirty servants and Carver. ‘Pippa, I’m hardly going far,’ Max said reasonably. ‘I’m five minutes’ drive away. I said I’d stay in Alp d’Estella. I didn’t say I’d stay at the castle.’
He was talking to her as if she were dumb. Right, she thought. She was fine with dumb. But it was going to be dumb and stubborn. Without a word she climbed back into the car with Claire, settled the twin on the seat beside her before holding her hands out for Sophie. ‘Marc, pop back in the car, love. We’re all staying where Mr de Gautier is staying.’
Max looked taken aback. They all looked taken aback. Except Dolores who hadn’t shifted out of the car yet. ‘Pardon?’ Max demanded.
‘You heard. Where you stay, we stay.’
‘Why?’
‘Not because you kissed me,’ she muttered, lowering her voice so the assembled reception committee couldn’t hear. ‘But because this place gives me the heebie-jeebies. I’m not royal. I’m not staying here.’
‘That’s ridiculous. You don’t need to be royal to stay.’
‘Neither do you have to be a commoner to go. But if you’re going, then I’m going. You got me here under false pretences.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did.’ She glanced again at the rows of servants and she quailed. There wasn’t much that spooked Pippa Donohue, but she was spooked now. She hugged Sophie too hard, and the child muttered a sleepy protest. ‘Max, I mean what I say,’ she said, trying not to sound belligerent. Trying to sound matter-of-fact. ‘Hush, Sophie, we’re nearly home. Max says it’s just five minutes’ drive away.’
Max stared down at her, baffled. ‘You have to stay here.’
‘You’re going to make me, how?’
‘It’s ridiculous.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘You said you’d stay.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘If you didn’t then it’s semantics and you tricked me. I don’t like being tricked.’
‘Pippa, I can’t stay here.’
‘Then neither can we.’ She looked behind him. ‘You know, everyone’s listening to this. It’s pretty undignified, don’t you think? If I were you I’d come to a decision, and there’s only one decision to reach.’
‘I don’t want to stay in this place,’ he told her. He’d tried to make his voice matter-of-fact, but it didn’t work. She heard a tinge of desperation behind it, and it almost moved her. But then Pippa glanced down at the child in her arms, at Marc who was looking confused, at Claire on the seat beside her and at Dolores at her feet.
Then she looked at Moustache. She didn’t know why but Carver Levout made her nervous and she had nothing to go on here but her instincts. She was responsible for this little family. She couldn’t afford to be swayed by Max’s desperation.
‘If there are reasons you can’t stay here, then they hold true for us all,’ she whispered. ‘If I’d known you were afraid to stay then I’d never have agreed to come.’
‘I’m not afraid.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘I just…hate it.’
‘That’s just as bad.’
‘Pippa-’
‘It’s only stone and wood and thirty or so servants. Oh, and I hear tell it has three swimming pools. So if it’s not scary, it might be fun.’
‘But Thiérry…’ He stopped short. His brother’s name was an involuntary exclamation, Pippa thought, and she wondered why.
‘Where does Thiérry come into this?’
‘He doesn’t.’ He pressed his lips closed as though that was the end of the matter. She stared up at him for a moment and then thought maybe that was a plan. She pressed her own lips together and looked straight ahead.
Standoff.
She hadn’t counted on Sophie. She’d stirred into wakefulness in Pippa’s arms, wriggled until she could see and she’d looked beyond Max to the castle. ‘We’re here,’ she said sleepily. ‘It’s just like my picture books. But bigger. Why aren’t we getting out of the car? Claire, Claire, wake up.’
Right on cue Claire woke. ‘We’re here?’ she demanded. ‘We’re at the castle?’
‘Yes, but Pippa won’t let us stay,’ Marc said, trying to figure it out. ‘’Cos Max won’t stay and she’s scared of all these people.’
‘She’s not scared,’ Max said shortly. ‘She’s just pigheaded.’
‘There’s two of us being pigheaded,’ she told him. ‘And I’m not backing down.’
‘Hell, Pippa-’
‘You stay or we go.’
‘You could all go.’ It was Carver, standing behind them, listening intently.
‘We’re all staying,’ Max snapped.
She stared at him. She’d won, she thought, but it didn’t feel like winning. What was it that he was afraid of?
But Carver was waiting. He had to have an answer, and she wasn’t going to let him see she was rattled. ‘Then that’s settled,’ she said smoothly. ‘Okay, we all need to be introduced. Sophie, you take one of Max’s hands and, Claire, you take the other. Marc, you walk in front. You guys go along the row of people here and find out who everyone is.’
‘You need to be introduced too,’ said Marc.
‘I’m not royal,’ Pippa said. ‘I’ll come up behind and bow and scrape to anyone above second footman.’
‘This isn’t a joke,’ Max snapped.
‘It’s not,’ she agreed, but she smiled. Only she knew the effort it cost her. ‘But neither is it Greek tragedy. Let’s make this fun, Max. Let’s go.’
Max had no intention of making it fun. He was stiffly formal, right up until they were shown the nursery and left alone.
‘You rest,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘If you leave the palace, then we’re out of here, even if we have to walk,’ Pippa warned him, still trying to sound pigheaded but suspecting she just sounded intimidated. Liveried footmen had deposited their sad-looking luggage in a dressing room big enough to hold clothes for a small army. A couple of maids were unpacking. At the thought of the scant possessions they were unpacking Pippa felt like sinking.
She shouldn’t be clutching at Max, she thought, but she had no choice. He was her lifeline to her other life.
‘You’ve made that clear,’ Max said stiffly. ‘But the children need rest and so do I. I’ll see you at dinner.’
‘Um, don’t leave me,’ she muttered but he was already turning away.
She was alone. With three kids and two maids and a dog.
There was too much to think of here. All she wanted to think of was Max. She wanted to run after him. She’d hurt him by insisting he stayed here, she thought, but what was she to do?
The casual friendliness was gone, replaced by a stiff formality she couldn’t understand.
Where was the man who had kissed her?
She couldn’t run after him, and she had to forget the kiss. That was just a dopey thing to do in the dark on the plane, she told herself, but there was a part of her that was saying it was no such thing. It wasn’t
just a kiss.
Yes, it was.
Whatever, she told herself harshly. There was no time for wondering about Max now.
They were in a vast school-room-cum-sitting room, with desks at one end and huge settees around a fire at the other end. It was hardly cold enough to warrant a fire, but Dolores headed straight to it and Pippa looked at the logs piled high at the side with longing. If she could transport those to Tanbarook…
What else? There were doors leading off the main room, and the kids were opening them. They led to individual bedrooms, each with a massive four-poster bed.
‘Wow,’ said Marc. He approached the first bed with caution. It was six feet or more across and almost three feet high, hung with crimson velvet and gold brocade. Marc clambered up and tugged the twins up to join him.
The three kids wriggled into the pile of pillows mounded against the bed head, like puppies exploring a new basket. ‘It’s really soft,’ Sophie called wonderingly, giving a tentative bounce. ‘Pippa, will you sleep here with us?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
‘Excuse me, miss,’ one of the maids-the oldest one?-said, in tentative English.
‘I speak your language,’ Pippa said, trying out her language skills. To her delight it seemed to work. The woman’s face relaxed a little and she reverted. ‘Well, then…Mr Levout said we were to show you to the bedroom at the end of this wing.’
‘I’m not sure why Mr Levout thinks it’s important, but I’m sleeping here.’
There was a touch of hand-wringing at that. It seemed an effort to say it, but the woman finally succeeded. ‘Mr Levout won’t like it.’ It sounded like a threat.
‘Then the kids can sleep in the bedroom Mr Levout chose for me. We’ll all sleep there.’
There were three gasps of dismay from under the mound of pillows, and two gasps of dismay from the maids. ‘Mr Levout will think it’s inappropriate.’
‘I’ll explain it to Mr Levout.’
‘You can’t.’ They looked afraid, Pippa thought incredulously. Why?
‘I’ll explain it’s nothing to do with you. I’ll tell him it’s just me being pigheaded.’
‘Miss, we’ll get into trouble if we don’t do what Mr Levout wishes.’
Trouble? These two were well past retirement age, Pippa thought. What could Levout do? Sack them? Surely they’d be looking forward to retirement anyway.
The Prince’s Outback Bride Page 10
