‘That’s when my mother told me.’
‘I wondered,’ Blake said softly.
‘But you knew?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Blake said simply. ‘The old prince depended on me absolutely. He wouldn’t sack me, so I was the only one who was safe. So I was the one she said was your father.’ He smiled, misty-eyed in the moonlight. ‘May I say, Your Highness, that it would have been an honour. For Beatrice and I, it still is an honour.’
He thought about it while he dug the grave, swiftly and cleanly, using the muscles he’d gained in another life. Then he put such thoughts aside. While Blake and Beatrice cut more roses, he went with Pippa to bring her dog down for burial. He held her hand as they walked upstairs, and she clung as if she needed him.
The big dog lay where she’d died. She looked at peace, Max thought, an old dog at the end of a life well lived, but even so he found himself swallowing hard.
‘I don’t know what to wrap her in,’ Pippa said helplessly, but Max knew.
‘Your sweater,’ he told her. ‘Maybe two of your sweaters, or anything else of yours that you can spare. That’s what she’d want to be buried in.’ He cupped Pippa’s tear-stained face and smiled tenderly into her eyes. ‘But she’s not a chihuahua. Maybe we’d better add in one of mine for good measure. Dolores was never a one-sweater dog.’
So Dolores was buried, at four in the morning, with all the dignity and reverence they could muster. There were four of them there to say goodbye. Pippa, Max, Blake and Beatrice. Blake and Beatrice took the burial as seriously as Pippa did.
As did Max. It was right. It was a strange little funeral, but lovely for all that. The night was serene and beautiful. The scent of the roses was rich and sweet, and there was an owl calling from the woods nearby.
It was as good a goodbye as was possible, Max thought, and even though Pippa didn’t speak he knew she felt the same.
‘Come back to bed, sweetheart,’ he told her as they finished laying roses over the tumbled earth. ‘We’ll decorate it properly in the morning.’
‘I…’ She shook her head, as if trying to shake a dream. ‘I don’t know…’
‘Well, I do,’ He said softly and he swept her into his arms and held her tight. ‘You’re spent, my love. Don’t object. Just do what you’re told.’ And Beatrice and Blake smiled mistily as he carried her inside, up the sweeping staircase, back to her bed.
When they reached the bed the bedclothes were still tousled from Dolores and the fire was still crackling in the grate. He lay her gently on the pillows but her arms were around his neck and she drew him down with her.
‘Don’t leave,’ she whispered.
Leave was the last thing he intended to do. She was cradled against him, soft and warm and lovely. She smelled of the roses she’d held. She tasted of tears. He felt his heart shift within him as he’d never known it could, and, as he stroked her hair, as he kissed her sweet mouth, as he held her close against him, her breasts moulding to his chest, her body curved and suppliant in his arms, he knew that he could never leave.
‘Pippa,’ he whispered and she held his face in her hands, kissing him, passive grief slowly fading as passion stirred to take its place.
He kissed her back, the kisses becoming hot and demanding as he felt her response. She wanted him.
Beatrice’s words came back to him. ‘You know, Pippa loves you.’
Could that be true? Could such a miracle have happened?
Maybe. Maybe.
She was possessive now, her lips claiming his mouth as fiercely as his claimed hers. Her hands were holding his body against hers. Her fingers were feeling the contours of his back, his hips, his thighs.
His fingers slipped under the soft fabric of her T-shirt. She had no bra. Like Max, she’d shed her finery with speed this night, and she’d felt no need to dress in more than a cursory manner.
Her breasts were moulded to his hands. Her nipples were taut under his fingers. He breathed out, a soft sigh of sensory pleasure, of acceptance that this miracle could somehow be happening, that this woman could possibly be his.
Maybe she did love him, he thought exultantly. She loves me before I’ve promised her a thing. She loves me despite what I’ve been trying to make her do.
And somehow it made the world right. His world, which had been torn apart when Thiérry was killed, or even earlier, when his mother had lied, when his parents’ marriage had fractured, was somehow settling back on its rightful axis. Love conquered all. It does, he thought exultantly. Damn the critics, the cynical. He had his Pippa. He’d found love.
‘Pippa.’
The word was an echo of his thoughts. For a moment he didn’t react, thinking it was just a part of this night.
But he felt Pippa still in his arms. She put her hands up to his hair and let her fingers run through, as if somehow imparting a message that this had to be interrupted. Her name wasn’t part of the night. She was being called.
The outside world was slipping in.
Reluctantly he loosened his hold and she twisted in his arms. He could barely see her in the firelight, but the night-light was on in the sitting room and the slight figure in the doorway was unmistakable. It was a little boy in too-big pyjamas, his voice wavering toward panic. ‘Pippa?’
‘Marc.’ Pippa was out from his arms, rolling off the bed, crossing to fold the little boy into her arms. ‘Marc, what is it?’
‘Who…who’s there?’
‘I’m here,’ Max said gruffly, trying to make his voice sound normal. ‘I was just…’
‘Max was giving me a cuddle,’ Pippa said. ‘Did you hear us? Did we scare you?’
‘No.’ He faltered, looking towards the bed. Max flicked on the bedside lamp, thanking his lucky stars that Marc hadn’t waited for another five minutes. For if he had…
‘Where’s Dolores?’ Marc whispered and the night stilled. ‘I woke up and you weren’t with us. And I thought about Dolores. Where’s Dolores? I was just…scared.’
‘She’s dead, Marc,’ Pippa said, hugging him close. She was stooped to his level, hugging him against her, and the sight was enough to make Max feel…feel…Hell, he didn’t know what he felt. He’d spent his whole life avoiding relationships and now here he was, in the midst of so many relationships he didn’t know where to start.
But Pippa seemed too choked up to talk. The responsibility was suddenly his. ‘Dolores died peacefully in her sleep,’ he told Marc, and Marc looked over Pippa’s shoulder and met his gaze head-on. ‘That’s why I’m here hugging Pippa.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Where is she?’ He gazed fearfully around the room, and Max thought, yes, Pippa had been right to speed the burial. Sometimes children needed to be involved in all things, but not this time. Not when Marc’s grief for his parents was still raw.
‘Pippa and I buried her,’ Max said.
‘Where?’
‘Just below these windows. Near the rose garden.’
‘In the moonlight,’ Pippa whispered. ‘And where the sun shines all day.’
Marc swallowed. ‘I should…I should have helped,’ He said and damn, Max was as close to crying as he’d been for years. This waif of a child was squaring his shoulders like a man. He was under no illusion that Marc would have used the spade if he’d had to.
‘You know, you can’t see the grave from here,’ he said, crossing to the windows and looking out. ‘It’s too dark. Would you like to come down and see what we’ve done?’
Marc considered. ‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Please.’
‘You should be asleep,’ Pippa said ruefully, but Max shook his head.
‘No. He needs to see the grave. Will you come with me?’ He held out his hand to Marc.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll come, too,’ Pippa said, but Max caught her shoulders and forced her to turn to him.
‘No,’ he said softly and he kissed her, softly, tenderly, as she needed to be kissed. ‘You’re dead tired,
my love. You’ve cared for Dolores. You’ve cared for all of us. Now it’s time for the men of the family to take care of you. Marc, Dolores was Pippa’s dog for a long time, much longer than you or I have known her. She’s feeling very sad. And she’s tired. Will you tuck Pippa into bed while I fill hot water bottles?’
‘Okay,’ Marc said, cautious but game. ‘Pippa, you have to get into bed.’
‘But I-’
‘Don’t argue with us,’ Max said firmly. ‘We’re in charge. You know, Marc and I have some serious talking to do, too, and it’s a good time for us to do it now, when all the womenfolk are asleep. So, Pippa. Bed.’
‘Bed,’ said Marc.
She stared at them for a long moment. Prince Regent. Crown Prince. Her men, giving orders.
She smiled wearily at them both and she went to bed.
She didn’t sleep, but, safe under the covers, warmed by the fire and by the hot-water bottles Max had filled, she felt as at peace as she’d ever felt in her life.
Dolores’ death was a grief but not an overwhelming one. She’d known this was coming, and for it to happen in this way was a blessing. She knew it. And now…She’d thought she’d be bereft, but she wasn’t.
For things had changed. Max was no longer looking at her as if she was some sort of trap.
She was no longer alone.
She wasn’t sure of the whys or wherefores, but she let her thoughts drift where they willed, content to let tomorrow take care of itself. Somewhere downstairs Max was having a heart-to-heart talk with Marc. What about? Maybe she should be in on the conversation, but she trusted Max.
She trusted him with her life.
She rolled over and one of her hot-water bottles slid out on the floor. No matter. She didn’t need it.
But Max had given it to her. For some dumb reason it seemed important to retrieve.
She slid out from under the covers and groped in the darkness until she found it. She went to climb back into bed, but, almost as an afterthought, she crossed to the window.
And saw…
Max and Marc were on the seat she’d so recently vacated. They were talking steadily. Max’s arm was around Marc’s shoulders. She blinked.
And then she looked at the grave.
For she could see the grave now. No longer a darkened mound in a darkened garden, it was an oasis of light.
The boys-the men, she corrected herself-had brought out candles. They’d found tea-light candles, many candles.
There was a perimeter of candles around the grave. And then, among the roses, the candles spelled out letters.
DOLORES.
Where had they found so many candles?
No matter. She could see the colours of the roses, illuminated by the candles. She could almost imagine she could smell them. The grave looked wonderful
Beside the grave, Max and Marc spoke earnestly on.
She blinked and blinked again but she didn’t cry. The time for crying was over.
She hugged her hot-water bottle to her. Max wouldn’t come back to her this night, she knew. She didn’t need him to.
Tomorrow was just…tomorrow.
CHAPTER TEN
PIPPA woke and sun was streaming in the window. Her door was wide open, and the children were filing in.
They were dressed and washed and sparkling, the twins’ pigtails plaited, neat as pins, and full of importance.
Sophie was bearing a glass of orange juice.
Claire was carrying a plate of fruit.
Marc was balancing a tray holding toast, pots of jam and a tub of butter curls.
Max was bringing up the rear, carrying coffee.
‘Good morning,’ he said, and her heart felt as if it did a somersault. ‘Or almost good afternoon.’
She stared at the clock. Eleven!
‘We let you sleep in,’ Sophie said. ‘’Cos you were up in the night looking after Dolores.’
‘Oh, Sophie…’
‘I told them Dolores died,’ Marc said, matter-of-factly. ‘We’ve put more flowers on her grave. Sophie put pansies on and Claire chose pretty white flowers with yellow middles. They’ll die pretty soon but Max says we’ll all go for a drive later to a garden place. We’ll each choose what we want to plant on Dolores’ grave. And Max said we can light the candles every night for as long as we want.’
‘That’s…that’s lovely.’
‘But you need to get up,’ Claire said importantly. ‘’Cos we have a visitor.’
‘Who?’
‘Sort of a grandma,’ Sophie said and she giggled.
‘She says we can call her Grandma, anyway.’ Marc sounded a bit uncertain. ‘But she says only if you think it’s okay.’
‘Who is it?’ Pippa asked, intrigued.
‘My mother,’ Max said.
She blinked.
‘And she’s waiting for you to wheel her round the garden,’ He told the kids. ‘Use the ramp at the side door and don’t take her anywhere the wheelchair can get stuck.’
‘We won’t,’ Sophie said and dumped her orange juice and ran. Closely followed by Claire.
‘And I’m not going to be Crown Prince any more,’ Marc added, setting down his toast with care. ‘Max and me talked about it last night and we have a plan. It’s really good. But can I go and help wheeling? They might crash the wheelchair if I don’t.’
‘Go right ahead,’ Max said, placing his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder and giving him a squeeze of affection. ‘You’re a kid in a million.’
Marc gave a self-conscious grin, smiled shyly up at his hero-and bolted.
Pippa was left with Max. She should feel shy too, she thought. She didn’t. She just felt…right.
‘How soon is soon enough to ask you to marry me?’ Max said, and her world stilled.
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard.’ He set down the coffee pot on the floor. ‘I was intending to wait until you’d eaten your toast, but you’re far too beautiful to leave hanging around for long. Someone else might snatch you.’
‘I have three kids,’ she said, trying hard to keep breathing. Her heart was doing really funny lurching things. ‘No one else wants to snatch me.’
‘More fool them,’ he said and sat on the bed and pulled her into his arms. ‘They don’t know what they’re missing. I have the most wonderful woman in the world in my arms right now. How fantastic is that? I can’t believe my luck and I’m waiting not a minute longer. You need to say you’ll marry me, my lovely Pippa. You must. Please?’
Her heart was singing, but somehow she found the strength to pull away. He released her with seeming reluctance, but he did let her go.
She pulled far enough back until she could see his face. ‘Max, why?’
‘I love you.’ He smiled, that lovely, lurking smile that had her heart doing hand springs. ‘As simple as that. As easy as that. All the conniving I’ve done-the figuring, the way I’ve tried to structure our lives-and in the end it comes down to this. I love you, Pippa, and I love you with all my heart. I want to be beside you for as long as we both shall live. Everything else has to come in after that. We’ll organise our lives. We’ll organise the Crown and the country. But we’ll organise these things around the most important thing in my life. Which is being with you.’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She’d surely forgotten how to breathe.
‘Say you’ll marry me,’ he said, urgently. ‘Pippa, I’m not asking you to step away from the children. I know you love them to bits, and, believe it or not, I do too. I thought last night how could I walk away from Marc? There’s been so many things to think about. For the last few weeks it’s been crazy. First it was how I could accept that I was truly a de Gautier. Then could I walk away from this country? After that how could I walk away from you? And now there’s the kids, worming their way into my heart. I love them too, Pippa, I love this whole damned catastrophe. I want to marry the lot of you.’
‘And take us to Paris?’It had to be said. She was torn betw
een disbelief and a magic, wondrous hope.
‘No, here’s the thing,’ He said ruefully. ‘Because I can’t do that either. I listened to those elderly players yesterday saying their kids were having to leave the country. I thought about fractured families. I thought about this wonderful little country that can be so much if it’s well managed. And I thought about the buildings I’ve been proud constructing. Yes, I can be proud of my buildings but here…Pippa, here we can build a whole country.’
‘But how…?’
‘There’s so much we can do,’ he said, exultant. ‘The people who talked to me initially in Paris-disaffected citizens who are aching to be allowed to set decent government in motion-are desperate to help, and they will. If I stay on as Crown Prince…’
‘You’d take that on?’
‘Yes,’ He said firmly. ‘It’s not fair to ask that of Marc. It never was, but it’s taken the love of a wonderful woman to make me see it.’ He grinned. ‘And also to see that it might not be so much a burden as a privilege. I’ve talked to Mama. She’s agreed-with sadness but I’ll make her see it need not be a grief. We’ll set the DNA testing in place to prove things. But you know what? I’ve been thinking and thinking. I thought it’d be great if Marc stands to inherit. I talked to him about it last night and he agrees. So…We can formally adopt. The kids will be our kids, along with whoever else comes along. That way it’s Marc who stands to inherit. How perfect is that?’
‘But…’ It was too much to take in. ‘You love them that much?’
‘I love them so much I can’t do anything else,’ he said, and he tugged her into his arms and held her tight. ‘Pippa, last night I rang my mother in Paris. Like me, her life has been desolate since Thiérry died. We’ve put things on hold. But last night I talked to her about what we can do-what we all can do-if we have the courage to take this on.’
‘You’ve really asked her to…’
‘Yes,’ He said, stroking her hair, kissing the top of her head. ‘Yes, I did. I told her that once upon a time I remembered her talking of a vision she had of how this country could be. She married as a green girl, marrying the fairy tale. I told her we could live the real fairy tale. We could make this country great. And we could be a family.’
The Prince’s Outback Bride Page 18
