In the Royal's Bed: Wanted: Royal Wife and Mother

‘It is beautiful.’

‘Surface gorgeous. You know how Kass financed his latest bout of gambling debts? He allowed logging almost to the edge of Zunderfied. The land here gets saturated with the snow melts. We’ve had two minor landslips there with spring already. That’s just one problem among hundreds.’

She turned and gazed upward and saw the scarred hillside, the jarring ugliness of the leavings from clear felling. But…to allow herself to worry about the countryside…the people…

She wasn’t royal. She wasn’t!

She mustn’t care.

‘You love it,’ Rafael said softly as the car slowed and turned into the palace grounds.

‘Not…not any more.’

‘There’s no need to be defensive,’ he said. ‘There’s no one who wants you to do anything you don’t want. I dare say the villagers can worry about their landslips very well themselves without you worrying on their behalf.’ He grimaced. ‘If you want to cloister yourself in your attic in your remarkable sweater then your wish will be respected.’

‘Does that mean Mama is allowed to wear that sweater?’ Matty demanded, astounded.

‘It’s her business.’

‘Ellen will say it’s not royal.’

‘Ellen will say no such thing,’ Rafael said firmly. ‘Your mother is here as her own person. She can do exactly as she pleases.’

Damn, why was she blinking again? She glanced out of the back window of the car and saw the tiny township of Zunderfied perched below a swathe of freshly cleared mountainside. She’d boarded there when she’d first come here and thought it was delightful—a tiny alpine village that was steeped in history.

But the logging… How could Kass have agreed to such a thing? Even from here it seemed the little town was in peril. She wanted to get out of the car and start replanting now.

No! NMP, she told herself fiercely.

Not My Problem.

There was no hiding in the background when they arrived at the palace. She was expected.

The first time she’d arrived here it had been with the archaeological dig team. They’d worked out of sight of the main castle, sifting through the remains of ancient castle sites. So the only time she’d been in this forecourt had been the time she’d arrived with Kass.

She’d been eight months pregnant. Her pregnancy had been dreadful. She’d been sick all the time, and Kass had hardly been near.

But then his father was dead and he was triumphant. He’d hauled her home, almost as a trophy.

‘This is my wife,’ he’d said, tugging her out of the limousine and not caring that she almost fell. ‘She’s carrying my heir. A son. This is now my country. My country.’

The domestic staff had all been there to greet him—they’d lined up on either side of the castle entrance. She remembered the silence. The silent, cold disapproval.

Kass had swept inside, leaving her to follow.

‘Take care of her,’ he’d snapped to a couple of the domestic staff. ‘She’s to have everything she needs to deliver a perfect child.’

It had stayed with her. The dismay in the eyes of everyone around her. The contempt. Even…pity?

But now…

This was very, very different.

Yes, the staff were assembled. Not as many. It was a pared down staff, maybe only a quarter as big.

Every one of the staff was smiling.

‘Ellen,’ Matty yelled, launching himself out of the car and heading straight for a buxom woman at the end of the line. Then, as she scooped him into her arms and hugged, he turned from her shoulder and whooped as he saw more friends, ‘Marguerite. Aunt Laura.’

They were all beaming at her little son. Rafael was smiling too. A man she remembered…Crater—the palace Secretary of State, more stooped than she remembered and his hair more silver—was stepping forward to grasp Rafael’s hand.

‘It’s good to have you back, sir.’

‘It’s good to be back,’ Rafael said. He turned to hug a woman near him—a lady around the same age as Crater. She was wearing a flowing skirt, a cardigan that reached almost to her knees and a paint-spattered pinafore over everything. Her abundance of silver hair was tied up in a knot and there was paint there too. She was smiling with everyone else but sniffing into a paint-smudged handkerchief.

‘Mama, don’t you dare cry.’ He picked her up and whirled her round as he might have whirled a child. ‘I’ve been away only a week. Kelly will think you’re soppy.’

‘Kelly,’ the lady whispered and Rafael set her down and turned her to face Kelly.

‘Mama, this is Kelly. Everyone, this is our own Princess Kellyn Marie de Boutaine. She’s been sorely wronged but she’s finally consented to take her place where she ought to be. It gives me huge pleasure to tell you all that our Kelly has finally come home.’

And for a moment—for just a moment—Kelly wished she looked more like a princess. The last thing she wanted was to be thought of as a poor relation. She hadn’t thought it through…

But she couldn’t think it for long for Laura gave her no chance. With a cry of delight, Laura abandoned Rafael and took swift steps to where she was standing. Kelly could hardly be self-conscious of her clothes in the face of layers of paint. There was even a daub of purple on Laura’s left eyebrow.

And there was no disguising the sincerity of her welcome. Smiling warmly, Laura took her by both hands and held her at arm’s length, surveying her from head to toe. But Kelly thought she wasn’t seeing the clothes. She was looking deeper.

‘So you’ve come home,’ Laura whispered. ‘Oh, my dear, we are so sorry. This country’s done you such a wrong. I don’t know how you can ever forgive us, but from now on…we’re overjoyed to have you here. Welcome home, Kelly, dear.’

She turned and held Kelly’s hand high in hers.

‘Our Matty has his mother home,’ she said to the assemblage. ‘And we have our princess. Thank you, Rafael, for bringing our Kellyn home.’

But of course she wasn’t ‘our Kellyn’. She’d never been part of this royal family and she had no intention of being slotted neatly into an allocated space now.

The next few hours passed in a haze of shock and confusion and jet lag. Somehow, however, she managed to keep her wits about her enough to insist on her independence from the first.

With the first greetings over, with Matty scampering off to greet his friends, to make sure nothing had changed in his absence and to distribute the myriad of souvenir gifts he’d stocked up on, Laura and Rafael showed her to her rooms. To her horror, she found she was expected to sleep in the same ghastly, opulent suite she’d been confined to while she’d waited for Matty to be born. It had been closed when she left and hadn’t been used since. She glanced through to the bathroom and the dressing gown she’d worn when she was pregnant was folded neatly on a side table. Cleaned and pressed. Waiting for her to return?

She backed out in horror. No and no and no.

Rafael raised his eyebrows in bemusement. ‘These are the best we have,’ he said. ‘Rooms fit for a royal bride. Kass never felt any desire to put anyone else in them.’

‘Then get yourself a royal bride to put in them,’ she said crisply, staring round at the gilt and chandeliers and rich crimson velvet with loathing. ‘I think I get to be described as the royal relic from now on. I don’t want anything to do with this stuff.’

‘You don’t look like a relic.’

‘If she doesn’t want gilt she doesn’t have gilt,’ Laura said stoutly. ‘There’s not a scrap of gilt in the dower house. Not that I’m offering to share. It’s a wee bit cosy.’