Her Royal Baby

CHAPTER SEVEN

MARC woke to laughter. He groaned and opened one eye to discover it was eight a.m. That’d teach him to wander round the lake in the small hours. His head was still in a time zone a thousand miles away.

Maybe he’d imagined the laughter, he thought, still hazy from sleep. One thing this palace never encouraged was laughter.

But there it was again, drifting up from under his windows. Definitely laughter. Tammy’s?

A knock and Dominic was entering. The butler set his tray on the bedside table and started to pull the curtains. He smiled in sympathy as Marc grimaced.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but you did organise a meeting with M’sieur Lavac at nine.’

‘At nine?’ Marc groaned again. ‘M’sieur Lavac?’

‘The accountant, sir,’ Dominic told him in the reproving manner of a senior person to a child who has to be occasionally indulged.

‘Yes. Right.’ The palace accountant. M’sieur Lavac. Of course. Dominic was pulling aside vast brocade drapes and the light hurt his eyes ‘Who the hell is laughing? Surely it can’t be T… Miss Dexter?’

‘Did they wake you, sir? Shall I tell them to stop?’

Them? ‘Tell who to stop?’

‘Miss Tammy and Master Henry.’ Dominic paused by the windows and gazed down at the south lawn, a smile playing over his normally taciturn face. ‘I’ll admit I’d be reluctant to stop them. It does my heart good to see them here. We never thought we’d see a child back at the palace. And this aunt of the little Prince…’

‘She meets with your approval?’ The temptation was too great. Jet-lag or no jet-lag, Marc rose to see for himself.

They were right beneath his windows. A steep and grassy bank led down to the lake, and Tammy had climbed to the top, with Henry in her arms. While Marc watched she lay down on the grass, set the little boy down before her so they were almost nose to nose, held his hands tight-and they rolled down the grassy verge together.

Clearly they’d done it time and time again. They ended up on the bank of the lake, both bubbling with laughter, the baby holding his hands out for more. A cluster of ducklings and their mother watched from the water’s edge, seemingly almost as bemused as Marc.

And for Marc it was a strange feeling. Incredible! He watched Tammy’s laughing face and felt a surge of such desire it threatened to overwhelm him.

But this wasn’t a desire he knew. It was crazily mixed up, he thought. His feelings for Tammy were merging with what she represented. Because in there, too, was a desire to do what she was doing-to play with the baby he’d already started to love.

Love? He didn’t do love, he told himself, startled. He was there in the background to safeguard Henry’s inheritance. That was all.

He didn’t do love!

The butler was watching him with a strange expression on his face and Marc tried to catch himself. To appear nonchalant. He let the drapes drop back into place.

‘Have the staff taken to Miss Tamsin?’ he asked, as casually as he could. Which wasn’t as casual as he’d have liked.

Dominic didn’t notice, or at least he didn’t appear to notice. ‘Oh, yes, sir.’

With those three short words there was no doubting that Tammy had Dominic’s entire approval. And that of the staff. ‘Miss Tamsin was up at six this morning and she ate breakfast in the kitchen. We were shocked, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She brought the little one down with her and…well, by the end of breakfast Mrs Burchett says we couldn’t have found anyone more different than…’

He faltered at that, and came to an embarrassed halt, but Marc knew what he’d been about to say.

‘Than her sister?’

‘I…’ Dominic coughed and then met his eyes with honesty. ‘Well, yes. Princess Lara wasn’t universally liked. You know that. Prince Jean-Paul and Princess Lara never took it upon themselves to pay any attention to the staff. When they took the baby away Mrs Burchett and nearly every other woman on the staff practically broke their hearts. They’d been wanting a child in the palace for so long.’

‘Yes.’ Half of Marc was listening, but he was distracted. His hand had involuntarily pulled the drape aside again. It was as if he couldn’t drag his eyes away.

They looked wonderful. Their laughter was infectious and he found himself smiling just to see their pleasure. Tammy was lying on her back now, holding the little boy above her at arm’s length, crowing up at him as if they were both children. She was barefoot again-it seemed to be her normal state-and dressed once more in her standard shabby jeans and T-shirt.

In one sense she looked a pauper, but in another she looked a million dollars!

‘Begging your pardon, sir, but will you be taking them back to Renouys?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Back to your own property. Will you be taking Miss Tamsin and Master Henry back to Renouys to live?’

‘Oh.’ Marc was still distracted, but he made himself think that one through. ‘Why would you think I’d do that?’

‘The inheritance clause you’ve told me about says the child needs only to stay in the country. Not here in the palace.’

‘Mmm.’

‘So we thought…the staff have been saying that maybe you’d be taking them back to Renouys to live with you there.’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

Dominic was still probing. That was the trouble with aged retainers, Marc thought grimly. Not enough respect. Dominic had known him when he was in short pants, and the demarcation between master and servant was growing more blurred by the minute. ‘But you’re not planning on staying here yourself?’ He was shamelessly inquisitive and Marc grimaced. ‘You know I’m only here until I get the mess that my cousin left sorted out. Miss Tamsin will stay here. There’s no need for me to stay as well.’

‘The place needs a master.’

‘I’ll be on call if you need me. I can’t stay here indefinitely. It’s not my home.’

‘You’re Prince Regent for twenty-five years,’ Dominic said softly. ‘For some that’s a lifetime. You could live here.’

‘I don’t wish to.’

‘But…’

‘Dominic, no.’ He was still watching Tammy, but the laughter had gone. The feeling of entrapment he’d had ever since Jean-Paul’s death was threatening to overwhelm him.

‘I’m sure Miss Ingrid-’

‘Miss Ingrid has nothing to do with my decision on where I’m to live.’ He flashed Dominic a suspicious look. The elderly butler could take liberties where no one else could, but enough was enough. ‘Stop fishing.’

‘I’d never…fish,’ the butler said, offended, and Marc gave a reluctant grin.

‘I’m very sure you would. What time did you say M’sieur Lavac is coming?’

‘Nine.’

‘Then I’d better eat my breakfast. And shower and change. And…is Miss Ingrid breakfasting yet?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What a shame. Well, I might have time for a quick walk before meeting M’sieur Lavac.’

‘Yes, sir.’ And Dominic turned away before Marc could see the involuntary smile that flashed into his wise old eyes. ‘I’m sure that would be a very good idea. The south lawn is lovely at this time of the morning.’

The south lawn was lovely, but Marc hardly noticed it. He’d showered and dressed in record time, donning what were for him very casual clothes. Jeans and an open-necked shirt and that was it. He’d been about to pull his shoes on but suddenly thought, dammit, why should I?

So he headed down the steps wearing bare feet.

He instantly regretted it. There was gravel between the steps and the lawn. His feet recoiled in instinctive reaction and Tammy, strolling up towards the entrance, saw him and laughed.

‘You’ve forgotten your royal slippers, Your Highness.’

‘I often go barefoot,’ he told her, but her smile deepened.

‘Yeah, like I often wear a tiara.’

‘Or elegant little black dresses?’ Her smile was magnetic, he thought. Gorgeous.

‘Sometimes it’s necessary to wear what the natives wear,’ she told him with dignity, and it was his turn to grin.

‘I agree. Hence the bare feet.’

She smiled still more and looked down at her own bare toes. ‘I don’t think you should copy me. I’m hardly a native here yet.’

‘You think you’ll be happy staying here permanently?’

‘Hey, give me a break. How can I make decisions like that already? I’ve only been here for one night.’

‘But you like what you see?’

‘I’m a bit worried about the standard of our accommodation,’ she told him, trying to keep laughter from her voice. ‘It’s not what I’m used to. But Henry and I have been discussing the matter. We suppose we can slum it.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘After all, if you can then I guess we can, too. No Antipodean’s about to be surpassed in toughness by a Broitenburgian!’

She smiled once more, a gorgeous, all-enveloping smile, with lovely laughter lighting her eyes. And it set Marc back.

Henry was snuggled into her shoulder. He wasn’t asleep but he was clearly a happy, content and tired little boy. The way the child’s body curved into her breast did something to Marc’s insides that he hardly recognised. Marc stared at the picture woman and child made and thought-it looked good. They looked so at home in this setting. It was as if the baby was meant to be here. As if both were meant to be.

Woman and child seemed made for each other, and Tammy was standing on the castle steps as if she belonged.

This could work.

He’d been staring at her for too long, and she broke the silence before he’d finished with his train of thought. ‘Um…Marc, about a house of my own…’

He frowned, thrown off track. This certainly wasn’t where his thoughts had been leading. ‘A house of your own?’

‘Okay, not a gardener’s cottage,’ she conceded. ‘I see that such a place would be inappropriate for Henry. But for you to have me living here with you is also inappropriate. Last night… You must see that it can’t work.’

He thought about it and disagreed. ‘I think it worked very well last night.’

‘It didn’t.’ The humiliation she’d felt the previous night surfaced again, and with it anger. ‘If you think I’m going to play hostess to your mistress, you have another think coming.’

‘Hey, Ingrid’s not my mistress.’

‘No?’

He flushed. ‘Hell, Tammy…’

‘My mother says you’re a womaniser,’ she said flatly, her anger fading as she searched for a more temperate tone. What she was saying was unpleasant enough without hurling it at him in fury. But she’d been thinking things through and they both had to face the truth. ‘Whether that’s true or not hardly matters, but Mrs Burchett agrees that you go from one woman to another. She says Ingrid’s only been on the scene for a couple of months. She also says that now Ingrid’s getting possessive you’ll ditch her and there’ll be someone else.’

It was so close to the bone that he almost gasped. Damn it, how well did the servants know him? And how dared this unknown woman throw his personal affairs in his face?

‘This is none of your business.’ He was almost rigid with shock and fury, but she didn’t appear to notice.

‘It’s not,’ she agreed, with all the placidity in the world, ‘unless you try to kiss me again-which, if you know what’s good for you, you won’t. But if you intend to keep entertaining your women here-’

‘Will you leave my private life alone?’

She had no intention of doing so. She couldn’t. ‘It puts me in an impossible situation,’ she explained. ‘Like-what was my role here last night? Guest? Hostess? Or was Ingrid hostess? She did her best to put me down and made it clear that I was her absolute social inferior. Does that mean every time you change girlfriends I’m to be patronised by another woman?’

‘She didn’t patronise-’

‘Yes, she did,’ Tammy said softly. ‘You forget, I was raised with Lara and Isobelle. I can spot patronising from a mile off. And that’s the lesser issue. You having one woman after another will give Henry the wrong moral values.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘Someone has to say it,’ she said flatly. ‘If you want me to stay here then you need to find us alternative accommodation.’

‘The palace is yours,’ he told her, goaded. ‘There’s no need at all for these histrionics. I’m leaving.’

Silence.

It was early morning still. A gardener was heading over the far lawn with a wheelbarrow, and a couple of sparrows were engaged in an argument over the remains of a squashed worm right by Tammy’s feet. Otherwise the world seemed to hold its breath. Waiting…

‘You’re leaving?’ she said finally-almost conversationally-and he nodded.

‘Yes. As soon as you’re settled.’

‘Leaving me here alone?’

‘Not alone. With the staff.’

‘With the staff.’ She was thinking fast and was clearly unhappy with what she was coming up with. ‘You mean you’re intending to skive off and leave me with the responsibility for all of…?’ She gazed up at the castle and then turned to motion to the expansive grounds beyond. ‘All of this?’

No one had ever talked to him like this. No woman. What had she said-Skive? ‘I’m not leaving you with responsibility for anything,’ he snapped.

‘So you’re going-where?’

‘I told you. Renouys-my own establishment-is ten miles south of here.’

‘That’s right,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I’d forgotten. You’re really a not important prince. So you’ll go back to being no one in particular and operate your secondary role as Prince Regent on the side?’

‘Actually,’ he told her through clenched teeth-his anger threatening to overwhelm him, ‘I’m an aquatic engineer. I design and advise on community water supplies, and I need to get back to my work.’

‘How fascinating,’ she snapped. ‘You miss your engineering, do you? Well, can I remind you that I’m not just Henry’s aunt? I’m a tree surgeon. I need to get back to my work.’

‘You can. Right here.’

‘But you can’t design whatever it is you design here as well?’

‘There’s no need…’

‘There’s every need. I don’t know the first thing about running castles. Nor do I intend to try.’

‘You don’t need to. The palace will run itself.’

‘Yeah, like it’s been running itself for the last ten years. Mrs Burchett’s been telling me what a disaster it’s been.’

‘She’s been telling you too damn much.’

‘She’s been telling me how miserable they all were,’ she snapped. ‘How everything’s been pushed to the side. How Jean-Paul and his elder brother before him refused to take on any responsibility for either the palace or the broader principality. And here you are, ruler for the next twenty-five years whether you like it or not, taking yourself off from responsibility as fast as your legs can carry you. Landing me-’

‘I’m still coping with the political necessities of the crown. I’m not landing you with anything.’

‘No. Not with Henry?’

‘He’s your nephew.’

‘He’s your heir.’

‘He’s not my heir. Do you understand nothing about regencies?’

‘I understand enough,’ she said through gritted teeth. Henry had closed his eyes now, slumping down on her shoulder with the expression of a baby at peace with his world. ‘I understand that your responsibility is this kingdom-this principality-for twenty-five years. I understand that this place needs a leader. It’s desperate for a leader. I hadn’t been here for half an hour before I saw that, and according to the staff in the kitchen this palace is just a sample of how much the rest of the country’s in need of leadership. And off you go, heading back to your castle to be an aquatic engineer.’

‘I don’t need this. I never wanted-’

‘What? Responsibility? Commitment? Mrs Burchett told me how you’ve been running scared of it all your life. She told me about your mother-’

‘What the hell do you know about my mother?’ He was almost speechless.

‘That your father had an affair with Jean-Paul’s mother and broke your mother’s heart. That she committed suicide when you were twelve years old and your father drank himself to death soon after. That you blamed Jean-Paul’s family-the royal family-for destroying your childhood.’

‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’ How dared Mrs Burchett talk about him like this? He should stalk into the castle and sack her on the spot.

But…she’d only reiterated what every woman’s magazine in the principality had been saying for years. Like it or not, this was public knowledge.

Tammy was backing away, her anger fading as she realised that maybe she’d gone too far. ‘I know,’ she conceded, a hint of apology in her voice. ‘You’re right in that your past history is none of my business. But I didn’t have to be here long to see the staff are desperate. They want you here so much. They were trying to make me see…’

‘Make you see what?’

‘That you have to stay. They didn’t tell me you intended to go back to your home, but now that you’ve said it-I guess it explains their attitude. They’ll have known you intended to leave me and Henry here alone. Marc, I’m sorry about your past. I shouldn’t have brought it up, but…’

But he was past listening to apologies. He was almost past listening-period. ‘This has nothing to do with gossip,’ he exploded. ‘It has nothing to do with the past. I’m not a prince. I’m an engineer.’

But she couldn’t let him off the hook. She couldn’t. It was too important for so many people.

In a way it’d be a relief if he left, she thought. The man unsettled her in a way she hadn’t thought was possible. But the alternative-for her to care for Henry by herself in this amazing place…

It wouldn’t work. Henry needed her, but he needed Marc even more. For the little boy to be brought up as the future ruler of Broitenburg…

He needed Marc.

‘You’re the country’s leader,’ she told him, and waited.

‘By default. Henry’s the leader.’

‘Yeah, right.’ She shifted the sleeping little boy on her shoulder and gave him a wry look. ‘Is there anything you’d like him to sign right now? Any acts of parliament you’d like him to draft?’

‘I told you,’ he said with exaggerated patience, as if he was dealing with a fool, ‘I’ll be ten miles away. I’ll be caring for the political necessities. I can be over here in half an hour.’

‘Your place is here.’

‘No. Your place is here.’

‘So you brought me here. Very good. Well done. But you’re not skiving off.’

‘I told you, I have no intention of skiving…’

‘Marc?’

They hadn’t noticed her, but Ingrid was suddenly above them. She was standing on the top step, staring down in amazement at the warring couple below her. Perfectly groomed in country style-a pale cashmere cardigan over an elegantly cut little tweed skirt-she was beautifully made up, without a hair out of place. Her eyes went to Marc’s feet in horror. ‘What on earth are you doing outside?’ she demanded. ‘In bare feet?’

He couldn’t work out why she was so offended-whether it was because he was outside without her and talking to another woman, or because he was outside in bare feet. Despite the outrage of the last few moments he was forced to smile.

It was a very strained smile.

‘Sorting gravel with my toes,’ he admitted. ‘I wouldn’t advise it. Tammy here must have feet of leather. Good morning, Ingrid.’

There was no return smile. ‘Good morning.’ Her tones were like ice. Her greeting was addressed to Marc and only to Marc. Obviously she was still smarting from Tammy’s responses the night before. ‘I expected you in the breakfast room.’

‘I thought you were breakfasting in bed.’

‘I never breakfast in bed. The servants know that.’

He frowned over that one. I never breakfast in bed… ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Three days.’

He’d assumed she’d come yesterday. ‘Why on earth have you been here this long? You knew I wasn’t due back until yesterday.’

‘Someone has to keep an eye on the place,’ she said icily. ‘It’s your responsibility now, Marc. You can’t let the servants get away with murder.’

‘That’s just what I was saying,’ Tammy told her, sticking in her two bits’ worth. ‘Did you know his Royal Highness is hot-footing it back to his own property as soon as he can?’

‘Hot-footing?’ Ingrid’s perfect English failed her at that. She stared at Tammy as if she was something that had just crawled out of a piece of cabbage. ‘Hot-footing?’

‘Going back there to live,’ Tammy told her. ‘He’s planning on leaving me here-just to keep an eye on the place.’

‘What? By yourself?’ Her tone was incredulous.

‘That’s right. Well, just me and Henry.’ Tammy smiled at the downy head of her nephew. ‘His Highness says it makes sense. See if you can dissuade him, will you?’ She turned back to Marc. ‘Meanwhile, if you don’t want me to start ringing up realtors looking for houses to rent, maybe you’d better address the problem yourself. You must see this is impossible.’ She gave Marc her very brightest smile, dismissing him to a nicety. ‘I’m sorry, Your Big Highness, but I have to put His Little Highness to bed. If you’ll excuse me…?’

And she swept past them both with every appearance of a grande dame-bare feet and all.

For all her confidence in the face of Marc and his lady, Tammy was badly shaken. This palace was beautiful. This country was magnificent! But she hadn’t planned on being landed as mistress of the house.

Was she supposed to take on the role of woman in charge of the destiny of the heir to the country?

She supposed she was, she thought, as she watched Henry sleep, and, being fair, it wasn’t Marc’s fault that she’d been landed with such a role. It was her sister who’d landed her in it by naming her as Henry’s guardian.

Fine. She could look after Henry, she decided, but looking after the entire household and training Henry to his future role was another matter entirely.

‘Would you like to check the dinner menu?’ Mrs Burchett asked her mid-morning, and Tammy grimaced her dismay.

‘Why on earth would you ask me?’

‘I don’t like bothering His Highness.’

‘What about Ingrid?’ Tammy asked, and the housekeeper gave a determined little shake of her head.

‘It’s you who’s the mistress here now. We’ve been discussing things in the servants’ quarters and it seems that’s the way that’ll suit everyone best. Now, what do you think of quail as main course?’

‘I think chicken’ll be better,’ Tammy faltered. ‘Because that’s what I feel like right now. A chicken without any tail feathers.’

Lunch turned out to be a meal of solitary splendour. Tammy decided to avoid a replay of last’s night’s argument, and after Dominic announced ‘Lunch will be served in fifteen minutes,’ she arrived in time. She even wore shoes.

She couldn’t make up her mind to be relieved or dismayed when Marc and Ingrid were nowhere to be seen.

‘His Highness and Miss Ingrid will be lunching elsewhere,’ Dominic told her in a voice that forbade further questions.

Good, she told herself firmly. This was good. This way she could get to know Marc’s butler-a man she’d sensed from the first could turn out to be a friend. He’d been silently watching her at breakfast, but she’d felt that she was being judged. If she got this man on side he could be a powerful ally.

And it worked. It took all of the first course for Tammy to elicit a thaw in the elderly butler, but by the time she’d demolished the home-grown strawberries for dessert she was almost sure she could count him amongst her friends.

So where were Marc and Ingrid?

‘They’ll have driven over to His Highness’s property,’ he told her. ‘Renouys. Although the staff would much prefer him to remain here, his Royal Highness doesn’t enjoy this place.’

‘Do you think you’ll persuade him to stay?’ Tammy asked, and the butler grimaced.

‘I hardly know,’ he admitted. ‘But any persuasion you can add would be very much appreciated.’

Yeah, right. How was she going to do that?

She thought about it and she didn’t have a clue. What she did know was that if Marc was off doing what he wanted she should do the same.

So after lunch she left a sleepy Henry with a clucky Mrs Burchett and took herself off to meet the head gardener. If Marc was off planning his future as an aquatic engineer, she told herself firmly, then maybe she’d better meet a few trees.

The head gardener was older even than Dominic. Otto spoke scant English, but he and Tammy had a common love of gardens. Language aside, here was an instant friend. The old man had been discouraged from doing anything new with the garden for years, but half an hour after they’d met they were poring over plans-Otto’s dreams laid out for the garden of the future.

The plans were wonderful. Language difficulties were forgotten, and so was time as they strolled around the property, checking sites for every one of Otto’s wonderful fantasies.

‘This is amazing,’ Tammy breathed as she stood on the site of a proposed avenue of Manchurian pear. ‘Marvellous.’

‘If M’sieur Marc permits…’

‘M’sieur Marc permits,’ Tammy said roundly. ‘Of course he’ll permit.’

‘What does M’sieur Marc permit?’ a voice asked behind them, and Tammy gave a start. She whirled to find Marc approaching through the trees. He was dressed in a suit, as though for business, and that was how he seemed. Businesslike. No nonsense.

But Tammy refused to be intimidated. After all, she’d seen him in his full royal regalia back in Australia, so how could a mere business suit throw her off-stride? The fact that the man himself threw her off-stride had to be ignored. ‘Have you seen these plans?’ she demanded. ‘They’re wonderful.’

‘What plans?’

But Otto was already rolling them up, as if ashamed. Undeterred, Tammy took them from him and unrolled them, refusing to listen to his protests. ‘Otto has so many things he wants to do in this garden,’ she told Marc. ‘I can’t understand why he hasn’t been permitted to do this before. Look at this hill we’re standing on. Most of the trees came down in some huge storm ten years ago-at least I think that’s what Otto’s telling me. But no one’s given him permission to replant, and erosion’s starting to be a problem. We need to get onto this straight away. It’d be a crime if we lost any more topsoil.’

‘A crime?’ There was a strange look on Marc’s face, but Tammy ignored it and kept right on going.

‘Yes. And it’s not as if money’s a problem. Otto’s has been propagating plants for years and has enough seedlings to plant a small forest. All you have to do is say the word and we can start.’

‘We?’

Tammy flushed, but she couldn’t deny her excitement. This estate was huge. There was so much to do.

‘I’ll help. Of course I’ll help.’

‘And you’ll love helping?’

‘Yes,’ she said tilting her chin in an unconsciously defiant reaction to the strangeness in Marc’s voice. ‘I can help all I want. Once my living quarters are sorted out.’

‘You’ll stay in the castle.’

She closed her eyes. Here it was again. ‘I won’t stay in the castle. You’ll stay in the castle.’

‘This,’ he said softly-dangerously-as Otto looked on in confusion, ‘has the makings of a children’s argument. I will. No, I will.’

‘So stop being childish,’ she snapped.

‘No one’s accused me of being childish.’

‘I can’t imagine why not,’ she declared, her chin still tilted in the way he was starting to recognise. ‘That’s just what you are. Offloading your responsibilities onto a mere girl…’

‘Now, that,’ he said carefully, ‘is nonsense. Has anyone ever called you a mere girl?’ He surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘I’d imagine you wouldn’t have been a mere girl even when you were three. What do you think, Otto?’ He turned to the old man and motioned to Tammy. ‘Fantastique?’

‘Oui,’ the gardener said definitely, grinning. ‘Et belle. Très belle.’

‘That too,’ Marc said thoughtfully, surveying Tammy with care. He reached out and removed a grass seed from her hair. ‘Very definitely.’

‘If you two don’t mind?’ Tammy said, flushing, and Marc smiled.

‘Mind? Why should we mind? Two men discussing a beautiful woman…’

‘Yeah, with grass seeds in her hair, a stained T-shirt and the knees out of her jeans. You’re out of your minds.’

‘I don’t think we are,’ Marc told her, his smile intensifying. But he needed to move on. ‘Plans aside…and don’t think I don’t approve-I do…but I’m here to inform you that Mrs Burchett’s planning soufflé as entrée, so we mustn’t be late for dinner.’ His smile turned quizzical. ‘She also tells me she was planning on serving quail, but the lady of the house changed the menu to chicken.’

‘I didn’t,’ Tammy said, horrified, and then thought about it. ‘I mean…I did, but I didn’t mean…’

‘It’s fine,’ Marc said grandly. ‘Planning gardens. Organising menus. You’ll be at home before you know it, and then I’ll be free to lead my own life.’

Oh, great.