The Prince’s Outback Bride

CHAPTER TWO

TANBAROOK was tiny. The place consisted of five shops, a pub, two churches and a school. Most of them looked deserted, but there were three cars lined up outside a small supermarket. A Tanbarook crowd, Max thought wryly and went in to join it. He sloshed through the door and four women stared at him as if he’d landed from Mars.

The ladies were at the checkout counter, one behind the register, the others on the customer side. He gave them what he hoped was a pleasant smile. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon,’ four voices chorused.

He grabbed a trolley and turned to the shelves.

‘Can I help?’ the woman behind the register called.

‘I’m fine, thank you. I have a list.’

‘Your wife’s given you a list?’ Heaven knew how long it had been raining, but this group looked as if they’d been propping up the checkout counter for years.

‘No,’ he said discouragingly, but it didn’t work.

‘Then who gave you the list?’

‘Pippa,’ he said, grudgingly.

‘Phillippa Donohue?’ Four sets of eyes nearly started from four heads. ‘The woman on Kettering’s farm,’ one of them exclaimed. ‘I didn’t think she had a boyf-’

‘He’ll be a friend from when she was nursing,’ another interrupted, digging her friend in the ribs. ‘Maybe he’s a doctor.’

Four sets of eyebrows twitched upward and he could almost see the assembling of symptoms. ‘Are you a doctor?’

‘No.’

Four sets of brows drooped in disappointment, and they turned their backs on him. ‘Maybe he’s a friend from university,’ one said. ‘That’s where Gina met Donald. He was doing a course on farm bookkeeping. One weekend was all it took for them to fall in love. Wham.’

‘Did Phillippa go to university?’

‘Of course she did. Nurses have to go to university these days. She went and so did Gina. Not that Gina ever worked as a nurse. She married Donald instead. I remember just after they were married, Phillippa came to visit. Gina was really excited. She said Phillippa was clever. She could have been a doctor, Gina said, but of course there wasn’t any money. But she had a really good job. In operating theatres, Gina said. Mind, you wouldn’t think she was clever now, holding on to that farm against all odds. Stupid girl.’

The lady giving the information was wearing hair curlers and some sort of shapeless crimplene frock. She had her arms crossed across her ample bosom in the classic stance of ‘I know more than you do’. She practically smirked.

‘She should go back to nursing,’ she told her friends. ‘Why she insists on keeping that farm…It’s just an impediment, that’s what it is.’

‘But she likes the farm,’ another objected. ‘She told me so. That’s why she won’t sell.’

‘Honestly, would anyone like that dump? And she’s standing in the way of progress.’

‘She says it feels like home.’

‘It might be the children’s home,’ Crimplene conceded. ‘But if Phillippa wasn’t there they’d be put up for adoption. Which would probably be for the best, and the sooner she admits it, the better. They’ll be starving soon.’

‘But if she’s got a boyfriend…’ They turned as one to inspect him again. ‘If she’s got a boyfriend then maybe she’ll have support.’ It didn’t seem to be an idea they relished.

‘You’re French,’ one of them said, obviously replaying his voice and discovering the accent.

‘No.’ He might be interested in what they had to say about Pippa, but the last thing he wanted was an inquisition about himself. He redirected his attention to his list. Bread, pasta, dog food. Ha. And the thirty-two dollars and fifty cents had to be a joke. Good coffee was eight dollars a pack. Three packs, he decided, and tossed in another for good measure.

What next? Tea? Surely. And the kids really should have decent hot chocolate-not the watered-down stuff they were drinking now. If Marc was to end up where he hoped, it was time he learned to appreciate quality. He found tubs of chocolate curls with pictures of decadent mugs of creaming hot chocolate on the front. Two tubs landed in his trolley.

He’d turned his back on his audience. They didn’t like it.

‘Phillippa can’t afford that,’ the lady behind the checkout snapped. ‘Her vats are contaminated.’

‘My vats aren’t,’ he retorted, inspecting the range of chocolate cookies and choosing four packets before moving on to confectionery. What was hot chocolate without marshmallows? Would six packets be enough?

Then there were more decisions. Did they like milk chocolate or dark? Three blocks of each, he decided, but the blocks looked a bit small. Okay, six of each.

On then to essentials. Dry pasta. Surely she wasn’t serious about wanting much of this. It looked so…dry. The meat section looked much more appetising. The steaks looked great.

But then, this wasn’t just about him, he reminded himself. The steaks looked wonderful, but maybe kids liked sausages. He replaced a couple of steaks, collected sausages, and then thought of Dolores and the great big eyes. He put the steaks back in his trolley.

Then he discovered the wine section. Australian wine. Excellent. And fruit? He wasn’t as sure as Pippa about the scurvything. That meant fresh produce. Bananas. Oranges. Strawberries? Of course strawberries. Would they have their own cream or should he buy some?

But there was more to shopping than food.

‘I need wood,’ he said, and discovered the ladies were staring at his trolley as if they’d never seen such things. ‘Where can I find fuel for a woodstove?’

‘You can’t cut wood in weather like this.’

‘That’s the problem,’ he said patiently. ‘And Pippa has a bad back.’

‘We know that,’ one of the ladies said, starting to sound annoyed. ‘She hurt it last week. The doctor told her to be careful. I expect all her fires are out by now.’ She sounded smug.

‘They are,’ Max said shortly. ‘No locals thought to help her?’

‘She’s not a local herself,’ another of the ladies said, doubtfully now, maybe considering that they might be considered remiss. ‘She only came here when the children’s parents died. And she won’t sell the farm. We all tell her she should sell the farm. It’s a huge problem for the district.’

‘Why?’

‘We want to put a new road in. There’s ten outlying farms-huge concerns-that have three miles or more to get into town. If Phillippa agreed to sell her place we could build a bridge over the creek. It’d be a lot more convenient for everyone.’

‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Would that be why her vats have been found to be contaminated?’

‘Of course not,’ Crimplene snapped, but she flushed. ‘But it’s nothing more than we expected. She has some stupid idea of keeping the farm for the children. As if she can ever keep it as a going concern until they’re adult. It’s ridiculous.’

‘So she doesn’t qualify for help when she’s hurt?’ He caught himself then. What was the use of being angry-and what business was it of his? Pippa was nothing to do with him. He just needed to do what he had to do and move on.

It was just she looked so…slight. David against Goliath. Or Pippa against Crimplene. He’d prefer to take on Goliath any day, he thought. Crimplene made him feel ill.

‘Where can I buy some wood to tide us over?’ he said, trying very hard to keep anger out of his voice.

‘We have barbecue packs,’ the checkout lady said. She also seemed unsure, casting a nervous glance at Crimplene as if she was bucking an agreed plan. ‘We sell them to tourists at a big…I mean for premium prices. There’s ten logs per bundle at five dollars a bundle.’

Max thought back to the enormous woodstove and he thought of Pippa’s fingers, tinged with blue from the cold. He looked at the four women in front of him. They stared straight back and he felt the anger again. Sure, he was a stranger, and it was none of his business, but he remembered the shadows under Pippa’s eyes and he couldn’t stop being angry.

Anger achieved nothing, he told himself. He was here on a mission. He had to focus.

‘How many bundles do you have in stock?’ he asked.

‘Forty maybe.’

‘If I buy them all will you deliver?’

There was a general gasp. ‘That’s wicked waste,’ Crimplene started but the checkout lady was seeing dollars.

‘Sure we will,’ she said. ‘When do you want them?’

‘You can’t,’ Crimplene gasped but the checkout lady was looking at a heady profit.

‘Now,’ Max told her.

‘I’ll get hubby from the back,’ she said, breathless. ‘For that amount Duncan can get his backside off the couch and I don’t care if it is against what you want, Doreen. Your precious road can wait. It’s uncivilised, what you’re doing to that family, and I don’t mind who I say it to.’ Then as Crimplene’s bosom started to swell in indignation she smiled at Max and gazed lovingly at the very expensive produce in his trolley. ‘Do you want me to ring these through?’

‘Not yet,’ Max said, moving further down the aisle, away from the women he wanted suddenly-stupidly-to lash out at. Pippa was to be neglected no longer, he thought. If he bought the entire store out and the population of Tanbarook went hungry because of it, then so much the better. Vengeance by Commerce. He almost managed a smile. ‘I’ve hardly started.’

‘Go tell Duncan to start loading wood,’ he told the ladies. ‘Now do you know where I can buy fish and chips? Oh, and a clothes dryer?’

‘He’ll probably abscond with my thirty-two dollars and fifty cents.’

Back at the farmhouse, the kids and Dolores were out on the veranda waiting for Max’s return and Pippa was starting to think she’d been a dope. What if he never came back? She hadn’t even taken the registration number of his car.

Who was he?

Max de Gautier. The royal side of the family.

Pippa smiled at that, remembering Gianetta’s pleasure in her royal background. Alice, Gina’s mother, had tried to play it down, but Gianetta had been proud of it.

‘My great-uncle is the Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella,’ she’d tell anyone who’d listen. After the old prince died, she’d had to change her story to: ‘I’m related to the Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella.’ It didn’t sound as impressive, but she’d still enjoyed saying it.

But it meant nothing. When Alice died there’d been no call from royalty claiming kinship. Gina had married her Australian dairy farmer, and, storytelling aside, she’d considered herself a true Australian. Royalty might have sounded fun but it hadn’t been real. Her beloved Donald had been real.

Marc came in then, searching for reassurance that Max would indeed return.

‘I don’t know why he’s so long,’ Pippa told him, and then hesitated. ‘Marc, you remember your mama showed us a family tree of the royal family she said you were related to?’

‘Mmm,’ Marc said. ‘Grandma drew it for us. I couldn’t read it then but I can now. It’s in my treasure box.’

‘Can we look at it?’

So they did. The tree that Alice had drawn was simple, first names only, wives or husbands, drawn in neat handwriting with a little childish script added later.

Marc spread it out on the kitchen table and both of them studied it. Marc was an intelligent little boy, made old beyond his years by the death of his parents. Sometimes Pippa thought she shouldn’t talk to him as an equal, but then who else could she talk to?

‘I wrote the twins and two thousand and two and stuff when I learned to write,’ Marc said and Pippa hugged him and kept reading.

‘Etienne was your great-great-grandfather,’ she told him, following the line back. ‘Look, there’s Max. His grandpa and your great-grandfather were the same. Louis. I guess Louis must have been a prince.’

‘Why aren’t I a prince?’

‘Because your grandma was a girl?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I think princes’ kids are princes but princesses’ kids aren’t.’ She hesitated and then admitted: ‘Actually, Marc, I’m not sure.’

Marc followed the lines himself, frowning in concentration. ‘Why is there a question mark beside Max’s name?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is Max a prince?’

‘He didn’t say he was a prince.’

‘It’d be cool if he was.’

‘I hope he’s not. I don’t have a tiara to wear,’ Pippa said and Marc giggled.

Which Pippa liked. He was too serious, she thought, hugging him close. He’d had too many dramas for one small boy. She should treat him more as a child. It was just…she was so lonely.

And thinking about it didn’t help.

‘Will he come back?’ Marc said anxiously and she gave herself a mental shake.

‘Of course he will. I’ll sweep the floor while we wait.’

‘You’re always working.’

‘Working’s fun.’

Or not. But working stopped her thinking, and thinking was the harsher alternative.

Max finally returned, followed by Duncan with a trailer of firewood, followed by Bert Henges with his tractor. It had only taken a promise of cash to get Bert out in the rain. Three men and a tractor made short work of hauling the truck from the pit. They heaved planks over the broken grid and Bert departed-bearing cash-while Duncan and Max drove cautiously across to the house. The kids had been watching from the veranda but as soon as they drove closer they disappeared. Duncan began tossing wood up to Max, who started stacking it next to the back door.

They’d unpacked half a dozen bundles when Pippa emerged. She was holding her broom like a rifle, and the three children were close behind.

She looks cute, Max thought inconsequentially. Defensive-have broom will shoot!-but cute.

‘What’s going on?’ she demanded; then as she saw what they were doing she gasped. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘My shed,’ Duncan said, unaccustomed profits making him cheerful. ‘Seems you’ve got a sugar-daddy, Pippa, love.’

‘I do not have a sugar-daddy,’ she said, revolted. ‘I can’t afford this.’

‘It’s paid for. You’ve struck a good’un here.’ He motioned to Max with a dirty thumb and tossed another bundle.

‘Will you cut it out?’ She looked poleaxed. ‘How did you get the vehicles here?’

‘Bert hauled your truck out of the pit.’ The wood merchant was obviously relishing enough gossip to keep a dreary country week enlivened until the rain stopped. ‘Courtesy of your young man.’

‘You didn’t get Bert out into the rain?’ she demanded of Max, appalled. She stepped into his line of tossing to stop the flow of wood. ‘He’ll charge a fortune and I can’t pay. Of all the stupid…It was just a matter of waiting.’

‘You don’t need to pay.’ Max handed her his bundle of wood. ‘I already have. Can you start the fire with this? There are firelighters and matches in the grocery sacks. Most of the groceries are in the trunk. I’ve backed right up so we can unpack without getting wet.’

‘Most of the groceries…’ She stared at him, speechless, and he placed his hands on her shoulders and put her aside so Duncan could toss him another bundle.

The feel of him…the strength of him…She felt as if she’d been lifted up and transported into another place.

She gasped and tugged away. ‘I can’t take this,’ she managed, staring down into the stuffed-full trunk of his car. There were chocolate cookies spilling out from the sacks. Real coffee!

‘Why not? The farmhouse is freezing and it’s no part of my plan to have you guys freeze to death.’

‘Your plan?’

‘My plan,’ he said. ‘Can you light the fire and we’ll talk this through when we’re warm?’

She stared blindly at the wood, confusion turning to anger. ‘You can’t just buy us. I don’t understand what you want but you can’t have it. We don’t want your money.’

‘Pippa, I’m family and therefore I have the right to make sure you-or at least the children-are warm and well fed,’ he said, gently but firmly. He fielded and stacked another bundle. ‘Please. Get the fire lit and then we can talk. Oh, and the fish and chips will be here in fifteen minutes. Home delivery.’

‘Home delivery?’ she gasped. ‘When did they ever…’

‘They’d run out of potatoes at the pub,’ he said apologetically. ‘But Mrs Ryan says Ern can go out and dig some and she’ll have fish and chips here by three.’

‘I bet he paid her as much as he paid me,’ Duncan said cheerfully and he winked at her. ‘You’re on a winner here, love.’

She stared, open-mouthed, at them both. She couldn’t think of a thing to say.

‘Light the fire,’ Max said-and Pippa stared at him wordlessly for a full minute.

Then she went to light the fire.

It seemed she had no alternative.

She might not like it-well, okay, she liked it but she might not trust it-but he was right; she had no choice but to accept. He was related to the children, which was more than she was.

So she unpacked and as the kids whooped their joy she felt dizzy.

‘Sausages,’ they shouted, holding each item up for inspection. ‘Eggs. We haven’t had this many eggs since the fox ate our last chook. Marmalade. Yuck, we don’t like marmalade. But there’s honey. Honey, honey, honey! And chocolate. More chocolate. Lemonade!’

Distrust it or not, it was the answer to her prayers, and when Max appeared at the kitchen door, dripping wet again, she even managed to smile.

‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you’ve done this.’

‘My pleasure. Do you have a laundry? Can Duncan and I have access?’

‘To our laundry?’ He was dripping wetly onto the linoleum. ‘Do you both want to strip off?’

‘I don’t have any more clothes,’ he told her. ‘Donald’s waterproofs weren’t quite as waterproof as I might have liked. But we now have a clothes dryer.’

‘A clothes dryer.’ What was he talking about?

‘I know. I’m brilliant,’ he told her, looking smug. ‘A little applause wouldn’t go astray.’

‘Where did you get a dryer?’

‘MrsAston and MrAston paid for their daughter Emma to install central heating just last week,’ he said, and his voice changed.

‘Those nappies were too much, I said to Ern, I said. They’ll be the death of her, with those twins, and young Jason’s only just out of nappies and none too reliable. We didn’t have any money when we had kiddies but we have now, what with superannuation and all, so the least we can do is pay for central heating. So we did, and now…what does my Em want with a great hulking tumble-dryer when there’s a whole new airing cupboard that can take three times as many nappies? You’re very welcome to it.’

Max’s accent might be French, but he had Mrs Aston’s voice down to a T. Pippa stared-and then she giggled.

‘You bought us Emma’s tumble-dryer.’

‘Applause?’

She smiled and even raised her hands to clap-but then her smile died and her hands dropped. ‘Max, this is crazy. We really can’t accept.’

‘My clothes go in first,’ he said. ‘That’s the price I’m demanding. Oh, and I need something to keep me decent while they dry. Can you find me something?’

She gave up. ‘I…sure.’

‘Two minutes,’ he said. ‘Me and Dunc are hauling this thing into your laundry and then I want another hot shower. I’ll throw my clothes out; you put them in your brand new tumble-dryer and Bob’s your uncle.’

‘Bob?’

He frowned, intent. ‘Bob’s your uncle? I don’t have that right?’

‘It’s not a French idiom.’

‘I’m not French.’

‘You’re from Alp d’Estella?’

‘Let’s leave discussion of nationalities until I’m dry. I only brought one change of clothes and now everything’s wet. Can you find me something dry to wear in two minutes?’

It was more than two minutes. Duncan helped Max cart in the dryer, but as Max disappeared towards the shower Duncan headed for the kitchen and a gossip.

‘Who is he?’ he wanted to know.

‘He’s a relation of Gina’s from overseas,’ she told Duncan. ‘Gina never heard a word from that side of the family and they surely didn’t help when Gina and Donald were killed. If he’s being generous now then maybe it’s a guilty conscience.’

‘You didn’t tell Mr Stubbins that Max might be a prince,’ Marc whispered as Duncan finally departed with as much information as she was prepared to give.

‘Rain or no rain, if I said that we’d have every busybody in the district wanting to visit.’ Pippa lifted a packet of crumpets from the table and carried it reverently to the toaster. ‘And I’m not feeling like sharing. There’s crumpets and there’s butter and honey and I’m thinking I’m having first crumpet.’

‘Max says there’s fish and chips coming.’

‘I have crumpets right here,’ she said reverently. ‘Food now-or food later? There’s no choice.’

‘Don’t you want fish and chips?’

‘You think I can’t fit both in? Watch.’

‘Don’t you have to find Max some clothes?’ Marc said, starting to sound worried.

‘Yes,’ Pippa said, popping four crumpets into their oversized toaster. ‘But crumpets first.’ She handed plates to Sophie, butter to Claire and a knife to Marc. ‘Let’s get our priorities straight.’ She chuckled, but she didn’t say out loud her next thought. Which was that she had a hunk of gorgeous near-to-royalty naked in her bathroom right now-but what she wanted first was a crumpet.

Priorities.

A crumpet dripping with butter and honey and the arrival of fish and chips later, her conscience gave a sharp prod. She did a quick search for something Max could wear, but came up with nothing. She’d kept Donald’s waterproofs because the oversized garments were excellent for milking, but the rest of his clothes had gone to welfare long since. She hesitated, then grabbed a pair of her oversized gym pants-and a blanket.

The bathroom door was open a crack.

‘Mr de Gautier?’

‘It’s Max if you have clothes,’a voice growled. ‘If not go away.’

‘I sort of have clothes.’

‘What do you mean sort of?’

‘They might be a bit small.’

A hand came out, attached to a brawny arm. It looked a work hand, she thought, distracted. These weren’t the soft, smooth fingers of a man unused to manual work. She thought back to the deft way Max had caught and loaded the wood. Royalty? Surely not. She’d seen bricklayers catch and stack like that, with maximum efficiency.

Who was he? What was he?

She stared for a moment too long and his fingers beckoned imperatively. She gasped, put the clothes in his hand and the fingers retreated.

There was a moment’s silence. Then…

‘These aren’t just too small,’ he growled. ‘These are ridiculous.’

‘It’s all I have. That’s why I brought the blanket.’

‘The waterproofs?’

‘Belonged to Donald. Donald’s dead. We gave the rest of his stuff to charity.’

‘I need charity now.’

‘We have a tumble-dryer,’ she told him. ‘Thanks to you. If you hand out your clothes I’ll put them in.’

‘And I’ll sit in here until they dry?’

‘If you’re worried about your dignity.’ He definitely couldn’t be royalty, she thought, suppressing a smile. The idea was preposterous.

‘You have the fire going?’

‘It’s already putting out heat. And the fish and chips have just arrived.’ She gave a sigh of pure heaven. ‘There’s two pieces of whiting each, and more chips than we can possibly eat. Would you like me to bring you some?’

‘It’s cold in here.’

‘Then you have my gym pant bottoms and a blanket. Come on out.’

‘Avert your eyes.’

‘Shall I tell Claire and Sophie and Marc to avert their eyes as well?’

There was a moment’s baffled silence. Then: ‘Never mind.’ There was a moment’s pause while he obviously tugged on her gym pants and then the door opened.

Whoa.

Well-brought-up young ladies didn’t stare, but there were moments in a woman’s life when it was far too hard to be well brought up. Pippa not only stared-she gaped.

He looked like a body builder, she thought. He was tanned and muscled and rippling in all the right places. He was wearing her pants and they were as stretched on him as they were loose on her. Which was pretty much stretched. His chest was bare.

He should look ridiculous.

He looked stunning.

‘You can’t be a prince,’ she said before she could stop herself and the corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of distaste.

‘I’m not.’ The rebuttal was hard and sharp and it left no room for argument.

‘What are you, then?’

He didn’t reply. He was carrying his bundle of wet clothes in one hand and the blanket in the other. He was meant to put the blanket round his shoulders, she thought. He wasn’t supposed to be bare from the waist up.

He was bare from the waist up and it left her discomforted.

She was so discomforted she could scarcely breathe.

‘What do you mean, what am I?’ he demanded at last. ‘You mean like in, “Are you an encyclopaedia salesman?”?’

‘You’re not an encyclopaedia salesman.’

‘I’m a builder.’

‘A builder.’ The thought took her aback. ‘How can you be a builder?’

He sighed. ‘The same way you get to be an encyclopaedia salesman, I imagine. You find someone who’s a builder and you say, “Please, sir, can you teach me what you know about building?”’

‘That’s what you did.’

‘Yes.’

‘What do you build?’

‘Buildings. Did you say the fish and chips have arrived?’

‘They’re in the kitchen,’ she said with another long look at his bare chest.

‘Will you stop it?’

‘Stop what?’

‘Staring at my chest. Men aren’t supposed to look at women’s chests. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look at mine.’

‘It’s a very nice chest.’

Whoops.

She’d been out of circulation for too long, she thought in the ensuing silence. Maybe complimenting a man on his chest wasn’t something nicely brought-up women did. He was staring at her as if he’d never experienced such a thing. ‘Sorry,’ she managed at last. ‘Don’t look at me like I’m a porriwiggle. I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘It was a very nice compliment,’ he said cautiously. ‘What’s a porriwiggle?’

‘A tadpole and it’s not a compliment.’ She hesitated and then thought maybe it was. But it was also the truth. ‘Anyway, it’s not what I should be saying. I should be saying thank you for the food.’

‘Why are you destitute?’ He smiled. ‘Tadpoles don’t have money?’

She tugged the door open to the rest of the house, trying frantically to pull herself back into line. ‘We’re not destitute,’ she managed. ‘Just momentarily tight, and if we don’t hurry there’ll be no chips left.’

‘I can always buy more.’

‘Then you’ll get wet all over again. That’s the very last garment in this house that you might just possibly almost fit into, so let’s stop playing in the rain and go eat.’

He sat by the fire in Pippa’s gym pants, eating fish and chips, drinking hot chocolate, staying silent while the life of the farm went on around him.

It was almost as if Pippa didn’t know where to start with the questions, he thought, and that was okay as he was having trouble with the answers. Any minute now he’d have to tell them why he was here, but for now it just seemed too hard.

Pippa had taken one look at the meat and the pile of vegetables he’d brought and said, ‘Pies.’ So now a concoction on the stove was already smelling fantastic. Meanwhile she was rolling pastry and Sophie and Claire were helping.

Marc was hanging wet clothes round the kitchen, on the backs of chairs, over something the kids called a clothes horse, over every available surface.

‘You can’t hang that over me,’ Max said as Marc approached him with a damp windcheater and Marc smiled shyly but proceeded to hang it over the arm of his chair.

‘The fire’s hot. Pippa says the clothes dryer costs money to run.’

‘I’ll pay,’ Max growled and Pippa looked up from her pastry-making and grimaced.

‘That’s enough. You’ve been very generous but there are limits. We’re very grateful for the dryer and we will use it, but only when we must.’

He stared at her, bemused. She had a streak of flour across her face. The girls were making plaits of pastry to put on the pies. They were surrounded by a sea of flour and she didn’t seem to mind. Had he ever met a woman who worried how much it cost to dry clothes? Had he ever met a woman who looked like she did and was just…unaware?

She was knocking him sideways, he thought, dazed. Which was dumb. He’d had girlfriends in his life-of course he had. He was thirty-five. He’d grown pretty damned selective over the years, and the last woman he’d dated had almost rated a ring. Not quite though. She’d been maybe a bit too interested in the royal connection.

So what was he thinking? He hated the royal connection, so any attraction to Pippa would be disastrous. It was only this weird domesticity that was making him feel like this, he decided. Here were echoes of his childhood at his grandparents’ farm. Time out from royalty. Family…

A boy who looked like Thiérry. Cute-as-a-button twins. A snoring old dog.

Pippa.

Pippa had flour on her nose. He had the weirdest desire to kiss…

‘Will you stay for dinner?’ Marc asked, and he thought no, he needed to say what needed to be said and go. Fast. But he just wanted to…

He bit back his stupid wants. What was he thinking? Launching himself across the kitchen past kids and dog and kissing her? You’re losing your mind, boyo.

‘I…Pippa, I need to talk to you.’

But she was focused on pies. ‘These are ready to put together as soon as I come in from the dairy.’ She wiped her hands on her windcheater and smiled ruefully at her floury fingerprints. ‘What a mess. No matter. The cows won’t mind. But they’ll be waiting. I need to start milking.’

‘I’ll bring the cows in for you,’ Marc said, but Pippa shook her head.

‘I’ll do them myself. Marc, can you look after the girls?’ Then she turned to Max, worry behind her eyes. ‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘I assume you’ll be leaving as soon as your clothes dry? I…I’ll leave Dolores here.’

She was torn, he thought. She needed to milk, but she didn’t want to leave the children alone with him. And she couldn’t kick him out until his clothes dried. He looked down at Dolores, who was sleeping off one steak and dreaming of another.

‘She’s a great watchdog.’

Pippa flushed. ‘I didn’t mean…’

‘I know you didn’t,’ he said gently. ‘Do you always milk alone?’

‘Marc helps me a bit. We have a place in the shed where the girls can play and I can watch them. But Marc’s just got over bronchitis and I don’t want him wet again.’

‘I can help,’ Marc protested, but Pippa shook her head.

‘I know you can but I don’t want you to. I want you and the girls to stay dry.’

‘Are they safe here alone?’ Max asked, and then as he saw Marc’s look of indignation he thought maybe it was an inappropriate question.

‘Marc’s more than capable,’ Pippa said, hurriedly before Marc could protest. ‘He’s had to be. But I do have an intercom. I listen in and Marc calls me if there’s a problem.’

‘There’s never a problem,’ Marc said stolidly and Max smiled at him. The more he saw of this kid, the more he liked him.

‘How long does milking take?’

‘About three hours,’ Pippa said and Max blinked.

‘How many cows?’

‘A hundred and twenty.’

‘I thought your vats were contaminated.’

‘Cows dry out. If you let cows dry off for a week, then there’s no more milk until next calving. Which is in six months.’

‘So you milk every night and throw the milk away?’

‘Twice a day,’ Marc corrected him, and turned his big brown eyes straight on Max. ‘It’s much faster than three hours with two people working,’ he said, innocently. ‘And these pies will be yummy. We’ll have tea much earlier if you help.’

‘He’s not invited for tea,’ Pippa said.

‘Yes, he is,’ Marc said. ‘If he helps you milk.’

‘He won’t know how to milk.’

‘Excuse me,’ Max said faintly. ‘I can milk.’

They both looked at him as if he’d sprouted wings.

‘Cows?’ Marc queried and Max grinned.

‘Cows.’

‘But you’re a prince.’

‘I’m not a prince. My grandparents had a farm.’

‘Hey, Pippa,’ breathed Marc. ‘He really can milk cows.’ He turned back to Max. ‘You can stay the night and help Pippa again in the morning. The morning milking’s really cold.’

‘Hey,’ said Pippa.

‘He can have Mum and Dad’s bedroom. No one else uses it.’

‘Who’s the adult in this family?’ Pippa asked, sounding desperate. ‘I haven’t invited him to stay.’

‘Why can’t he stay?’ Marc sounded astonished.

Pippa blinked, obviously searching for an answer. ‘What if I don’t like him?’

‘What’s not to like?’ Marc demanded and Max’s chest puffed out a little. ‘I know he looks dumb in your pants…’ his chest subsided ‘…but he’s bought us all this stuff. I bet he’s rich.’

Rich is better than nothing, he guessed.

‘I won’t stay if Pippa doesn’t want me,’ he offered.

‘She does want you,’ Marc said.

‘Pippa gets lonely,’ Sophie added, distracted momentarily from her pastry. ‘Claire and me have got friends at kindergarten and Marc has friends at school. Not now though ’ cos school’s closed for winter holidays. But no one talks to Pippa.’

‘Sophie…’ Pippa said helplessly and spread her hands as if she didn’t know where to go from here. ‘That’s not true.’

‘It is,’ Marc said stolidly. ‘No one likes us ’cos you won’t sell the farm.’

‘I don’t want Max to…’ She bit her lip and fell silent. Max looked at her for a long minute. She really was battling the odds, he thought. But then she tilted her chin and steadied.

It’d take a lot to get this woman off course.

‘I will help with the milking,’ he told her gently. ‘And if you don’t mind, I would like to stay for dinner. I need to talk to you about the children.’

Pippa’s face had been wary. Suddenly now though he saw the edges of fear. ‘No.’

‘No?’

Her chin jutted just a little higher. ‘Alice wasn’t proud of her royal heritage,’ she told him. ‘She said she fled all the way to Australia to get away from it and she was never going back. She said it was utterly corrupt, so if that’s why you’re here we don’t want anything to do with it.’

‘You don’t think you might be jumping to conclusions?’

‘Maybe I am. But you haven’t come all this way to buy fish and chips. You want something.’

‘Maybe I do.’

‘Then tell me now.’

‘I’d rather do that when we’re alone.’

‘No. I don’t keep things from the kids and they don’t keep things from me. I’m their godmother, their guardian and their friend, and I want to keep it that way.’

She met his look, their gaze holding. She didn’t look as if she’d budge.

Why not say it? The twins were involved in artwork with leftover pastry. Marc, though, was listening intently. He was only eight years old. Surely decisions should be made for him.

But he glanced at Marc and he saw the same courage and determination that Pippa had. No, he thought. Pippa’s right. He wasn’t sure what Marc had been through, but his eyes were wiser than his years. Between Marc and Pippa there seemed to be a bond of unbreakable trust.

So he had to say what he’d come to say. To both of them.

‘The Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella died last month,’ he said. ‘Bernard died childless and there’s no one left of his line. The succession therefore goes back to Bernard’s grandfather and follows the line down. Thus we reach Marc. Marc is heir to the throne. He’s the new Crown Prince of Alp d’Estella.’