In the Royal's Bed: Wanted: Royal Wife and Mother. Marion Lennox
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to change into?’
‘Why should I?’
‘I would have thought…’
‘Thought what?’
‘Maybe a little more formality?’
‘I’m fine like I am,’ she said, keeping her arms folded defensively across her breasts and glaring straight ahead.
In truth she was making a statement. She’d stared at her wardrobe last night for almost an hour before she’d decided what to wear.
For the last four years Kelly had worn almost exclusively historical costumes. However, there had been times when she’d been out doing research, when she had given presentations about the park, when she had attended awards dinners, when she’d had to wear normal clothes. Then she’d worn a standard business suit. Sensible.
Once upon a time she’d loved clothes. She’d ached for them. When she was a child her parents had frowned on what they called frivolity. She’d been repressed to the point of cruelty, forced to wear her school uniform when it had been entirely inappropriate, given a meagre allowance that had been inadequate to buy anything but the basic necessities.
She remembered the dress she’d bought with her first pay cheque. It was a sliver of scarlet, an almost indecently short crimson cocktail dress. She’d loved it.
She’d worn it to dinner the first night she’d met Kass.
Yeah, well, so much for fancy clothes. Like horses, clothes were something she didn’t let herself think about. Now she was wearing ancient jeans, an oversized, shapeless sweater that reached almost to her knees and her leather work boots. She’d tugged her hair into a knot with an elastic band. She was wearing no make-up.
Yes, it was a statement and she didn’t care who heard it.
‘Mama packed most of her clothes into boxes and sent them to storage,’ Matty offered from the other seat.
Rafael frowned. ‘I told you to pack them up for shipping.’
‘It’s no use shipping historical costumes overseas,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m bringing what I need.’
‘So did you send anything to the shipping company I told you about?’
‘No.’
‘So let me see,’ Rafael said faintly. ‘You’re moving to Alp de Ciel permanently. And you’ve got…one suitcase?’
‘It’s summer there right now. If it’s cold later on I may have to buy a couple of things. I assume there are still shops.’
‘There are shops,’ he said, eyeing her sweater with a certain amount of trepidation. ‘But there’ll be media meeting us off the plane. Do you have…a frock or something?’
‘A frock,’ she said, and her lips twitched at his obvious discomfort. ‘I don’t believe I do have a frock.’
‘You know what I mean. Something respectable.’
‘This is respectable.’
‘For bumming round the stables maybe. Not for meeting your people.’
‘Whose people?’
‘You’re a princess.’
‘In name only,’ she retorted. ‘I thought we agreed. You’re the centre of media attention. You wear your braid and your dress sword and I’ll wear my sweater and jeans.’
‘It’s not very pretty,’ Matty said, disapproving.
‘I don’t need to be pretty.’
‘No, but you are,’ Matty said, sounding upset. ‘And you’re my mama.’
Oh, great. She hadn’t thought this one through. It was all very well planning to be plain Jane, speaking when spoken to, staying in the background, keeping herself small.
But Matty was obviously disappointed.
‘You can’t do that to the kid,’ Rafael said and she swallowed her vague guilt and thought, what was she asking? That Matty cope with a mama who didn’t dress like…like Rafael’s partner.
‘You’re saying my wearing jeans might damage Matty for life?’
‘No, I…’
‘Good then. I’m fine,’ she muttered. ‘This is me. This is who I am. Matty, I’m sorry if you don’t like it but I don’t want to be a princess. I’m your mama and I hope you like me anyway but I’m not going to wear a tiara. Not for anything.’
‘How about a frock?’ Rafael growled and she glowered.
‘Nope. Matty, you and your Uncle Rafael are royalty,’ she said bluntly. ‘I get to stay in the background and watch.’
‘You’ll watch?’ Rafael demanded, incredulous.
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t think you might get bored?’ Rafael said.
‘No.’
‘What will you do, then?’ Matty asked while Rafael looked on with bemusement. He seemed to be having trouble figuring her out, which was fine as she was having trouble figuring him out. All she knew about him was that, in his own way, he was as dangerous to her peace of mind as Kass had been. He was a de Boutaine and he’d kissed her. That was enough for her to stay in sackcloth and ashes every time she was near him for the next hundred years. To do anything else…that was the crazy route.
‘I’ve thought about it,’ she said seriously, having in fact done little over the last three days but think about how she could sustain the life they were asking her to lead. ‘I’m intending to write books.’
‘Books,’ Rafael said blankly.
‘That’s the plan,’ she said happily. ‘Matty, I’m a historian and your castle is steeped in history. I can find myself a nice quiet attic and research to my heart’s content. But I’ll be there for you whenever you need me, Matty—if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be perfectly happy writing my book.’
‘You can’t,’ Rafael said blankly.
‘Why not?’
‘I was hoping…’
‘Don’t hope,’ she said bluntly. ‘Alp de Ciel is your principality, not mine. Stop hoping for anything from me, other than loving Matty. For that’s all I’m going to do.’
* * *
They let her be.
They travelled first class on the aircraft—of course—which meant the seats were in pairs, cocoons that turned into beds. Rafael and Matty shared one pair. A Japanese businessman shared Kelly’s. She was courteously given the window seat, which meant that she was buffered from the pair across the aisle.
She hardly talked to them.
Rafael and Matty slept. She stared straight ahead, feeling sick.
Finally they landed. There were photographers, reporters, politicians, all waiting. They were stunned to see Matty.
Kelly hung back, trying to blend in as part of the luggage. She was afraid that Rafael would haul her forward and introduce her but he did no such thing. At the last minute, as the limousine was about to leave, he motioned for her to join them and she slid into the car before the photographers could register who she might be.
Now she was doing the defensive bit again, huddled in the far corner of the car, staring out at the countryside.
Remembering how she’d fallen in love with this country the first time she’d seen it.
She’d forgotten how breathtaking it was.
She’d forgotten how she’d fallen in love.
The four Alp