‘Banquet?’

‘Banquet.’

Tammy’s heart sank. She stared across to the far wall. An entire bank of mirrors sent twenty reflections of her bedraggled self straight back.

‘I’m not a princess,’ she told him. ‘I don’t belong here.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You’re Henry’s guardian and his aunt,’ he said with an attempt at patience. ‘You have as much a place in this house-in this family-as I have. You can’t seriously expect to sit up here and sulk in your bedroom for the next twenty-five years.’

‘I’ll find a house.’ She’d already realized the impossibility of staying where she was. ‘This estate is enormous. There must be somewhere Henry and I can stay independently. A gardener’s cottage or something.’

‘Oh, certainly,’ he said with exaggerated scorn. ‘Henry is the heir to the crown. Are you seriously saying he’ll live in a gardener’s cottage until he’s twenty-five?’

‘I’m a gardener,’ she flashed at him. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing. But Henry’s the heir to the throne.’

‘If I hear that phrase one more time-’

‘You’ll hear it lots of times,’ he snapped. ‘Because that’s what this whole thing’s about. You think I wanted any of this? I have a beautiful property of my own, not ten miles south of here. Renouys is my home. That’s where I want to be. I didn’t want to be Prince Regent. I didn’t want to be responsible for Henry. But someone has to make the hard calls. Someone has to care.’

‘I’m only in this country because I care.’

‘Then go the whole way. I thought you had more to you than this. Skulking in your bedroom because you’re scared of a formal dinner…’

‘I am not!’ She was standing now, her face white with fury. ‘As if I don’t know how to eat with the likes of you!’

‘What other reason is there for you to refuse to come down to dinner?’

She glowered. ‘I have jet-lag.’

‘Yeah, right. And I’m the King of Siam. You slept like a top the last six hours in the plane.’

‘I did not.’

‘You slept,’ he said harshly, but a glimmer of laughter was returning to the back of his eyes. ‘I should know. You slept on my shoulder while Henry’s dampness seeped into my shirt. I have a crick in my neck and a stained shirt to prove it. For six hours I couldn’t move-and very uncomfortable it was, too.’

‘I did not sleep on your shoulder!’

‘Shall we ring the airline stewards and have them adjudicate?’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘It is,’ he said politely, and looked at his watch. ‘Ingrid and I are having pre-dinner drinks. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. I ask that you join us.’

‘I don’t want-’

‘Neither do I. But I must. And I think you should make up your mind that you must, too.’

‘I’ve only got jeans…’

The hint of laughter deepened as he surveyed her shabby self. ‘Whose fault is that?’

She glowered even more.

‘You’ll come?’

‘I…’

‘You have no choice.’

‘Fine!’ she threw at him. ‘Fine. I’ll come to dinner in my rags and I’ll disgrace myself before your entire staff and you can snigger at me all you want. Fine. Just get out of my room now.’

‘I-’

‘Get out!’


Fifteen minutes.

Help.

She could go as she was. She should, she thought grimly. She should do just that.

But…she was Henry’s guardian. She had a place in this household until Henry no longer needed it. She should give it a fair go.

The glimmer of laughter in Marc’s eyes came back to haunt her. Damn the man. How dared he place her in such a situation?

He had tried to warn her…

She stared at her battered backpack as if it was a personal enemy. What on earth was she to do? She just knew that Ingrid would be gorgeous, and playing beggar maid to a handsome prince and princess was not her cup of tea at all.

But Lara had lived here for a while, she thought slowly. Lara, who chose and discarded clothes on a whim. If she’d lived here even for a short time… She bit her lip, indecision playing over her face. Could she? Should she?

Why not? She was in a fairytale castle. Why not indeed?

‘Call me if there’s anything you want,’ Mrs Burchett had told her. ‘The bell connects to the kitchens. Normally I’d have one of the girls answer it, but tonight I’ll answer it myself.’

She stared at the bell and then made her decision.

She was a long, long way from the bush. She was a long, long way from home.


Ingrid was growing impatient. Marc’s steward caught him on the stairs and detained him for another few minutes, and by the time he returned to the drawing room she could scarcely conceal her annoyance. ‘Where have you been?’

Her tone was proprietorial enough to annoy him. ‘Inviting Henry’s aunt down to join us,’ he told her.

‘For dinner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does she want to join us?’ Ingrid asked incredulously. ‘I would have thought…’

‘You would have thought what?’

He hadn’t been expecting Ingrid to be here waiting for him. In truth he’d been looking forward to a few days to work things out before he contacted her. But she was here now, and the fact that he didn’t feel like speaking to anyone had to be overcome.

‘Well, her sort…’

‘Yes?’ He stilled, watching Ingrid. ‘What do you mean-her sort?’

‘Well, she’s clearly not used to moving in our circles.’ Ingrid smiled her gorgeous smile and her gentle laughter tinkled out musically in the beautiful salon. ‘What did you tell me? You’ve dragged her here from the Australian bush? Darling, you’ll be lucky if she knows how to use a knife and fork.’

‘She’s Lara’s sister,’ Marc snapped, and Ingrid nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes. Isn’t it amazing? That those two can be sisters…? Lara was a beauty.’

‘Tammy-Tamsin isn’t exactly ugly.’

‘No, dear, but those clothes…and those freckles…’

‘Do you want to go in to dinner?’ he asked shortly, offering his arm.

‘You don’t want to wait for our little mate from the bush?’

‘No need,’ said a dangerously controlled voice from the door. ‘Your little mate from the bush is right here.’


She took his breath away. Marc turned to face the door and it was all he could do not to gasp.

How had she done this in fifteen minutes?

She was transformed.

Gone were her faded jeans and her old shirt. Gone was Tammy Dexter, tree surgeon. In her place…Tamsin.

The dress was deceptively simple-a sliver of brilliantly cut black silk. It had a scooped neckline and tiny capped sleeves. It curved into a cinched waist and hugged her hips to a short, short hemline. Her long tanned legs went on for ever to a pair of strappy black sandals that made her legs look even longer than they were.

And the rest… Her burnished curls were brushed to a shimmering glory, swinging around her shoulders in a soft cloud. She’d found some make-up-just a little-just enough to add a tiny touch of colour to her lovely mouth and accentuate those huge brown eyes.

She was stunning!

‘Where the hell did you get the clothes?’ he demanded, and her eyes creased in amusement.

‘Now, here I was, wondering whether my manners were up to scratch.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly, catching himself. She was right. As a greeting it was hardly appropriate. ‘I…Tammy, this is Ingrid. My…’

‘Partner,’ Ingrid finished for him, her dark eyes giving him a strange sideways glance. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you…Tammy.’ She came forward and took Tammy’s hand in her cool grasp, gave it a lightly welcoming squeeze. ‘How are you, my dear? We were just saying you must be feeling very strange. I wouldn’t have wondered if you’d wanted dinner in your room tonight.’ Her eyes perused Tammy and her look of light amusement deepened. ‘You’ve been raiding your sister’s clothes, I see. Well done, you. I was going to wrap them up and send them to charity, but if you can use them…’

The implication was obvious, and Tammy flushed. But she held her cool. This woman reminded her of her mother, and Tammy had learned early that anger wasn’t a useful tool. Other methods were more effective.

‘I’m pleased that you did no such thing,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ve yet to see the terms of my sister’s will, but I doubt her private property would be yours to dispose of. Legal writs are so tiresome, don’t you think?’ She took the flute of champagne Marc had poured for her and smiled. ‘Thank you. That’s just what I needed. And Dom Pérignon…my favourite.’

Fifteen minutes ago she’d been saying that what she needed was a Vegemite sandwich. Marc blinked-but then maybe he would have blinked anyway.

Wow!

Until now he’d suspected Tammy had chosen her isolated profession because of an inferiority complex. Lara and her mother, Isobelle, were magnificent. They were creatures whose every feature screamed perfection, from the tip of their beautifully pedicured toes to their gleaming tresses. If Tammy had grown up comparing herself to such perfection-well, maybe anyone would have headed to the bush.

But Tammy was just as beautiful as her sister or her mother, he thought. Maybe even more so. She wore very little make-up and no jewellery, but in her sister’s simple black dress she made Ingrid appear overdressed and over-made-up.

And Ingrid knew. And Ingrid didn’t like it one bit.

‘Well, of course if they fit you…’ She was smiling, moving to the head of the table and gesturing to Tammy to sit. Hostess to guest. The gesture wasn’t lost on Marc who grimaced. Hell, he had things to sort out here.

But Tammy still seemed unfazed. ‘It’d be a waste not to use them,’ Tammy agreed cheerfully. ‘By the look of the wardrobes I shan’t need to buy anything more until Henry inherits.’

‘You intend to stay that long?’

‘Henry needs a mother,’ Tammy said softly, sitting down as though she’d sat at such tables all her life. The butler was behind her-he assisted her into the chair and placed a napkin on her knees and she gave him a friendly, happy smile. ‘I guess I’m it.’