Page 47 of Royally Drawn (Resplendent Royals #3)
Manon
INGRID
P rincess Manon was born into a family panic. A great princess needed a great name. Alexandra’s choice of names was always based on the family. Christophe was named after our father. Linny and Kari were named after Mamma and Rick’s mother. And now, another prominent, brave woman entered the scene. While Alexandra was still sick and unable to do much, we doted on Manon.
It killed me to fly back to the UK to compete in the Burghley Horse Trials—and do poorly. I wanted to be home with my sisters and care for Alexandra and Manon. After a lacklustre finish at Burghley, I returned focused solely on wedding preparation with Astrid. Eventually, so did Keir. Being without him pained me.
He arrived in the morning while Alexandra and I watched the news over coffee. Astrid and Odette had gone to see how the floral arch was coming along at the Lutheran church across the square. Astrid didn’t want a religious ceremony at all. However, their only choices for the ceremony were a church or at the tiny registry office. Ultimately, she conceded they could marry at the lone, impressive protestant church. It was a massive scandalous thing, but Parker’s family would have shat a brick if invited to a Catholic wedding, and neither of them cared to fight with the old people over something like that.
Manon rested gently in my arms when Keir poked his head in.
“Hello, Your Majesty, I?—”
“Keir, come in. She’s here,” Alexandra said.
He looked over and saw me there with Manon.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you,” Keir said.
He came over and gazed at the baby, who was milk-drunk and unapologetically oblivious.
“So, this is the youngest Deschamps girl?” He asked, turning back to Alexandra. “She looks very much like Linnea.”
“Rick bookended them,” Alexandra laughed. “He got Linny and Manon, and I got Kari and Christophe. She’s obviously his child.”
“She is, yeah. But she’s adorable. Congrats. I am sorry I wasn’t here when you got in. My CO was already pretty enraged with me when I finally made it to Wales.”
“It’s okay. I am glad you stayed around to help. Parker appreciated the male company.”
“That poor man,” I snickered. “We’ve tortured him, I think.”
The baby smacked herself in the face. Keir dropped down and stroked the top of her head. “You mustn’t hit yourself, Manon.”
“Do you want to hold her?” I asked.
Keir looked over at Alex for the go-ahead.
“Go on, she’s number four. I have three more if you do a terrible job.”
“Sometimes, number four is the best one,” Keir said sweetly.
“I’ll trade you places,” I said, standing up. Keir sat, taking the baby in his arms, and I perched on the overstuffed arm of the chair.
I couldn’t lie. Men holding babies ranked high on my list of “set my ovaries ablaze” activities. It was highly involuntary. As I’d told Keir before, I was in no hurry to pop out babies, but the picture of Manon’s fat little face smushed to his chest was priceless. He smiled down at her, as anyone would with such an adorable baby.
“You have lovely cheeks,” Keir cooed. “You baked long enough.”
“She baked too long—the longest of all of them,” Alexandra said. “I was worried she may never emerge. ”
Keir put his finger in Manon’s hand. The baby squeezed her fingers around it. Meanwhile, I melted into a puddle of hormonal tears.
“Manon is an interesting name. Is she named after the opera?”
“No. Our many-times-great grandmother, Queen Manon, was the first to be queen consort after the Belgian Occupation. She married our many-great-grandfather, King Charles. She was educated at Wellesley in America, older, and very outspoken when she met Charles in Paris, so the story goes,” Alexandra said.
“But it was a great case of misidentification,” I said. “This is a legend, but it’s a brilliant meet-cute if you believe it. He rescued her glove, not knowing anything about her or giving away who he was. Later, they were introduced in London. He was staying with the Prince of Wales, and the rest is history.”
“They called her Marie. Great-great-whatever-grandfather fell in love with her, and his mother conceded because she was fluent in two dialects of French—and two, she was Catholic. So, despite being a child of the British aristocracy, she was ideal.”
“How did all that happen?” Keir asked.
“She was born in Canada, where her father served in the army,” Alexandra said. “I find their love story so amusing. Odette was on a kick about family history, and I have always loved the name because of the opera. But Rick and I only wanted to choose family names.”
Keir chuckled. “That is why there are fifteen Keirs, twenty Roberts, and half a dozen versions of Margaret in ours. Well, it’s a very romantic name. Seems a good choice. She’s beautiful, Alex.”
“Thanks. She eats and sleeps well, which is all that matters.”
Rick walked in. “Christophe has taken to shouting ‘whaaaaaat’ loudly whenever he doesn’t want to hear something. It drives me mad, and I worry it will flare up at the wedding.”
“Odette will manage him,” I said. “He will be fine.”
“Oh, Keir made it,” Rick said. Finally, the oestrogen quotient goes down.”
“Yes, I got to meet the latest of the Deschamps girls. She’s delightful. And complain all you might, but this beats the barracks I just fled.”
“I supposed if you had to choose between sharing a room with a random service member or Ingrid, you’d pick Ingrid. ”
“Well, it’s no contest,” Keir said. “Except the random pilot would be tidier and not leave his clothes all over the damn floor.”
“Keir!”
“What? You leave a bunch of clothes in your wake everywhere you go. It’s as if you expect someone to pick up after you.”
“Well, they do,” Alexandra protested.
“Here, Lex,” Rick laughed. “Not many places.”
“We grew up picking up after ourselves,” Keir said.
Alexandra appeared scandalised.
“Mamma was a normie and American. She loathed staff. Bestemor was a staunch believer in doing everything herself, and Mamma kept that with her. We didn’t have staff. Mamma did it all—carpooling, cooking, laundry, everything.”
Rick and Alexandra stared at him as if he were alien life on Earth.
“When Nate and I moved in with Auntie Nat and Uncle Ed, it was a brave new world. We had a governess, then footmen and maids. It was wild.”
“Your mother didn’t even have a dresser?” Alexandra asked.
“Nope. No dresser, no lady’s maid. At least not after Dad died. We had this amazing, beautiful apartment in Kensington Palace that had staff. I remember thinking how wonderful it was and how I wanted to live there forever. But then Dad was diagnosed, we fled the country, and Mamma never found it to be home. We were raised very average.”
“Ingrid is not used to average,” Rick noted. “None of the girls are. Good luck to you.”
“I cannot say that there is much average about any of the Deschamps girls,” Keir said. “But I will break her of this habit with the clothes if it kills me.”
“Hand me the baby,” Rick beckoned. “Go, be free. The two of you must want to catch up.”
I did—very much. After several weeks apart, I only wanted Keir to run me back to the bedroom or any room with a locked door. We faded into the hall before I pulled him into a big kiss. Staff bustled around us, but I couldn’t be bothered to worry. I waited too long to kiss this man. And when the wedding was over, we’d only have a couple more days before he shipped out for six months. I wanted to soak it all up .
He pulled away, “Are we waiting on something? Plans?”
“I have three hours of nothing, and I’d like you to do everything to me,” I said.
“That sounds brilliant,” Keir agreed.