The Prince's Outback Bride. Marion Lennox

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      ‘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.