The Un-Apparent Heir: A Royal Family Saga Romance (Spare Change Book 4)

5. To Hospital

“Look who made it, Dwight,” Brittany Chandler said.

Lucy entered with Winston, Malcolm asleep on his father’s shoulder. Dwight Chandler was half asleep, overmedicated, and thin. He was there with everyone else—Lucy’s older sister, Jenn, and her husband Tim. Their baby, Connor, sat in Jenn’s lap. Lucy’s baby sister, Francine, rushed to give her sister a tearful hug. It was too long. Lucy held her tight.

“Is that your boy, Lucy?” Dwight asked.

“He is, yes,” Lucy fought tears. “A bit exhausted. He’s jet-lagged. We came right from O’Hare. It was a mess. Sorry.”

“He fell asleep in the car,” Winston said.

“How did you get here so fast?” Jenn asked. “Lucy said you didn’t leave until late last night our time.”

“Oh, my cousin had aircraft envy and bought a jet to keep up with his twin sister. So, she was already coming back.”

“You flew with George?” Francine asked, surprised. She was the only other person in the room besides Winston aware of Lucy’s prior five-year-long relationship with the former Prince of Wales.

“He was pretty insistent. Flew us back. He had to take rest hours. Pilots are required to.”

“That boy flies?” Dwight wondered. “The prince?”

They expected a slur to be uttered or some other comment about George’s relationship with Patrick. Instead, Dwight said very little.

“He’s also a pilot, yes,” Winston replied. “Always a pissing contest between him and Nat. Of course, she would win that any way you slice it.”

Lucy snickered. It was true.

“Regardless, he delivered us here,” Lucy said. “And we are grateful for that.”

Malcolm stirred.

Brittany approached, holding her hands out. “Do you want to meet Grandpa?”

Lucy wanted to tell her no and scoop Malcolm up, but Winston remained in charge. He handed the baby over. Brittany sat on the bed next to Dwight, holding Malcolm securely in her lap. He was still gaining awareness, playing with his grandfather’s oxygen tube.

“No, sweetie, let’s leave that,” Lucy felt the need to step in.

“Sweetheart, I can manage it. I raised three of you,” Brittany insisted.

Of course, she had. She had also stayed in an abusive relationship and allowed terrible abuse to happen. Lucy figured mentioning this was a poor choice.

“He’s a carrot top,” Dwight smiled slightly. “Chubby little guy.”

Malcolm looked over at Dwight as he spoke, inquisitively. He waved. Lucy’s heart melted.

“Well, hello, little man,” Dwight said, voice tired. “He’s a sweet little guy, Lucy.”

“He is darling,” Lucy said. “A total sweetheart and very good baby. He’s Winston’s mini—a typical Ferguson with the ginger hair.”

“Unfortunately,” Winston said.

“Oh, stop,” Lucy shook her head and went to Connor who stirred.

“He was just sleeping away. God, I cannot believe how big Malcolm is,” Jenn said. “You want to hold him?”

Lucy smiled and gleefully lifted the baby. “Well, look at you, buddy. You look like your Mom.”

“Thank God,” Tim said. “Better her than me.”

“He’s darling,” Lucy said. “So sweet. Malcolm is a monster.”

“I cannot believe you delivered him without drugs. God. This one was killing me.”

“Every baby is different, I’m sure,” Lucy said, trying to ease her sister’s internalised guilt about her own medicated birth. Lucy would have much rather pushed Malcolm out in a hospital room fully medicated than on her bedroom floor before a fireplace during an ice storm with a vet attending. She hoped when they had another that she could do it on drugs.

“He’s a precious little guy,” Winston cooed. “I miss these days. They’re so much less hassle.”

“Don’t start,” Lucy said. “The sleep deprivation, Winston!”

“I am starting nothing. And you’re right. They are differently challenging, I guess.”

“Mama,” Malcolm reached across the bed.

“No, you stay right there,” Lucy said. “Don’t get jealous of cousin Connor. Do you want to see the baby?”

“Maaaaaama.”

Brittany scooped the baby up. Jenn traded places with her as she sat by Lucy, letting Malcolm get a look at his tiny cousin.

“Nice hands,” Lucy said. “Nice hands.”

“He can love the dogs a little too much,” Winston explained. “We must work on that.”

“It’s a baby,” Lucy told Malcolm. “Baby.”

Malcolm waved. He was frustrated at the lack of response.

“Babies can’t wave,” Winston said, patiently.

Dwight waved at Malcolm, satisfying him. Malcolm said in his sweet baby voice, “Hello.”

It was one of his five words. The others being dog, food, dada, and mama—picked up in that order.

“Oh, he has an accent,” Brittany cooed.

“Well, he’s British and lives in Britain, Mom,” Francine laughed.

“He’s Scottish, but lives in England, thus the posh southern accent,” Winston said.

“He’s Scottish?” Dwight looked confused.

“Born in Scotland. He’s a Scot,” Winston insisted.

“Don’t try to understand it. You won’t, Dad,” Lucy said. “They’re all very territorial. He will be Duke of Lauderdale which is a Scottish title.”

“That little guy will be a duke?” Dwight chuckled. “Hard to believe.”

“I know,” Lucy said.

Her father wasn’t combative and didn’t slur. If he’d been sober would her childhood have been different? Would they have a relationship? Would he have been a good father? It broke her heart. She knew Winston, also the child of an alcoholic, worried about these things. Still, Winston’s father was functional while Dwight hadn’t been since Lucy left for university at seventeen. Since she’d lived in the UK, he’d been unable to spend even a few hours stone-cold-sober. Now, he was just Dwight. It was troubling, but Lucy felt better about choosing to bring Malcolm. He was safe in her mother’s lap.

Things were far from perfect. Lucy would never have the rosy view of childhood she hoped Malcolm would. She’d never have those memories to fall back on. She’d have the trauma of her parents perpetually broke, her father’s rages, and the way she was smacked around for standing up for her little sister. Still, she hoped her father would have peace, as would her mother, who was also a victim. She knew she was a better parent to Malcolm. The thing she wanted more than anything—that Winston wanted, too—was for their children to grow up loved and secure in that love. Neither wanted them to want for anything.

Natalie woke,doubled over in pain. It only got worse. She climbed out of bed to empty her bladder and see if that helped. Her body was swollen from fertility drugs. They were a few days away from their retrieval and she was in the thick of it. However, this pain was especially bad.

She began to cry. She cringed and held the vanity for stability, struggling to wash her hands.

“Ed! Winslow! Edwin!” She called, slowly lowering herself.

Ed came running. “What is it, Natalie?”

He was frightened and half-awake.

“I’m going to pass out. I think.”

“What? How can I help, baby? What can I do?”

“I am…” Natalie crawled to the toilet, vomiting violently.

She didn’t know how to finish that sentence.

“We need to get you to the hospital immediately,” Ed said.

Thankfully, they were in London for a fertility appointment scheduled the next day and a New Year’s party that evening. The latter looked increasingly doubtful.

Ed went to deal with the staff and pack a bag. Natalie didn’t verbalise her need, but Ed knew what to do. He didn’t hesitate. She loved him for that.

They rushed to hospital, thankfully not followed by the press. Natalie was taken immediately to a private room. A nurse started her IV. She passed out while that was going on, coming to with Ed explaining it might not even be the pain, but her terror of needles. It was both, Natalie expected. The pain was overwhelming.

“Natalie, Natalie, can you tell us what is going on, love?” A nurse asked, affectionately.

It was a relief not to answer to a title. She always feared that in these situations.

“My entire abdomen is on fire,” Natalie choked. “I’m miserable. The pain is so bad. Horrid!”

“You have a retrieval scheduled?—”

“For the second, likely,” Ed explained.

“You’re probably experiencing hyperstimulation. Let’s see if we can bring your pain down and reduce the symptoms,” a consultant said, concerned.

“What does that mean?” Ed panicked.

“That her ovaries are working overtime,” a nurse answered. “It can be very painful.”

“It can also be dangerous if we don’t get it under control,” the consultant said, reading Ed’s ashen face. “Oh, we will take the best care of her. Do not panic, sir.”

Ed nodded, in a trance.

“Edwin, look at me,” Natalie said.

He turned.

“If I can survive multiple ejections from planes, I can handle whatever the hell this is. I’ve escaped a fire, a flat-out loss of an aircraft, and a landing gear failure. It’s going to be okay.”

“Somehow, that isn’t as comforting as you want it to be.”

“I know, but I promise it gets better, Edwin.”

“I hope so, my love,” Ed said.

“I need to speak with Lucy. I need her to cover this up,” Natalie said.

The drugs were kicking in now. She could think again.

“Natalie… that’s… that’s a terrible idea.”

“The press are all over now. This is important. They will catch wind and we will need to cover it up, Ed.”

“Natalie, right now, let’s focus on your health, okay?”

He didn’t understand the stakes. It frustrated her to no end.

Lucy didn’t havethe benefit of giving her son the birthday party he deserved. She had planned a beautiful party for him with the help of her mother-in-law. But now, the three were in Chicago waiting for Dwight to die. It made no sense to cross the ocean with Malcolm only to potentially come right back.

So, as promised, George and Patrick threw Malcolm a proper party. And, with the help of Sanne’s mother, they hosted the party with a bit of style and a fabulous cake. If you were a recently retired wedding planner, you had connections.

The kids’ party was winding down with a chef working away in the kitchen making the New Year’s Eve meal George planned for the grown-ups. Their nanny was there to cope with the children. Lucy picked up wrapping paper with Francine. George appeared with beverages.

“Ladies, I think we’ve all earned it,” he said. “Cheers.”

“Oh, I gotta get all of this, George,” Lucy said. “In a minute.”

“Deep breaths. Take a breath.”

Lucy attempted to do that much, taking a sip and handing it back.

“She’s no fun. I don’t realise…” Francine began and let the words stop. “Nah.”

“No, what?” George asked.

“How this ever worked? Like, you’re so different. Winston makes sense, but you? Bizarre.”

“I chased her,” George announced. “Quite a bit. Believe it or not, Lucy is adorable when she tries.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Fuck off, Georgie.”

Winston approached, holding an exhausted toddler in his arms.

“I’m gonna put the little man to bed,” he said.

“Come here, sweetie,” Lucy beckoned, kissing his sleepy little head. “You’re all too big now.”

“A whole year,” Francine said.

“Well, I will put him down and then I’m drinking.”

“I’ll have Pat make you one,” George handed Lucy her drink and returned to the kitchen.

“They’re getting along now,” Francine said.

“It took some time, but yes,” Lucy said. “George has always been lovely with Malcolm. It’s sweet. I never thought we’d get here, but here we are.”

Lucy’s phone buzzed. It was Natalie. She was surprised. It was 1 AM there. What was Natalie up to?

Natalie hung up. Butt dial? Then she texted.

Natalie: SOS

“Hey give me a sec,” Lucy said. “It’s Nat. I gotta take this.”

Lucy excused herself to the balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. Patrick and George had the most beautiful compound in southwestern Michigan as far as Lucy was concerned.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” Lucy asked.

“I’m in hospital and we have been here nearly a day with no answers,” Natalie said. She sounded like she’d been crying.

“What? Why?”

“Where are you? Can you talk?”

“I’m in Michigan. We’re having a party for the new year. We just did a cake smash for baby Malcolm. George and Patrick have been so sweet. I can talk.”

“I need you to handle my parents. Ed and I are beyond help and worried sick. All we’ve told them is that I’m having an ovarian cyst. I need to communicate that we’re going to be here awhile.”

“What is going on, Natalie? You’re not making sense.”

Lucy grew more and more concerned. Natalie sounded spacey.

“Hi, Luce. It’s Ed.”

“Hi, Ed. What is going on?”

“She’s had a complication. They want her here until they do the retrieval—if they do the retrieval. She’s in a lot of pain and on a lot of drugs.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry for you guys. Okay. So, she doesn’t want to tell the parents what is going on?”

“Correct.”

“There is no way Vanna will buy this. She’s been through it. She will see?—”

“Nor will Robbie,” Ed sighed. “Can you just try? Whatever you need to say. She is in a world of misery right now. I am so tired, Luce. I need help more than ever.”

“Oh… okay. I will handle it,” Lucy said. “I will ring Meredith?—”

“You need to ring her parents. Directly. Meredith will bury this—per Nat. Those are her orders. I’m just the messenger. I don’t know how.”

“I do,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry.”

Lucy hung up and stared out over Lake Michigan, shivering as the cold finally hit. She stepped back inside, approaching George.

“George, I need your phone.” Lucy held her hand out.

“What?”

“I need your phone. It’s an emergency and I won’t get through to your parents any other way. Can you call your Mum and put me on? It’s an emergency.”

“Okay,” George looked concerned but obliged, dialling his mother. “Yes, Mum. Sorry. It’s important. Well, I do not know.”

Lucy gestured wildly and George handed the phone over.

“Vanna, I am sorry to do this. We’re still in Chicago with Pat and George.”

“Oh, how was Malcolm’s birthday? Did you get the basket of sweets?”

The woman couldn’t have been sweeter if she tried. Her son had just woken her up at 1 AM to hand her over to a member of her former staff—his ex-girlfriend—and she wanted to make sure the baby had gotten a present.

“We did. It was so nice. You didn’t have to, but we all appreciated it.”

“Good. I am sorry we didn’t get to attend the party.”

“It is okay. George and Patrick outdid themselves and still will with this New Year’s celebration. I’m not calling because of that. Natalie and Ed rang me. They will be in hospital a few more days.”

“She said it was a cyst. Lucy, what are you not telling me?”

Vanna’s voice was on edge. Lucy didn’t want to lie, but Natalie was her best friend and employer.

“I… ma’am…”

“Lucy, don’t ma’am me. Malcolm is a great nephew to me. Winston is my godson. I do not want to hear that. Tell me. I promise you that what you say will stay here. I will not tell Natalie what I know. Alright?”

“Fine… uh… Natalie took fertility drugs. It’s an ongoing thing that I will not get into. It’s her business. Regardless, she is having a very bad complication, and they are on the fence about doing something more or just letting it resolve, I guess? I dunno. They’re in the hospital indefinitely.”

“Oh my God. She’s on fertility treatments? Why did she not tell me?”

George now stared at Lucy in confusion. He’d heard all.

“She didn’t want to have people pity her or ask questions, I think. Vanna, I… she will kill me for ratting her out, but the press will demand answers and she’s aware you need time. I can work on a release?—”

“Sweetheart, it’s New Year’s Eve. Enjoy yourself. We just got in. It’s the new year here. Things are hard enough for you as it is right now. Don’t work on a release. We will ring Meredith and have her do it.”

“I insist. Natalie wants me to do this. I am the one who should.”

Vanna groaned. “Okay, well, you know best, but this isn’t your job alone. I appreciate your loyalty to Natalie, but don’t take on too much.”

“I will have time to draft something and send it to Meredith. Promise,” Lucy said.

She handed the phone back to George and went to write the release.

George called, “What the fuck is going on with my sister?”

“You heard nothing. She’s in hospital for an ovarian cyst. I need to write a convincing release.”

“You’re the best, Luce,” he returned.

“Fuck if I don’t know,” Lucy muttered.