Chapter Forty-Four

"Oi, Prince Grumpy!"

Harry whirled around to the shouting photographer with every intention of smashing the camera and the man's face along with it. He raised his arm with a snarl as the camera flashed and clicked at him.

"Don't!" came a sharp tone.

He stopped immediately. That Sam Buxton had a shockingly authoritative tone when she wanted to. And Harry did feel bad for her, having to spend her time with him instead of with Ruth. Poor Ruth was due to give birth any day now, and since her blood pressure had gotten to dangerous levels, Doctor Parkins had ordered her on bedrest. And with King James in increasingly fragile health, Harry had very reluctantly offered to assist with royal appearances. He could not bear seeing his wife or father-in-law struggling with these things in their respective conditions, and he would be damned if Juliet got to be the public face of the monarchy. And so, if only to prevent her from usurping everyone else, Harry began lending a hand. Sam, Ruth's secretary and scheduler, didn't have anything to do with the princess on bedrest, so she and Malcolm, Harry's own secretary and scheduler, had been working together to shepherd him from place to place.

Never mind, of course, that Harry had an actual job to do. Erin Watts had come into her own shockingly quickly. She did not have the encyclopedic brain and translation skills that Ruth possessed, but she was much more ambitious than Ruth ever was, which meant that Erin took on much more than was absolutely necessary. And she was wonderful at it. But Harry was not ready to turn all operations at Foreign Intelligence over to her just yet. He did not want to be dragged completely into royal life. When Ruth eventually became queen, he couldn't imagine he'd be permitted to keep a job at all. But it wasn't time for that just yet, thank god.

Harry calmed himself down and turned back to the offending photographer. "I'm not a prince," he corrected quietly through gritted teeth.

But he knew it would do no good. He'd had a reputation in the press for quite a while now. For years now, he'd been shouting at journalists and pushing photographers away from Ruth. The incident at Catherine's sixteenth birthday sprang to mind. One would think he'd have learned by now. But here he was. 'Prince Grumpy' was one of the many nicknames the papers had given him. 'The Moody Major' and 'Sir Sulky' had been printed quite a bit as well. Harry did not care a single bit about any of it. Graham and Catherine found it hilarious and teased him whenever one of the monikers appeared on the page. Catherine had even gone so far as to phone from university to make jokes to him. At least his children did not take any of that muck seriously. Ruth, however, got very sad about it. Part of it was the pregnancy hormones making her more emotional than usual, but she got quite defensive about the whole thing, wishing the press would be nicer to him. No matter how much Harry assured her it wasn't important at all, he knew she was still bothered by the idea that others did not find her husband as lovely and charming as she did. He tried to tell her that her opinion of him was the only one that mattered, but he also knew she had a point; things would only be made harder for her if the public had a negative view of her husband.

So here he was, being grumpy and ill-tempered as always in public, trying to remind himself that he was doing what needed to be done to help Ruth and the king. Today's pointless exercise was giving a speech to the railworkers union. The public relations department at the palace had written the speech, Malcolm had edited it, and Harry had then revised it further. He wasn't a bad writer, he knew, nor was he a bad speaker. He was better at public appearances than Ruth was in that regard. His experience as an army commander had given him a gift for oration. Harry's problem was always in getting people to like him when he wasn't giving speeches. The politicians and such always respected him and trust him in his work, but no one ever really liked him. And as a member of the royal who was not a reigning sovereign, all there was to be was liked. Ruth did not have that problem. She was always liked. Beloved. But very often overlooked. She'd kept out of the public eye for so much of her life that now that she was more front and center, all the papers reported on her with a tone that indicated that she didn't really matter. She was their princess, she was lovely, she was regarded kindly. Very little beyond that. Her position as queen was one she'd need to grow into, certainly, and Harry did worry he would only cause more problems for her if he didn't win some public affection.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he grumbled.

Malcolm, walking beside him following Sam through the event hall that the union had reserved for the occasion, spoke to him in a low tone, "You'll have to shake some hands after the speech, I'm afraid. But you've got a good excuse to get out quickly."

Harry frowned. "Have I?"

"Yes of course," Malcolm replied with a smile. "You've got a pregnant wife at home who gets lonely for you."

That wasn't untrue, but the insinuation that Ruth was this pathetic little thing did not sit right with Harry. But perhaps he could garner some of that all-important public affection by playing the doting father-to-be. And people loved babies, didn't they? Maybe the impending birth would help them all in that regard.

Harry was led to the side of the stage and stood there with a polite smile pasted on his face as the union president made the introduction. He praised Harry's efforts as a war hero, garnering him a knighthood from King Richard. He also made a rather nice point about how Harry was a remarkable man who worked hard to serve his country and was now honored to be a part of their royal family. That was a rather good angle, Harry realized, painting himself as one of the common people, which he was, who had risen through the ranks on his own merit merit and was given the opportunity to be in the public eye by virtue of falling in love with the woman who would one day be their queen.

Christ, if he kept thinking like this, he might have to quit Foreign Intelligence and join public relations. Harry Pearce five years ago would have rather died than contemplate these various manipulations of opinion.

In the end, the speech went just fine. He spoke well, as always, and used his natural gravitas to command the audience. After that, Sam and Malcolm introduced him to a number of the railworkers.

"Sir Harry, this is Miles Dooley, he's been a train engineer for the last twenty-three years," Sam said, leading Harry to yet another anonymous face in the crowd.

"And I laid track all around the country before that, sir," the man added.

Harry played nice, suppressing every urge inside him that screamed I don't care! "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dooley. Tell me, which job do you prefer: laying track or train engineer?"

"Frankly, sir, I preferred the hard labor. But it got too hard on my back after a few years, hauling all that rail and swinging hammers day in and day out. That's why I trained to be an engineer. Besides, by then, the track laying was starting to slow."

"Yes, we've certainly had the benefit of marvelous railways all over the country for many years now. A huge thanks to you, Mr. Dooley, for your service," Harry told him kindly.

"Thank you for saying so, sir. And I wanted to tell you, I laid the track from the capital to Leister. And the first train I got to engineer on my own made that very journey."

Harry smiled. "I am lucky enough to call Leister my home now. I've ridden that train many, many times. Though unfortunately I'm usually forced to stick to the roads with my schedule not lining up with that of the trains. Princess Louisa, I know, prefers the train whenever possible." That was a lie, but it was a kind one. Ruth didn't care at all about one mode of travel over another.

"Does she? That's very nice. And I hope the princess is doing well. My wife is ever so excited for the baby," Mr. Dooley gushed.

"Should be arriving any day now," Harry said proudly. "And speaking of which, Mr. Dooley, I should head back. Just in case she goes into labor, I don't want to miss it!"

"Oh yes, of course, sir! Got to get home to your missus. It's an exciting time!"

Harry shook Mr. Dooley's hand and accepted the well wishes. And then, thankfully, he was free.

Sam Buxton sung Harry's praises as they all sat in the back of the car on the drive to Leister. Thankfully they'd not been as far out as the capital, but it was still a bit of a journey from the suburbs to the palace. "Sir Harry, you did a fantastic job. You're getting so much better talking to people," she said.

It was a backhanded compliment, but Harry knew she wasn't wrong. "Thank you. I think I've started enjoying it, even."

Malcolm laughed at that.

"Alright, I don't enjoy it at all, but I understand why it's so important. And I am trying."

"If we can stop you from trying to attack photographers, that'll be progress," Sam pointed out.

Harry just grumbled to himself at that, not wanting to agree. He just hoped that the new baby would grow up to find his or her father's public ineptitude as funny as Graham and Catherine found it and not be saddened and ashamed the way Ruth was.

Finally, thankfully, they arrived back at Leister Palace. Harry went right upstairs with the intention of seeing Ruth. On the landing, he found little Wesley Carter toddling along. "Careful on the stairs, lad," Harry cautioned, picking up the eighteen-month-old with practiced ease. He knew that at this time of day, Fiona could be found sitting with Ruth for tea. Adam was probably supposed to be watching his son but had gotten distracted with a phone call or something.

He knocked on the half-open door, holding Wes with his other arm. Just as expected, Ruth was sitting up in bed with Fiona sitting in a chair beside her. Both women were sipping tea. "Hello, Sir Harry," Fiona greeted. "I see you've found my wayward child again."

Harry laughed, "Yes, I didn't want him to take a tumble. Figured I'd bring him to see his mummy."

Ruth was looking at Harry with a loving smile when she suddenly burst into tears.

"Oh Christ," Harry muttered to himself. To Ruth, he said, "Darling, please don't do that. There's no cause to get emotional about me holding Wes. I've had two children before. I know how to carry a baby. We've talked about this."

"I know," she said between hitched sobs. "I know it's stupid. But you're just so good with him! You're going to be such a wonderful father and I'm going to be useless!"

Harry looked to Fiona pointedly. She got the message. She put her teacup down and got up. "It's nearly time for his nap. Thank you, Sir Harry. I'll take him." Fiona took her child from Harry's arms and left, closing the door behind her.

Calmly, Harry took off his jacket and tie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and put everything away in the wardrobe. He did not say anything and just waited patiently for Ruth to stop crying. She knew it was the hormones making her act like that, and she was more embarrassed of it than anything. They'd both learned that Harry leaping to comfort and reassure her just made her more annoyed and upset. So he just ignored her till she got ahold of herself.

When he finished putting his things away, he crossed over to the bed and sat down beside her, placing an affectionate hand on her thigh. "Are you alright now?" he asked.

Ruth wiped her face and took a deep breath. "Yes, sorry."

He nodded. "Good." Then, just as he did every day when he got home from whatever he was doing, he greeted Ruth with a gentle kiss to her lips and then one to her enormous pregnant belly. "Hello, baby," he said softly.

"My due date is tomorrow. But I don't think we'll have our baby tomorrow," she said regretfully. "I have a feeling our stubbornness is going to be passed along to this little one."

"If not tomorrow, within the week, I'm sure," he reasoned.

"And then we can greet the baby by name."

He smiled. "Yes, that's true."

"What do you think, boy or girl?" she asked.

She'd been asking that question a few times a week for the last month or so. He'd never really answered it properly. He did now. "I want it to be a girl, but I think it'll be a boy."

"Wait, really?" Ruth exclaimed in surprise.

"Yes. I so rarely get what I want, so I think baby John will be joining us very soon. And I'll love and adore him with all my heart. So really, it doesn't matter what I want. Either way, we get to have a baby," he reminded her.

Ruth's eyes began to well up again, but she blinked it back. "I think it's a girl," she said.

"Why do you think it's a girl?"

"I don't know, I just do."

Harry had half a mind to tease her for not having anything to back up her beliefs, but he didn't want to. "I hope you're right. But you usually are right. You're much cleverer than me. So maybe baby Emilia will be in our arms."

Ruth frowned slightly, reaching out to caress his cheek. "Do you really think you never get what you want?"

"I didn't say never. I'd never say I never get what I want. Because I got to marry you. And if I never get anything I want ever again, that'll be enough."

She did start crying again at that. "Dammit, Harry!" she scolded as the tears fell.

Harry laughed and shifted to pull her into his arms and hold her while she cried. Their baby started kicking, and Harry could feel it against his own stomach the way he held his wife. Soon, he'd get to hold the both of them. Everything would be better for all of them very soon.