Page 114 of The English Queen

“It’s better to have help. His mother was a complete saint for coming to help with Nina,” Rita said. “Take a picture, she’s never going to be this little again, Bruno.”

He obliged and said, “We’ll tell her, ‘Hey kiddo, this was the time you fell asleep with your legs on top of the future king or queen of Belgium.’ Yeah.”

“Of Bacon,” Louis joked. “I am the King of Bacon forever.”

“You should give a toast at his wedding and introduce yourself as such,” Rita said.

“My God, he’s going to be so embarrassed someday,” Elliot said. “Life as the middle child is embarrassing.”

“Oh, you were fine, Elliot. A doll,” Maggie said.

Keir came out, stopping to pat the baby’s blonde spray of hair. “Such a darlin’ wean. You did well, kids.”

“We tried, I guess. Mairead did all the work. I cannot get enough of her though. She’s perfect.”

“Beth, you shouldn’t hog her,” Keir told his daughter.

“I’m not. She’s asleep. I’m content. Let me be, Papa.”

“Until Vanna comes over here, no one will challenge you,” Rita assured her cousin.

“Then there will be a battle of consorts to see who wins,” Beth laughed.

“My money is on you. You are surprisingly scrappy. Vanna is too nice,” Elliot said.

“Mum,” Gerry said, “can Gerry and I go out to the stables with Cousin Vanna? Georgie is going.”

“Well, if you want to go with Georgie, then yes,” Rita answered. “Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t need me.”

“Darling, you are on holiday. Go! Your cousin has the baby taken care of.”

Gerry gave the baby a pat and then darted back off.

Maggie remarked, “Well, that’s adorable. And you were worried at some point.”

“I was, yes. I shouldn’t have been. The future was always going to be bright as the stars. Now, two years ago, I didn’t even know Bruno and I was lamenting my fate as a lonely divorcee feeling too ugly to wear a minidress. Now, look at me, covered in spit up and oft-nursing a new babe. And the boys are practically becoming men before our eyes. How does it happen like this?”

“They grow too fast,” Maggie sounded choked up. “Treasure every moment—every happy day, every small and big achievement, and, yes, even every teenage argument. You cannot get it back. Take nothing for granted.”

From Cradle to Grave

Beth remained pregnant three days after her due date trying to sleep. Every female relative—along with her father—sent messages asking for a status update. She was exhausted and so ready to be done with this pregnancy. Vanna told her the final month of a pregnancy lasted an entire year. She was right. Royal baby watch was in high gear. Both British and Belgian news outlets had a presence outside the hospital where the Queen would give birth. The pressure was on, and Beth wilted. She would have rather played a sold-out show at The Royal Albert Hall every day of the year.

It took hours to nod off, but Beth eventually rested her eyes. No sooner did she fall asleep then she woke from pain. She was about to give up at life by this point. She left bed, used the loo, and traversed the corridor. She had another contraction and timed them. She paraded around the palace as if she were a ghost in her nightgown. Big as a house and barely able to do more than a waddle, she proceeded. She looked at the snow falling outside. She powered through a few more contractions before she realised they were ten minutes apart and she needed to wake her husband. Giddy, she found Louis and woke him.

“Louis, darling, we need to go to hospital. The baby is coming. I’m having contractions.”

Louis sat up, looking confused. “The baby?”

“The baby is coming. I’m having contractions ten minutes apart. It’s almost here, Louis.”

“Really?”

Beth nodded.

“Okay, let me put on some pants.”

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