Crowned: The Palace Nanny (9 page)

‘He did, didn't he,' Elsa said and fought for a bit more backbone—the courage to pin a cheerful smile in place and turn to greet her employer.

What in the world was she doing here? And why did the sight of the man strolling towards her make her knees feel as if they were turning to jelly?

 

‘Welcome to Khryseis, Princess Zoe.' Stefanos strode towards them and he greeted Zoe first. He took her hands and stooped to kiss her cheeks. It might be a normal Greek greeting but here, now, it seemed a truly royal gesture. Zoe looked suitably amazed.

‘I'm not a real princess,' she told him, as if admitting a falsehood.

‘You are,' Stefanos said gently. ‘Your father was the Crown Prince Christos and you're his daughter. This is where you belong.'

‘It's a really big palace.'

‘It is.'

‘Elsa says we might have to dust and hoover,' she ventured, and Stefanos turned to Elsa and his dark eyes lit with laughter.

‘Welcome to you, too,' he said and it was her turn to have her hands grasped and her cheek kissed. Was this the way royalty greeted nannies? ‘I promise you no hoovering—and I'm so glad you decided to come.'

Whew. This was a formal gesture, she told herself wildly. He'd kissed her cheek and smiled at her. Why that had the capacity to make her insides melt…

She'd been isolated for too long. She was starting to feel…Like she had no business in the world feeling.

‘Zoe was never coming alone,' she managed.

‘No,' he said, but something in his tone said that such a
concept wasn't unthinkable. ‘She'll be so much happier with you.'

‘She…she will.' It was really hard to breathe while he was smiling at her—while he was so close—but she had to start as she meant to go on. ‘And thank you for making us feel right at home, by the way.'

‘Sorry?'

‘By wearing your casual gear,' she said, and managed to smile. ‘It makes me feel I'll fit right in.'

His eyes met hers, laughter meeting laughter. But he couldn't respond how he wished. He was aware their conversation was being listened to, even if she wasn't.

There were only three staff members within sight, but every window was open and the palace curtains were inched back enough to allow the servants to hear. He'd deliberately not lined the staff up to meet Zoe, but the islanders' desperate need for a new royal family had to be met.

‘Would you like to see your bedrooms?' he asked them both.

‘Um…bedrooms,' Elsa said. ‘Plural?'

‘I want to stay with Elsa,' Zoe said urgently and Stefanos smiled a reassurance.

‘I don't blame you. Come and see what we've organised. You'll need to meet a couple of people first. The housekeeper. The butler. We'll leave the rest of the staff for you to meet tomorrow.'

‘Oh, goody,' Elsa whispered, and Stefanos smiled in sympathy.

‘There's a photo shoot here after lunch,' he added apologetically. ‘Christos was well loved on the island and there's huge interest and pleasure that his child is coming home. To ban all photographers would have had cameramen scaling walls, so I've permitted a representative from each of the island's media outlets.'

‘You have more than one?' Elsa said, incredulous.

‘It's not a complete backwater,' he said gently and she flushed.

‘You have multi-media outlets and you have only one doctor?'

‘I know—priorities that need fixing. They will be fixed, but I haven't managed everything in two weeks.' He took Zoe's hand and grinned down at her encouragingly. ‘You want to see your bedroom? You have a four-poster bed with curtains.'

‘Yes, please,' Zoe said breathlessly. She turned with him and they headed up the grand entrance steps.

Leaving Elsa to follow.

I'm the nanny, she told herself, trying not to feel bereft and hopelessly out of her comfort zone. Staying in the background is what I'm supposed to do.

Stefanos and Zoe reached the top step and paused, looking back to her.

They looked fabulous, she thought. Prince Regent and his Crown Princess. Zoe looked lit up like a fairy on top of a Christmas tree, holding her big cousin's hand with confidence.

‘Are you coming?' Stefanos said gently. She met his gaze and realised that once again he'd guessed how she was feeling.

Zoe still needed her, she thought wildly. She wasn't being put out to pasture yet.

‘I'm coming,' she called. The chauffeur was lifting their bags out of the boot and she grabbed the top one. The heaviest.

‘Leave that to the staff,' Stefanos told her.

‘I'm the staff,' she said determinedly and, to her amazement, he chuckled.

‘I don't think so,' he said. ‘I expect the staff to conform to a certain standard in their uniform. I need to tell you that your standard falls a long way short until we can get you outfitted as befits your status…as a friend of the Crown Princess.'

Then his tone became gentle and the laughter faded. ‘You've worked hard already,' he said, looking down at her from the top step, and he spoke loudly and clearly enough for his voice to carry into all those open windows. ‘You've cared for my little cousin—for our Crown Princess—with all the
love at your disposal. It would be my honour to grant you a holiday for as long as you want. Your nominal title is nanny to Zoe, but my command to you personally—to you both—is to have fun.'

T
HEIR
apartments were stunning—two apartments with an adjoining door. Rooms almost big enough to house a tennis court.

‘They're built for the Crown Prince and Crown Princess,' Stefanos told them while Zoe and Elsa stared in incredulity.

‘This is something out of a museum,' Elsa murmured. ‘You know the ones I mean? This is the bed where Charles the First spent the night before the Great Wiggery Foppery of Seventeen Sixty-Two.'

‘The Great Wiggery Foppery?' Stefanos asked, bemused.

‘Or maybe it was the Great Gunfire Pirouette with Catherine Wheels,' she told him, desperately striving for humour in the face of splendour that was just plain intimidating. ‘I'm Australian so my knowledge of royalty is distinctly hazy, but my grandma had a book on Bedrooms of the World. I read it when I was seven and I had chickenpox. They all had descriptions like Queen Anne had dropsy in this very bed and threw up on this very pillow. And no, don't ask me what dropsy is.'

‘Are we really going to sleep in here?' While Elsa was covering her nerves with nonsense, Zoe was awed into hushed delight.

‘They've changed the sheets since the great dropsy plague,' Stefanos said gravely. ‘I think it might be safe to sleep in them again.'

Zoe giggled.

Which was the whole point of the exercise, Elsa reminded herself. If she could keep Zoe giggling…

But for how long?

‘We'll sleep in this one,' Zoe said, and proceeded to clamber up onto what was surely intended as the Crown Prince's bed. It was vast, with four golden posts, a golden canopy and rich burgundy curtains drawn back with gold tassels.

‘Then Elsa will sleep in the other one,' Stefanos said, motioning through the open door to a bedroom almost as large and a bed almost as luxurious.

The giggling stopped. Zoe's bottom lip trembled.

‘No,' she said. ‘This is too big by myself. We sleep in the same room at home. Why can't we sleep in the same room here?'

‘We can,' Elsa said. ‘There's no need to worry Prince Stefanos, though. We'll fix it.'

‘You've been sharing a room with Zoe?' Stefanos asked.

‘I have.' She met his gaze with open defiance.

‘So you had only one bedroom in that little cottage?'

‘Zoe has nightmares,' she said. ‘Even if we had ten bedrooms we wouldn't use them.'

‘I'm not sure the staff will approve of a trundle bed in here. They're wanting Zoe to be real royalty.'

‘So Zoe gets the four-poster and I get a trundle.'

‘There needs to be some delineation.'

‘I'm her friend and her guardian.'

‘Yes, and her nanny.'

‘So I am,' she said, figuring that here was a line in the sand—her first test. Zoe would not be made to suffer from the demands of royalty. ‘So it's back to the trundle. Zoe will not sleep alone.'

‘I don't like alone,' Zoe said, relaxing now she was sure Elsa was on her side.

‘We'll sort it out,' Stefanos went on in a voice that said this issue wouldn't go away.

‘If you think…'

‘Leave it,' he said, and she met his gaze head-on. ‘Zoe, take a look at the beach.'

Zoe looked—while Elsa met Stefanos's gaze and held. He smiled at her and she thought, Don't you dare. You smile at me and you think you can get away with murder.

The scary thing was that she suspected he could.

‘Look at the beach, Elsa,' he said gently, and she tore her gaze away from his and looked.

The palace gardens led down to a wide stretch of golden sand, a cove of shallow water and low, rolling waves.

‘Wow,' Zoe breathed. ‘Can we swim?'

‘As soon as you're settled.' He hesitated, watching Elsa. Who forced her thoughts back to beds.

If he thought he could get his own way simply by smiling…She took a deep breath and started to form a cogent argument about trundle beds, but he'd moved on.

‘Lunch is in half an hour,' he told them. ‘We'll organise the beds later. Meanwhile, I'll leave you to get settled. The butler will let you know when lunch is ready, and he'll show you the way.'

‘Can't we just come down in half an hour?' Elsa asked.

‘You'd get lost,' he told her and there was that smile again. ‘And now we have you both here we don't intend to lose you. Make yourselves at home and I'll see you at lunch.'

He went out. Elsa was left with confusion, an unaccountable fear and the knowledge that the room was bleaker for his going.

What was it about the man? In his presence she felt about the same age as Zoe.

This was crazy. It was just his uniform, she told herself. The fairy tale bit. He looked so…royal.

‘Stefanos said we're getting our photos taken after lunch,' Zoe ventured, looking worried. ‘Should I wear something pretty?'

‘You look very pretty right now,' she said and gave the little
girl a swift hug. A hug she needed just as much as Zoe. ‘But maybe we can find you something even prettier. What about your new dress?'

 

They came down to lunch looking nervous. Zoe was wide-eyed with wonder, clutching Elsa's hand as if it were a lifeline—but she wasn't subdued, Stefanos thought, as he watched them walk down the stairs towards him. She looked like a little girl about to go to a birthday party where she didn't know anyone. It was a bit scary, but it might turn out to be fun.

Elsa, on the other hand, looked nervous in a different way. It was as if she was nervous of her royal surroundings. More. She was nervous of him?

She was still wearing jeans and sweatshirt. Zoe was in the most extravagant of the clothes he'd bought for her—her beautiful party dress. Beside her, Elsa looked subdued. She looked even more subdued when she saw him waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. It was this uniform, he thought regretfully. It was enough to scare
him
. After the media call he could take it off, but until then he had to be a prince.

So. He was a prince. Zoe was a princess. Elsa looked as if she didn't want to be here at all.

And she was still limping. He hadn't noticed when she'd arrived, but watching her coming down the stairs he saw it again. She was holding the balustrade with her spare hand and doing her best to disguise it, but she was being careful. The way she swung her left leg forward…There wasn't full movement in her hip and it looked as if coming downstairs hurt.

Last time he'd seen her he'd seen the faintest trace of a limp. She'd brushed it aside when he'd enquired, and he'd had so much on his mind then that to assume it was a temporary sprain had been the easiest option. Now, though…There was a lot he had to find out about this woman.

Like what was the damage with her leg.

Like why she was coming to lunch and a media call in faded
jeans and sweatshirt. Looking scared. Up until now he would have described her as spirited and feisty. What was it about this place that was sucking the spirited and feisty out of her?

He glanced up at the massive chandelier above his head—two thousand crystals, the housekeeper had told him, and he didn't doubt it for a minute—and he thought, What's oppressive about this?

He smiled at them and Zoe let go of Elsa's hand and bounced down the last few steps to greet him. She gazed up at the chandelier and breathed deeply in small girl satisfaction.

‘It's really, really beautiful,' she said.

‘So are you,' he told her and she giggled.

He glanced at Elsa—and caught her unawares. There was a wash of pure, unmitigated pain on her face. It was gone as soon as it had come, quickly turned into a smile, but he knew he wasn't mistaken.

‘We're hungry,' she said, a trifle too fast, and he thought she was still in defence mode.

‘Excellent,' he said. ‘In fact, more than excellent when you see what's in front of us.'

He led the way into the dining room and paused at the door, smiling down to Zoe again. ‘This is a welcome lunch for you,' he said gently. ‘Specially made by everyone who works here.'

And it was—a feast that promised a small girl's heaven. The delicate finger food looked as if it had been designed to tempt and tantalise a little girl's appetite. There were tiny cheesy biscuits in the shape of animals. Finger-sized sausage rolls. Chicken wings with tiny chef-hat wrappers around their tips so a small hand wouldn't get greasy. Strawberries and grapes and slivers of watermelon. Tiny chocolate cakes with a dusting of sugar. Miniature sponge cakes with the tops turned into wings and fixed in place with a mix of red jelly and cream. Petite eclairs with creamy custard filling.

Around them the room was a mass of fresh cut flowers, a wondrous fantasy feast of beauty and pure delight.

Zoe sat down and gazed at the table in awe. ‘Elsa won't have to tell me to eat here,' she breathed.

‘That's what we hoped,' he said and glanced at Elsa again—and got that look again. Raw pain.

‘You don't approve?' he asked and she caught herself and managed to smile. But her smile was strained. She was having trouble disguising how hard it was to summon it at all.

‘It's wonderful,' she said.

‘So why do you look unhappy?' he asked gently.

‘Elsa's a bit sad 'cause she hasn't got any pretty clothes,' Zoe said and popped a strawberry into her mouth—and then looked mortified. She swallowed it manfully and looked even more guilty. ‘Is…is it okay to start?'

‘Absolutely it's okay to start,' Stefanos said and handed over the sausage rolls. Zoe took two—and then looked at how small they were and took another.

‘Thank you very much,' she breathed, and Stefanos glanced at the door. He knew at least six members of staff were behind there, holding their breath that she'd like their offering, that she'd be a kind child, that she could be a princess to be proud of.

She was all of those things, he thought. And it was thanks to Elsa.

Elsa, who didn't have pretty things to wear.

‘So you don't have any dresses?' he probed and she cast him a glance that was almost resentful.

‘I didn't bring any. And I'm not sad because of that. It's just…I'm just a bit overwhelmed.'

‘You mean yesterday there was just you loving Zoe,' he said gently. ‘And now there's me and a palace full of staff and an island ready to love her.'

‘It's crazy to think like that,' she said, but she did.

‘So back to the clothes,' he said gently. ‘Can I ask why there's nothing but jeans?'

‘I'm a marine biologist. Why would I need dresses?'

There was a loaded silence. Zoe ate two sausage rolls and
a strawberry and then thought about what Elsa had said. And decided she might add her pennyworth.

‘Elsa did have pretty clothes,' the child told him, considering an eclair. ‘Only she got too skinny and they looked funny on her. We kept them for ages but then she said, “You know what, Zoe, I'm never going to be this size again; they might as well make someone else happy.” So we packed them up and took them to a church fair. And Mrs Henniker bought Elsa's prettiest yellow dress and she looked awful in it and Elsa cried.'

‘I did not,' Elsa said, fighting for dignity. ‘I had hay fever.'

‘You only get hay fever when you cry,' Zoe said wisely. ‘Giving your clothes away made you really sad.'

The bond between these two was amazing. Up until now he'd thought it was Elsa who did all the giving. Suddenly a new view was opening up.

Zoe was eight going on thirty.

Elsa was…sometimes ninety. Sometimes a kid.

She was trying for indignant here but it wasn't coming off. Zoe had exposed her and she knew she was exposed.

‘Why did you lose weight?'

‘I stopped eating for a while,' she told him in a voice that said no more questions were welcome. ‘I've started again.'

‘We might need to buy you some clothes,' he said, and watched as vulnerability disappeared, to be replaced by indignation.

‘You don't need to buy me anything. I like my jeans.'

‘I like your jeans too,' he said—and he did. They were exceedingly cute. Mind, she could do with a bit more flesh on her frame. She was almost elfin. And that limp…

‘What happened to your leg?' he asked, and got another scared look.

‘Please…just leave it. I'm here to be with Zoe while she gets to know the country her papa came from. I intend to stay in the background. Can we leave it at that?'

He considered her gravely and shook his head. ‘Zoe, what's wrong with Elsa's leg?'

He heard her gasp. He didn't look at her.

This woman had cared for Zoe for four years. If he'd known of Christos's death he would have been there for his little cousin. The responsibility was his, but he hadn't even known of Zoe's existence.