Cranston, dressed in a dark gray suit with a waistcoat, starched white shirt, and dark blue tie, stood with his shoulders back, chin up.The four footmen, dressed in red coats and dark slacks, white shirts, and gray ties, lined the Grand Staircase.Hadsby’s Head of Household, Somba, wore a blue skirt and a vest with a white blouse underneath.The hem of her vest was trimmed in blue silk.Choko Danes, Scottie’s lady’s maid—rather stylist, as they were called these days—wore black slacks and jacket with a fitted white blouse.Chef George, representing the kitchen staff, stood at attention in his chef whites.
There were others, of course.The household maids and kitchen staff, the gardeners and technicians, plus the castle’s security detail.However, the lot in the foyer would interact with Lady Royal daily.
“You all look smart,” Michael said with a nod of approval, reaching for the door just as Scottie stepped onto the portico, framed beneath one of the arcade arches.The crisp wind blowing up from Whistlecrag Bluff, filled with the salt and scent of the sea, tossed her long, blonde hair with brunette undertones about her face, and for the briefest moment, time and sound stood still.She was stunning.
He’d seen pictures of her, studied her life, work, and education.She was the confident men’s fashion designer with a get-out-of-my-way spark in her eyes.
Yet in this moment, those observing eyes carried a flicker of vulnerability that tugged at him.Should he step forward, put an arm around her, reassure her everything would be all right?On reflex, Michael pressed his hand against the little hitch in his chest—something he’d not experienced since delicate, porcelain Purnell.
Clad in travel clothes of jeans, trainers, and an orange University of Tennessee hoodie, she caught his eye and smiled, moving toward him with a weary elegance, her gaze drifting over Hadsby’s weathered stone.She pressed her hand against one of the ancient pillars as though testing its worth.Her presence was both common and regal, an American mirror of Her Majesty.
Even with Scottie’s reserved hesitations, Michael saw the iron in her core.This assignment was going to be nothing like he’d imagined.
“Lady Royal Blue.”He stepped forward, hand outstretched.“Welcome back to Hadsby Castle.I’m Michael Cross, your equerry and protection officer.”
“Yes, I know.Kate sent me details about you.Impressive.”Kate?She addressed Her Majesty as Kate?No one employed her nickname—not friends, not family—in front of staff or her security detail.
When her hand clasped his, he forgot all about protocol or even where he was standing.
“It’s good to be back.”Scottie pulled her hand free.“I forgot how much I love the fragrance of Hadsby.It smells wild and watery, like the gardens and the woods, like stone and sea.”She peered at Michael.“Should we go in?”
“Yes, indeed.Your staff awaits you.”He gathered himself to follow her inside, pulling from the way she captured him with a glance and the poetic way she spoke of Hadsby.None of it seemed to overwhelm her, but she somehow overwhelmed him.
Cranston greeted her first, bowing.“Welcome back, Lady Royal Blue.You remember the senior staff?”
“How could I forget?We played pickleball two Christmases ago in the ball room.”Down the line, Scottie shook hands, her words bowed ever so slightly with the American southern accent.“How’re y’all doing?”
He’d been wrong about any vulnerability.She’d arrived with her confidence fully intact.But of course.She was an international businesswoman who’d traveled the world, been on the American morning talkies, and madePeople Magazine’s “Women of Fortune” feature.
“Am I in the Princess Charlotte suite?”Scottie glanced at Cranston then Somba.“It has such a beautiful view.”
“It’s all ready for you, Lady Royal,” Somba announced with a curtsy.“Would you like to go up now?”
“Please and thank you.”Scottie motioned to the protection officers who carried in her cases from the motor.“You can leave them by the stairs.I’ll carry them up.”
“Miles.”Cranston snapped his fingers at the head footman.“See to Lady Royal’s luggage.”The young man with ruddy cheeks hopped to, and his team of red-coated footmen appeared from the back of the foyer, where he no doubt had them lined up and waiting.They carried her three pieces of luggage, backpack, and messenger bag up the Grand Staircase in military fashion.
“Lady Royal, can I prepare something for you to eat or drink?”Chef George bowed, making a sweeping gesture with his arm.“I’ve a light refreshing cherry drink, low on calories, you might enjoy.Along with a turkey sandwich?”
“Chef George, you are mind reader.That’s perfect.Thank you.”Scottie drew him into a light hug.“I do not deserve all of this attention.And please, call me Scottie.I’ll be here for a while and want to feel I’m among friends.”She turned to Michael.“I’m not breaking too many rules, am I?”
“You can choose what you want to be called,” he said.“The queen insists.”
“Good.”She started up the stairs.“Kate said you’d want to go over my schedule sometime today.”
“Yes, Lady Roy—Scottie.We can go over your diary after tea.You’ve a number in your room to call down to the security office.I’ll be there until you’re ready.”What was he to do with the American lass staring down at him from the middle of the stairs?
“Why don’t you come to the Princess Charlotte now?We can talk.”
“If you wish.”Cranston gave him the eye as he stepped aside for the stairs.
What?He heard her.Lady Royal—Scottie—had invited him up.He was her equerry, after all.Truth was, he hadn’t spent much time around Americans and never an American woman.Not up close anyway.He’d been on duty once when Princess Gemma traveled with Prince John, but she’d had her own security detail.
Scottie seemed different.Cut from finer threads.From something special.
Up the Grand Staircase to the Grand Gallery Scottie chatted with the first footman, Miles.
“Weren’t you an expectant father the last time I was here?”
