The Playboy Prince and the Nanny (Royal Duology 1)

Ernestina then turned around and faced Diego and the children. “Emilia, Max, this is your new nanny, Miss Walters.”

The room went quiet. Emilia looked away from Diego and stared at Rose, as Max, who Rose understood to be four, popped his thumb in his mouth. A telling reaction for a boy his age. She’d have to tread gently.

“Hello,” she said softly, offering a smile meant to reassure.

Emilia’s dark eyes hardened with resentment. “I want Mama Mariana. Not you.”

Diego was the one to issue a reprimand. “Emilia. Manners,” he said sharply.

At the sound of Diego’s snappish voice, Max started to cry, little heartbreaking sobs shaking his body.

“It’s all right,” Rose assured Diego, andstepped forward toward the children. She knelt down a little and looked Emilia in the eyes.

“I am so very sorry about your mama and also Mariana. Of course you wish they were here instead of me. I wish they were too, Emilia.”

Emilia appeared very astute for a six-year-old. “If they were here you wouldn’t have a job.”

“Emilia!” This from Diego again, but Rose held up her hand.

“I would have a job somewhere else, that’s all,” she replied. “But as unhappy and sad as you are, Emilia, that was a bit rude. And I don’t think you are generally a rude little girl.”

Emilia looked away, a determined set to her jaw, but she looked chagrined, too. Lord, the poor things were too young to know how to deal with grief. Most adults didn’t know either, but for children . . .

Max was still whimpering, held against Diego’s shoulder now. Rose let him stay there; he was comfortable and being comforted. “Hello, Max,” she said to him as she stood. She put a gentle hand on his warm little back. “My name is Rosalie. And I’m here to look after you and your sister. Is that okay with you?”

Huge brown eyes glimmered at her and he nodded a little, taking his thumb out of his mouth.

“You like your Tio Diego, don’t you?” She used the Spanish term, thinking Max might find it a bit comforting, hoping her limited Spanish would be sufficient over the coming weeks.

He nodded and clung tighter to Diego’s neck. Her heart was a big old pile of goo now, seeing both the tenderness in their relationship and also how sad and upset the children were.

“Do you want to stay for tea?” she asked Diego quietly, thinking that having someone familiar they cared about nearby might ease the way a bit.

Diego’s gaze touched hers. His eyes weren’t like Max’s, or even Raoul’s, she realized. They were more of a hazel shot with gold flecks. He had a way of looking into her eyes as if no one else existed. That day years ago on the train platform, she’d been too shocked and starstruck to really notice. But he’d been with her all afternoon today, and they’d worked as a team. They’d also looked into each other’s eyes more than was prudent, she realized.

“I did promise some football in the garden,” he said quietly. “One more cup of tea won’t kill me. I hope.”

Rose turned to find Ernestina laying out the light meal. “Thank you, Ernestina. For everything. May I come to you if I have any questions?”

The maid looked rather pleased Rose had asked, which had been Rose’s intention all along. “Of course, Miss. Senora Romero will know where to find me if you need anything.”

Ernestina then took her leave, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.

“Well,” Rose said, putting her hands together and smiling. “Let’s see what there is to eat, and you can tell me all about yourselves.”

* * *

Diego tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. Thousands of them were out tonight, pinpoints of silvery light in the inky blackness. There wasn’t much in the way of light pollution on the castle grounds, and lots of evenings he found his way to the upper balcony, away from the constraints of his title. Up here he could just be.

Today was the first day he’d felt truly useful in quite some time. He’d offered, yet again, to help his brother, but he’d been brushed aside with a quick “I’m fine.” Well, if Raoul wouldn’t accept his help in running the country, the least Diego could do is help with the family. And it hadn’t been a hardship spending time with the new nanny, Rosalie.

He let out a long breath and rested his hands on the stone balustrade. “Rose,” he remembered her saying to Ernestina. Miss Walters was proper and she’d made sure he knew it. She was quite prim in some ways, but strangely relaxed, too. And gentle, which he appreciated. Her admonishment to Emilia, though, had been bang-on. Rose wouldn’t tolerate rudeness. All in all, he suspected she was just what the duo needed right now. Routine, rules, leavened with a lot of kindness. It didn’t hurt that she was beautiful either. All in all it had been an enjoyable afternoon.

“Tea” in the nursery had consisted of milk, bread, and slices of salami, followed by little almond cookies. She had sat with the children and nibbled on a cookie, but mostly she got them talking about themselves. Max loved football, so she told him stories about watching matches in England and then listened intently as he explained, in his halting four-year-old way, how he’d scored a goal against Tio Diego. And Emilia enjoyed dance, so when Rose spoke of taking ballet lessons when she was a child, Diego could picture it in his mind. She would have been adorable—all arms and legs in her leotard, her blond ponytail swinging as she danced. Within fifteen minutes both children had relaxed and were utterly engaged.

Diego had then made good his promise to kick the ball around with Max, and Rose had asked Emilia to give her a tour of the garden.

Maybe that was what struck him so profoundly. Rose didn’t patronize the children, even though they were so small. She made them feel valued. Just a small gesture like asking for a tour of the garden had changed Emilia’s attitude completely, and Diego guessed it was because it made his niece feel like she had something to offer rather than simply being told what to do or being d