Crowned: An Ordinary Girl. NATASHA OAKLEY

towards him across the acres of rather dated carpet in the company of his private secretary.

      ‘—we’d no idea you’d arrived yet. I’d intended to have someone on watch for you and—’

      ‘It’s of no consequence. Mr…?’

      ‘Baverstock. Anthony Baverstock. I’m the manager here, Your Serene Highness.’

      ‘Baverstock,’ Seb repeated, extending his hand. ‘I sincerely appreciate the thought.’ He watched the pleased way Anthony Baverstock puffed out his cheeks and resigned himself to what experience had taught him would follow.

      ‘N-not at all, Your Serene Highness. At the Cowper Hotel we pride ourselves on our service. Professor Blackwell,’ the hotel manager continued with every indication that he would bore his friends and neighbours with his account of meeting royalty for the next thirty years, ‘is in the Balcony Room. If, Your Serene Highness, would be so good as to follow me…’

      Seb let his mind wander even while his mouth said everything that his late father would have wished. How many times had that amazing man cautioned him to remember that people who met him would remember the occasion as long as they lived?

      It was true, too. The letters of condolence his mother had received had been testament to that. More than several hundred had begun with ‘I met Prince Franz-Josef and he shook me by the hand…’

      Even eight years and as many months into his own tenure that responsibility still sat uncomfortably with him. But training was everything—and this had been his destiny since the hour of his birth. Inescapable. Even though there’d been times when he’d have gladly passed the responsibility to someone else.

      Viktoria, for example. His elder sister had always found her role in this colourful pageant easier to play. She loved the pomp and the sense of tradition. It suited her—and she was as comfortable with it as it chafed him.

      The Balcony Room on the first floor was clearly labelled. A black plaque with gold lettering hung on the door. Seb stood back and allowed the hotel manager to announce portentously, ‘His Serene Highness, the Prince of Andovaria.’

      Inside, the man he’d come to see was on his feet immediately. ‘Your Serene Highness…’

      Seb extended his hand as he walked into the room. ‘Professor Blackwell, I’m delighted you could spare me a moment of your time. I realise this is a busy time for you.’

      The older man shook his head, a twinkle of pure enthusiasm lighting the eyes behind his glasses. ‘Completely enjoyable. This conference is one of the highlights of my year.’

      ‘May I introduce my private secretary, Alois von Dietrich? I believe you’ve spoken.’

      The professor nodded. ‘Please, come and sit down,’ he said, indicating a group of four armchairs by the window, ‘but I meant what I said yesterday. I’m retiring at the end of the month.’

      Seb smiled. ‘I’m here in person to tempt you away from that decision.’

      ‘Don’t believe I’m not tempted,’ the professor said with a shake of his head, and his tone was so wistful that Seb was confident of success. ‘The twelfth and thirteenth centuries are my particular passion. My wife would have it it’s an unhealthy obsession.’

      ‘Which is exactly why I want you to come to Andovaria.’

      

      Marianne sat down in the nearest armchair and tucked her hair behind her ears in the nervous gesture she’d had since childhood.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

      Professor Blackwell shook his head. ‘I’ve scarcely had a chance,’ he said, sitting opposite her, teacup in hand. ‘I spoke to one of his aides late yesterday afternoon and Prince Sebastian in person this morning.

      She frowned. ‘And you’re considering it? Going to Andovaria?’

      ‘Who wouldn’t?’ The professor picked up the shortbread biscuit resting in his saucer. ‘I know what you’re thinking, Marianne, and you’re right. Of course you’re right. But it’s the chance of a lifetime. If the prince’s description is accurate, and there’s no reason to suppose it isn’t, there’s not been anything like it in decades.’

      Marianne sat in silence, more than a little shell-shocked, while the professor drank the last of his tea.

      ‘Imagine for a moment what we might find there,’ he said, standing up and putting his cup and saucer back on the table.

      ‘You’re weeks from retiring,’ she said softly. ‘You did tell him that, didn’t you?’

      ‘Eliana will understand—’

      ‘She won’t, Peter. You and I both know that if your wife had had her way you’d be retired now.’

      The professor sat down again and leant forward to take hold of her hands. ‘This is the “big” one, Marianne. I’ve waited my whole life for something like this.’

      His earnest, lined face shone with the absolute certainty she’d understand, and the tragedy was, she did. Marianne understood absolutely how much he’d want this—and how completely impossible it was for him to take it.

      ‘Have you told him about your eyesight?’ she asked gently.

      The professor let go of her hands and sat back in his seat.

      She hated to do this to him, hated it particularly because he was the most wonderful, brilliant and caring man she’d ever met, but it was an impossible dream. He had to know that—deep down. ‘You can’t see well enough to do this justice and, if it’s as significant as you think it is, you ought to pass it on to another expert. I can think of upward of a dozen who are eminently qualified, half a dozen I’d be happy with.’

      He shook his head. ‘We could do it together. I’ve told him I’d need to bring a colleague—’

      ‘I’m too junior,’ Marianne objected firmly. ‘I’ve got years of study ahead of me before I’d be ready to take on something like this.’

      ‘You could be my eyes. You’ve a sharp, analytical mind and we’re a great team.’ The professor stood up abruptly and brushed the crumbs off his tie. ‘Let’s not discuss it any more until after dinner tonight. There’s plenty of time before I have to give him my final decision.’

      After what dinner? Her mind went into spasm and the question in her head didn’t make words as the professor adjusted his reactor light glasses and continued, ‘You and I can talk about it after we’ve seen the photographs. There is a stack of them apparently and I’ll need you there to take a look at them.’

      ‘Wh-what dinner?’

      ‘Didn’t I say?’ His assumed nonchalance would have been comical if the stakes weren’t so high. ‘Prince Sebastian has invited us to dinner at the Randall. At eight,’ he added as Marianne still hadn’t spoken.

      Her mind was thinking in short bursts. Dinner with Sebastian. Tonight. At Eight.

      ‘Us?’

      ‘Of course, us.’ The professor sounded uncharacteristically tetchy. ‘I told him I’d need to discuss the offer with my colleague and he, very graciously, extended the invitation to you.’

      Marianne swallowed as a new concern slid into her befuddled mind. ‘You’ve told him you’re bringing me? B-by name? He knows it’ll be me?’

      The professor made a tutting sound as though he couldn’t understand why her conversation had become so unintelligible. ‘I can’t remember what I said exactly—but why should that matter? Prince Sebastian wants me, and whatever team I care to assemble. I chose you.’

      At any other time his confidence in her ability would have warmed her, but…

      The professor didn’t understand what he was asking—and,