The doorbell to the penthouse rang at 9:00 AM sharp. Victoria, holding Leo against her shoulder, opened the door to find a woman standing there who looked less like a nanny and more like a prison warden. She wore a severe grey suit and held a leather folio.
“Mrs. Croft,” the woman said, not stepping inside. “I am Ms. Halloway. Lady Beatrice sent me. I understand the previous nurse was… dismissed. I am here to rectify the scheduling errors regarding the heir.”
Victoria felt a phantom chill, a remnant of the gaslighting in the East Wing. “Leo doesn’t have a schedule yet,” Victoria said firmly. “He is four days old. And we don’t need staff appointed by Beatrice.”
“You need professional help,” Ms. Halloway insisted, reaching for the door.
“She has help,” a deep voice rumbled from the hallway.
Marcus Thorne stepped off the elevator. Beside him walked a woman in her fifties with warm brown eyes and a messy bun, carrying a canvas tote bag instead of a briefcase.
“Victoria,” Marcus said, stepping between the warden and the door. “Meet Isabella Rossi. She raised my three nieces. She doesn’t have a folio, but she makes a killer lasagna and knows how to burp a baby without making him cry.”
Isabella smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Ciao, bella. Marcus tells me you have a little lion who likes to roar.”
Ms. Halloway huffed. “Lady Beatrice will hear of this.” She turned and marched to the elevator.
Isabella stepped inside. She didn’t ask for a schedule. She simply washed her hands, walked over to Victoria, and cooed at Leo. “May I?”
Victoria hesitated, then nodded. Isabella took the baby with an ease that spoke of decades of love, not training. Leo settled instantly, his fussing quieting into a content sigh. For the first time since the storm, the knot in Victoria’s chest loosened. She had found her sanctuary.