Naisha slipped out from behind the table, found a glass in the cupboard and poured him a glass from the large earthenware jug that filtered the water naturally and was filled by the servants every day. Because of the clay, the water inside was always fresh and cold.
“You know your way around the kitchen pretty well,” he observed.
She looked uncertain. “Am I stepping out of line? If you prefer I stay in my room–”
“No!” he interrupted hastily. “Of course not. I just thought it was cool how quickly you’ve settled in.”
“Oh.” She looked relieved. “Well, Willa and I have snack time in here during recess. She showed me around the first few days.” She held out the glass to him, and as he reached for it, their fingers came into contact. She snatched her hand away so sharply that she spilled a few drops.
He wondered if it was because she’d felt the same zing he’d felt. He spoke quickly to fill the awkward pause. “Are you enjoying it? The teaching?”
“Of course. Willa is delightful.”
He inclined his head, taking it as a compliment. “Is it better than modeling?”
She thought about it, staring down into her cup as she stirred. “Not better. Just different.”
“I never imagined you as a model.” He was surprised at himself the moment the words left his mouth, because they were an admission that he’d known her then. Back in a time he wasn’t keen on revisiting. Not when it stirred up so many memories… regrets.
She regarded him steadily, not letting on that she’d caught his reference, or reacting to the significance of it. “Why not? Not pretty enough?” There was a note of taunting in her voice, a sparkle of mischief.
“Of course you’re pretty enough. You’re beautiful. It’s just that you were always so smart—”
The moment the words left his mouth, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. He wanted to punch himself in the face.
She stiffened. “Are you saying that models are dumb? Are we back to that story of us being loose women, who do nothing but party, take drugs, and are promiscuous?”
He got to his feet, gesturing to her to stop her from rising. “No. Christ, no, Naisha. That came out wrong. It’s not what I meant at all.” Where to find the words to fix this, he wondered. “I meant I always thought you’d study medicine, the earth sciences, something like that. You had such an analytical mind.”
She studied him carefully, as if she was debating whether to be pissed off or to let it slide. To his relief, she said, “Well, I guess at the time I wasn’t too sure what to do with my life, like most young women. But then on the flight home from France that time, the last time I saw you. You know–” She flushed. Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable at the mention of their memories. “I happened to be sitting next to a talent scout. He told me he thought I had it in me to be a top model and asked if I would be interested.”
She took a long, deep draught of her tea. “He said I would be perfect.”
Indeed, you are,Liam thought. Then he bid her goodnight and hurried to his room before his face conveyed what his mind and heart were saying.
7
“Mademoiselle Naisha.”
Naisha looked up at the doorway to find the chief housekeeper, Yvette, standing there. They had developed a pleasant affinity for each other ever since she’d discovered that Naisha spoke fluent French.
Naisha put down her pen. She had been working on her lesson plan for the rest of the week, but it wasn’t urgent. “Yes?”
“The Dowager Countess would like to meet you now.” Yvette stood with her hands primly folded in front of her. The statement could have passed for a polite invitation, but the undertones of imperative were clear. There was no doubt that the woman didn’t intend to leave unless Naisha left with her.
She felt a small knot of anxiety form in her belly. William’s mother had left town the morning after she had arrived, flying to Lyon to visit an old school friend who had just been declared in full remission from breast cancer. She’d heard Willa excitedly chatting the day before that her grandmother was coming back. The thought of meeting the Dowager Countess made her nervous.
Naisha rose and nodded to Yvette, and allowed herself to be led down the hallway. She needed to draw on all her courage. What if the Dowager didn’t approve of Liam’s choice of a governess for her granddaughter?
The walk to the other wing of the château where the Dowager had her quarters felt like the Green Mile.
At the ornate doorway, Yvette knocked discreetly, and was invited to enter. She led Naisha through the large living room towards the balcony. Naisha glanced around, trying not to make her curiosity too obvious. She noticed with a leap in her stomach that a whole corner of the room was filled with baby things, from a rocking chair to a bouncer, with a heap of stuffed toys and cars on a play mat.
She remembered Willa saying that William’s baby, what was his name, Christien?—came over to spend two afternoons a month with her and her grandmother.
Just twice a month? Why didn’t the kid live here? Also, no mention of William playing with his baby, mind you. Did he really hate his late wife Sofia so much that he wouldn’t even stop in to see the child? It couldn’t be that since she was affectionate with Willa.
God, it was infuriating.