* * *
“And this is how you write the letterI,” Miss Knightley was saying as Ezra approached the nursery. She was crouched beside a small table, where Iris sat with a slate, a stick of chalk, and a determined expression on her face.
“Ifor Iris,” the little girl said, watching closely as Miss Knightley drew the letter, leaving enough space for the child to copy the strokes.
“That’s right,” Miss Knightley said encouragingly. Even from where he lingered in the doorway, he could see the curve of her approving smile.
He tried not to linger on the thought of the governess, her smile, or her mouth. He had not seen much of her the past few days, and, at first, he’d been relieved. He didn’t like that she’d seen him at one of her weakest moments. He was embarrassed that she’d caught him weeping in his sleep like a terrified child, andhe was ashamed of himself for taking advantage of her kindness. She was a woman in his employ! Only the worst kind of cads took advantage of women who merited their protection.
But after his mortification had faded, he’d found that…
He rathermissedseeing her.
That was absurd. It wasridiculous! It had been meredayssince he had seen her last. If he was missing someone after that short a period of time… Well, he likely needed some sort of swift medical attention.
But when he’d come to the nursery today, he had done so to see Iris, yes. But there had been part of him that was also looking forward to seeing Miss Knightley.
He tried to think of it as little as he could manage. Iris needed his focus. Miss Knightley decidedly did not.
“Ifor Iris,” the child repeated, her hand a little shaky as she traced the chalk across the slate with a squeak. “That’s me.”
“That’syou?” Miss Knightley asked, sounding shocked. “I thoughtIwas Iris. You mean to tell me thatyouaren’t Miss Knightley?”
“No!” Iris squealed, delighted. “I’mIris!”
This time, the smile that crossed Ezra’s face had nothing to do with Miss Knightley. It was all Iris. She wastalking.
He’d heard as much. The housekeeper reported that Iris was thriving, and the butler confirmed it. If either of them wondered why Ezra was asking them rather than speaking with the woman he had specifically hired to care for the girl, they did not say anything.
He knocked gently on the doorframe. Both Miss Knightley and Iris quickly twisted around to look at him. Miss Knightley wore an instinctive smile, one that flickered as she blushed. She quickly replaced it with a more polished, professional look of pleased anticipation. Ezra forced himself not to analyze this, instead noting how Iris’ face changed from open and delighted to that same, closed-off look she’d worn when she first arrived in his house.
That stung. He was surprised by how much that stung.
He covered his reaction, too. He was usually good at that, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Knightley didn’t miss it.
“Good morning,” he said, forging ahead. “I just came to see how Iris is doing. Learning your letters, I see?”
All he got from the child was a blink, but Miss Knightley gave Iris an unmistakably fond smile.
“She is,” Miss Knightley agreed when it became clear that Iris didn’t plan to speak. “She’s getting quite good. She recognizes nearly all of them already, and she can write I and R. Once we manage S, she’ll be able to write her whole name.”
Iris’ face transformed as soon as she glanced at her governess, going from guarded wariness to open adoration in an instant. This time, the pang that went through Ezra was… jealousy. He shoved it away.
“And,” Miss Knightley went on, smoothing the little girl’s hair back from her face, “she can count all the way up to thirty.”
“Thirty-five,” Iris corrected sternly. “I just forgot some.”
Miss Knightley’s lips pressed together against her smile. She exchanged a glance with Ezra.
“Thirty-five,” she agreed. “With a few forgotten.”
“That’s very good,” Ezra praised, though, in truth, he had no idea what a four-year-old girl ought to know or not. As soon as he spoke, Iris’ head jerked back to him, and she looked wary again. “Iris, do you mind if I borrow Miss Knightley for a moment?”
She blinked several times. Then, she looked up at Miss Knightley for the answer.
Another pang. Maybe he was dyspeptic. All of this nonsense could not just beemotion. It was excessive.
“Practice your letters,” Miss Knightley said. “I will speak with your guardian and come back soon, all right?”
