Page 25 of Prelude To You

8

ISABEL

“Miss Isabel Le Roche, I presume?” asked the man who met me at the mansion’s front entrance. The doors looked like they belonged on a medieval castle, with black iron fittings and a snarling gargoyle for a knocker. These people didn’t mess around.

The man spoke the King’s English, and from his tailored suit I presumed he was high up in the household hierarchy. I didn’t know if wealthy Americans had butlers, but judging from the television shows I’d watched, I was staring one in the face.

“Hello, how are you?” I said as eloquently as I could. “And please, just call me Isabel.”

I wasn’t sure if he was the one in charge of hiring and firing readers, but I wanted to get off on the right foot. His gaze swept surreptitiously over my coat, as if it were quite the unfashionable phenomenon. He didn’t smile but maybe that was his job description, being cordial and restricting his opinions to glances of condemnation.

“I’m Nelson. I’m the house manager. For as long as you are our guest, I will be at your service.”

Since that sounded friendlier, I thought it a great moment to offer Nelson a macaron. But Murphy’s Law burst onto the scene and the confectionary box dipped sideways, sending my perfect macarons to shatter all over the doorstep.

“Oh God, oh God,” I blurted out. Nelson remained stoic as I sank down and started picking macaron bits from the floor.

“Please don’t bother doing that,” Nelson said. “Someone will clean it up.”

“But you don’t understand, I got up at five this morning to make these for you guys, and then Meg took two which made me a little nervous because I didn’t know how many co-workers I might have…” I said, scaling the fringes of panic. “Not that it matters anymore I guess.”

I ran out of breath, somewhat irritated that I hadn’t dealt with the situation more stylishly. Why was my first reaction to babble like a five-year-old on a sugar high? I mean, seriously.

“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Nelson said serenely. “Please do come in.”

I kept my exasperation all on the inside, allowing only my small inner voice to mock me.So, we were off to a solid start.

Not only did Nelson’s first impression of me involve a ratty coat, but my inability to keep things together was on full display. My future here was looking less bright with each second that ticked by.

Perhaps for an encore, I could see if there was anything priceless around here that needed to be destroyed.

Nelson stood aside for me to enter the fortress and oh my God, nothing could have prepared me for any of this. The foyer was the size of a tennis court, and that included the height.

And if the exterior showed little promise of warmth, the interior was a spectacular validation of that. Even if it was an ethereal feast for the eyes, snug and homey didn’t exactly leap to mind.

Nelson gave me a minute to pick my jaw up from the ground.

I looked at him, perplexed. “People actually live here?”

He ignored my quip with a neutral smile. And the morsel of confidence I had left melted away like mist in the desert sun. This guy was a hard nut to crack, and I wasn’t winning him over. If he was the person I had to impress with my reading skills, I definitely had a battle on my hands.

And my only peace offering, a culinary delight, now lay deceased on the doorstep of this mausoleum. I decided to quit trying so hard and just calm the hell down. At least failing this new job introduction completely occupied my mind, and Stranger found himself on the back burner.

For now.

So that was one thing to be thankful for. Though I felt sure it was just a matter of time before the sudden memory of that kiss would send a ripple of delight to mercilessly scorch the insides of my belly. But right now, my only goal was to get this job and KEEP it.

“Allow me to take your coat, Miss Le Roche,” Nelson offered.

I dropped my bag to the floor, wormed out of my coat and handed it to him. “Sure, thanks,” I said, self-consciously ironing out any wrinkles in my loose white shirt with trembling hands.

Suddenly my outfit didn’t seem appropriate at all; it was way too casual. Not that I had any clue what to wear to a fancy place like this.

Even though I appreciated Marguerite trying to get me a job, she could have prepared me for this culture shock. I was out of my league here, feeling like the piss-poor peasant sneaking around the king’s castle.

Nelson momentarily disappeared behind a door, and I concluded that he took my coat to where all ugly coats go to hang and die. He came back and nodded. “Miss Le Roche, if you’ll follow me, I will take you to Miss Leyland now.”

My nerves were already frayed, but I forced my face into a harmonious expression. “Sure. Is she the person I’m interviewing with?

---