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When Nathalie arrived home, her mother’s white Honda CRV was already in the driveway.
Vivienne stepped from her vehicle. “How did it go?”
Nathalie gave her a reassuring smile. “Don will take good care of Dad’s company.”
“I know he will.”
Her two suitcases waited by the door. Nathalie did one last run-through of her home. The water was turned off, heat set to sixty-five. Refrigerator emptied. She glanced wistfully at the framed watercolor on her bedroom wall.
She’d paint another. One that Ryder could hang in a home they shared.
The drive to Dulles went by too quickly. Nathalie clung to her mother at the curb.
“You’ve got this.” Her mother kissed her, her eyes shining. “Call me when you land.”
Nathalie’s throat swelled. “I’ll miss you, Mom. Take care of yourself.” She hesitated, then added, “and Lucas, too. He needs someone to look out for him.”
It felt strange to think of her mother with anyone besides her dad, but Vivienne was in her early fifties, with plenty of life left to live. Nathalie didn’t want either her mom or her godfather to spend the rest of their lives alone. If something ever developed between them, she would give them her blessing.
Bags checked, she passed through security to her boarding gate, grabbing a coffee from Starbucks on the way. Her nerves were as shaky now as they had been as an eighteen-year-old when she’d boarded a plane alone, bound for Oxford for the first time.
Would her bold move be a step forward into a new, fulfilling life? Or would it become a harsh reminder that she couldn’t turn back the clock and start over?
The gate intercom crackled to life, interrupting her musings. “Ladies and gentlemen, in just a minute we will begin boarding United Airlines Flight 654 to London-Heathrow.”
Eleven hours later, Nathalie gazed around the ornate lobby of the headquarters of Arborleigh Holdings. All shiny marble and brass, a large Dale Chihuly sculpture in the center advertised the company’s wealth and discriminating taste.
After deplaning, she’d gotten a room at a hotel near the airport to shower and change into her power suit—the navy blue one she secretly despised with its conservative hemline and lightly padded shoulders. It projected the image she needed today.
Successful businesswoman.
Someone who would not be intimidated.
She was no longer the naïve twenty-one-year-old Philip Montague had taken to lunch at an exclusive club gleaming with privilege and upper-class rules of etiquette in order to make clear she didn’t fit into Ryder’s world.
The click of her heels echoed through the cavernous space as she made her way to the long, white marble reception desk where three people in their twenties—two men and a woman—answered phones and guarded the inner sanctum.
“I’d like to speak with Lord Cannington, please.”
Gatekeeper Number One, a man with neatly trimmed brown hair and a dark gray suit, gave her a discreet once over. “Do you have an appointment, Miss…?”
“Williams, Nathalie Williams. And, no, I do not. But please let him know I’m here, waiting.” She gave the man a confident stare, one that telegraphed knowledge of the earl’s displeasure if she wasn’t allowed through. “He’ll want to see me.”
Her tone must have worked. The man picked up his telephone. “Yes, a Ms. Williams is here to see Lord Cannington.” His gaze darted nervously between her and his computer. “Someone will be with you shortly,” he told her as he hung up with what she presumed was Gatekeeper Number Two.
Nathalie suppressed a sigh. She’d worn a high-necked blouse so no one could see her pulse battering the vein in her neck. She kept her hands at her sides, careful not to fall into any telltale postures that would convey her anxiety. If she could face down a room full of Air Force generals, she could handle Ryder’s father.
Another set of heels clicked sharply across the floor. The receptionist leaped to his feet and practically stood at attention. “Madam.”
Nathalie’s brows rose. Gatekeeper Number Two must be way above this guy’s pay grade.
She twisted to meet the newcomer. Tall, with chestnut brown hair pulled back near the top of her head in a loose bun, the woman wore a tailored cranberry suit that made Nathalie’s power suit look like an off-the-rack bargain. Her electric blue eyes were cool, with a hint of curiosity lurking in their depths.
Rebecca Montague.
Ryder’s older sister extended her hand. “Hello, Nathalie. It’s been a long time.”
“Eight years. Hello, Becca.” Nathalie shook her hand, returning the formal greeting.