Governess To The Sheikh. Laura Martin

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СКАЧАТЬ of course he did. He just didn’t always know what that was. His own father had been viewed by many as a liberal. He had sent Malik to be educated in Europe, insisted it was good for his son to be exposed to different cultures and people, but he had also been strict. Malik had never once received a hug from his father, or even anything more affectionate than a warm handshake, and he’d turned out just fine.

      ‘Ameera will one day be expected to marry into a good family,’ he said. His daughter might only be six, but he had learnt from his own father it was never too early to look to the future.

      ‘One day,’ Miss Talbot said, waving a hand in the air, ‘is a very long time away.’

      ‘Not all that long.’

      He had married Aliyyah when she was twenty. He had a horrible feeling time would speed by and suddenly his little Ameera would soon be the same age.

      Malik waited until their plates had been cleared away and the main course brought up to the rooftop. He couldn’t help but watch as his children’s governess bent over the dish, inhaling the exotic scent and looking on with anticipation a servant uncovered the side dishes that accompanied it.

      Most visitors to Huria from Europe were overwhelmed or outright disgusted that nearly all meals were eaten with the hands. Miss Talbot just watched him closely as he scooped up some of the spicy stew with a piece of flatbread and then did the same.

      ‘You will need to teach them arithmetic, geography, languages and world history. I will employ a local tutor to teach them the history of Huria.’ Malik glanced at Miss Talbot and wondered whether she would argue. She had seemed to protest against everything else he had said that evening.

      ‘That sounds like a wonderful plan,’ she said. ‘Of course I couldn’t hope to know all the intricacies of the history of a country like Huria.’ She paused and then continued mildly, ‘I will also be teaching the children music, a little natural science and engaging them in physical activity.’

      Malik put the piece of bread he had just broken off back down on his plate and exhaled slowly. She was infuriating. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone argue back, someone calmly pat you on the hand and then tell you they would disobey.

      ‘You will teach them arithmetic, geography, languages and world history,’ he repeated, struggling to keep his voice calm and level.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed. ‘Those subjects are very important. Especially languages.’

      Malik waited. He just knew she would have something more to say.

      ‘But children need a rounded education. They can’t be cooped up in a classroom all day.’

      He frowned. That was exactly what was supposed to happen. She was a governess, hired to teach his children. If she wasn’t going to do it in the classroom, then where was she planning on taking his children?

      ‘Miss Talbot,’ he said sternly—it was a voice many of his advisors cowered from, but she just sat there and smiled sunnily. ‘I have employed you to teach my children the subjects I see fit.’

      ‘And of course I will do that,’ she said. ‘But when we’re finished with arithmetic, languages, world history and geography we might branch out a little.’

      How could you ever be finished with world history? Or languages?

      She leaned forward and Malik found himself momentarily distracted by the swell of her breasts above her neckline. Hastily he looked away. Here he was preaching about how he wanted his children to behave and he couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming.

      ‘Why don’t you let me do it my way for a few weeks? If you really don’t like how your children are coming along, you can send me home.’

      Malik opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. She’d outmanoeuvred him. He was a skilled negotiator, always able to smooth things over with neighbouring countries or warring tribes, but he’d just been outmanoeuvred by a governess. He couldn’t argue with her logic—if he didn’t like how she did things he could always just send her home in a few weeks and employ someone more suitable.

      He glanced at her again—maybe someone a little less distracting, with that grey hair, stern visage and the scattered warts he had been expecting. Maybe someone who didn’t smile quite so much.

Chapter Three

      ‘Enough,’ Rachel proclaimed.

      Three sets of dark eyes looked at her with surprise. It was eleven in the morning and they still had another hour of lessons to go until they broke for lunch.

      ‘I think we need a change of scenery,’ she declared.

      None of the children moved. Insistently Rachel stood up and gathered one or two things from her desk. She needed fresh air and she needed to see some proper daylight. The palace was magnificent, there was no denying it; cool whitewashed rooms were never far away from bubbling fountains or beautiful mosaics, but the schoolroom had something to be desired. It was plain and boring, there was no way of getting round it. Rachel supposed the Sheikh or one of his aides had thought it best to keep the room as dull as possible so as not to distract the children from their studies. The result was a room Rachel was dying to get out of after just two hours.

      ‘Come, children, we will finish our lessons outside.’

      She had reached the door before anyone moved, but as she stepped outside into the bright sunlight she heard the scraping of the wooden chairs against the floor.

      Rachel made a beeline for a shaded area, arranged her skirts around her, and sat down. The children followed awkwardly and stood looking down at her.

      ‘Now to finish off the morning we are going to work on developing your imaginations.’

      One of the toughest things Rachel was finding was tailoring her lessons to three children of different ages and abilities. Aahil was intelligent and probably the most confident of the three when it came to answering her questions. Little Hakim was still so very young, but Rachel could see that under his shy exterior he had a quick mind. Ameera had refused to answer any of Rachel’s questions, instead preferring to scuff her feet along the floor and sigh loudly whenever Rachel spoke.

      ‘Between us we are going to tell a story,’ Rachel explained. ‘I will go first, set the scene and introduce a character or two. Then we will all take it in turns to add to the story.’

      It was a game Rachel had played many times with her school friends on cold, wet, winter afternoons. For a moment Rachel pictured herself back at Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies and felt a pang of homesickness. She wondered how Joanna was faring in Hertfordshire. Of all her friends Rachel was most concerned for quiet, kind Joanna. Found abandoned on the steps of the school when just a baby, Joanna had never had a family, never known who her parents were. Rachel’s friend wanted so much to belong somewhere and had been excited about the prospect of becoming part of the family she was being employed by, but Rachel just hoped they treated her kindly and not like a servant. Joanna had so much love and warmth to give, she deserved happiness.

      Pulling herself back to the present before Aahil could protest this wasn’t educational enough or Ameera could vocalise whatever criticism was making its way from her brain to her lips, Rachel began the story.

      ‘Once СКАЧАТЬ