Chapter 46
The Moment Our Eyes Met

The children, who had been chattering and laughing so loudly their voices rang in everyone’s ears, fell astonishingly quiet once they stepped inside the villa. Their eyes glittered with curiosity as they glanced around, but none dared to play or make a racket as before.

Layla, calming the frightened Monica, was the last to enter. The Duke’s servants received the young guests with the same courtesy they would show nobles.

“This way, please.”

They were led from the guest hall into the drawing room. Matthias sat waiting, his back to the river-facing windows. Stepping into the place that held nothing but memories of fear, humiliation, and shame, Layla instinctively held her breath.

“Thank you so much, Your Grace, for not only permitting us to visit Arvis but for your generous hospitality,” Miss Greber greeted him in an excited tone.

Layla felt some relief. If Miss Greber kept up her enthusiasm, then Layla Llewellyn could remain quiet—like a piece of furniture—and slip away unnoticed.

“It is I who should thank you for accepting such a sudden invitation,” Matthias replied, slowly rising. The light at his back obscured his face, making his presence feel even larger.

“Teacher, it hurts.”

Layla, who had been staring blankly at his silhouette, came back to herself at Monica’s soft whisper.

“My hand hurts.”

When their eyes met, Monica mumbled again. Only then did Layla realize she had been clutching the child’s hand too tightly. Her eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, Monica. Truly sorry.”

Flustered, Layla massaged the girl’s hand. At that moment, the door to the balcony opened, letting in a river-scented breeze.

She turned her head and saw the tea table set out in the sunlight. The crisp white cloth rippled gently with the wind.

“Shall we?”

Matthias’s gaze slid past Layla and settled on Miss Greber. Blushing, she laid her hand on his arm, accepting his escort.

The children, flushed with excitement, followed close behind. Layla, holding Monica’s hand, was once again the last to step out.

“It feels like we’ve really become princesses, Teacher!”

Monica’s wide eyes sparkled as she whispered in awe. Layla nodded in agreement.

The table was laden so richly it was hard to believe it had been prepared on such short notice. Layla’s gaze lingered on the centerpiece of crimson cockscomb and white ammi before passing over the fine china and silverware—far too lavish for village children—and finally landing on the Schulte River, dazzling beneath the sun.

A shard of light struck her glasses and scattered. Following that glint, Matthias’s eyes found hers.

Blue water. White sunlight. Crimson forest.

Amid Arvis’s vivid autumn, their eyes met.

Monica gasped over and over, overwhelmed by beauty, by the Duke’s elegance, by the taste of cake.

“Wow…”

This time it was ice cream that drew her exclamation. She stared at the dish in disbelief before urgently tugging at Layla.

“Taste it, Teacher—it tastes like clouds!”

Layla blinked, baffled, before understanding. Smiling faintly, she wiped the ice cream from the child’s lips with a napkin.

Monica had only just started school that year. Small, timid, and withdrawn, she hadn’t fit in with the others and often burst into tears wanting to go home. For weeks, Layla had nearly wept alongside her. Yet now she was the pupil who clung most devotedly to her teacher. After Layla learned Monica’s mother had passed away last spring, her sympathy deepened.

“Teacher, have some too.”

“No, Monica. I’m fine.”

Layla wavered but refused gently. There was no rule against adults eating ice cream, but this was clearly for the children. She could not bring herself to let the Duke see her eat it.

Instead, she sipped her lukewarm tea and tuned back into the conversation. As hoped, Miss Greber was keeping things lively, with Matthias responding courteously. His short answers and impeccable smiles gave away nothing—but that very perfection emphasized his superiority. A refined arrogance.

“Teacher, please try! It’s so good!”

While Layla studied the Duke as if he were some specimen, Monica suddenly hopped up with her dish. Layla startled at the tug on her sleeve—and in that instant, the ice cream slipped, splattering onto her skirt.

All eyes turned.

“I-I’m so sorry, Teacher!”

Monica’s face drained white.

“It’s all right,” Layla soothed, smiling at her. She dabbed at the mess with a napkin while the maids hurried forward to clean the floor.

Watching, Matthias flicked a glance at the nearest maid. At once, she stepped forward to lead Layla, flustered with sticky hands and stained skirts, to the powder room.

Once she left, the children began to settle again under Bill’s gruff comfort.

“Your Grace, Sir Klein is asking for you on the line,” a valet murmured.

The more Layla wiped at her skirt, the worse the stain spread. With a sigh, she gave up and washed her hands. Thankfully, the dark fabric hid most of it.

She turned off the gilded faucet carefully, checked her reflection, and smoothed her hair. Her cheeks were a little flushed from the effort. Taking a steadying breath, she stepped back into the corridor—only to freeze.

Matthias was there, leaning against the wall.

Their eyes met.

No… surely not.

Layla scanned the hall. He must be waiting for something else. Surely not her.

But the seconds dragged on, and he did not move. He simply watched her, lips curved in a smile no one who called him a perfect gentleman would ever imagine. A smile that, for Layla, never meant anything good.

Her throat tightened. She clasped her hands together, willing herself to stay calm. If she lingered, it would look suspicious. She had to pass him.

She walked forward cautiously, tense as if marching into battle. Matthias shifted at the last moment, blocking her way.

She stumbled back in shock. His smirk deepened.

He had finished his call but turned back instead of rejoining the balcony. He’d chosen to wait. To see what might happen. Just as now.

Layla tried to skirt him, but the corridor was narrow. She edged closer. His foot darted out. She recoiled.

For an instant, she thought she’d avoided disaster. But he hadn’t tried to trip her—only feinted, making her jump like a startled rabbit.

His quiet chuckle followed her humiliation. Then, as if nothing had happened, he walked on and returned to the balcony.

Layla remained rooted to the spot. Who would believe her if she spoke of such absurd cruelty?

Shaking her head hard, she drew herself tall and followed. Out on the balcony, Matthias stood once again the picture of nobility, smiling pleasantly as he conversed with Miss Greber.

“Perfect timing, Miss Llewellyn!” Miss Greber beamed.

“We’re going boating!”

“Boating?”

“His Grace has offered the children the use of his boats. On this beautiful river, no less!”

“Oh… but I…”

Layla faltered, but Bill stepped in.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but Layla has a deep fear of water. She won’t be able to board a boat.”

“Ah. I see.”

Matthias looked at her with feigned regret. He had been there when she nearly drowned—yet he acted as if it were news.

“Then Miss Llewellyn shall remain here to rest.”

Why this sudden pretense of concern? Layla couldn’t fathom it. But while she hesitated, the children were already rushing off with the servants.

“I’ll go in her stead, Miss Llewellyn,” Miss Greber assured.

“Yes, Layla. I’ll keep an eye on the little ones,” Bill added, chuckling as he took Monica’s hand. Strangely, the child who usually trembled at him now followed happily.

“Thank you, Miss Greber. And you too, Uncle Bill.”

Grateful, Layla bowed her head. They were good people—unlike the Duke. And she was relieved to be spared his company.

But why wasn’t he leaving?

Even after everyone else had gone, Matthias remained. And then she understood: a Duke joining a village children’s boating trip would be stranger still.

Realizing she’d trapped herself, Layla leapt to her feet in alarm. Below, two boats glided from the villa’s boathouse. Bill and Miss Greber each boarded one, guiding the children as servants rowed.

“Teacher! Teacher!”

The children waved and shouted up at her, laughing.

“We’ll be back soon, Teacher!”

Even timid Monica waved, smiling brightly.

Layla’s heart sank. She was too late to follow—and now she was alone.

“Sit.”

The voice was low and cold as the river wind.

Layla whirled around. Matthias lounged in his chair, watching her.

“Layla.”

He hummed her name like a tune, smiling.