“Rotslavia,” he offered.
“Yes. Rotslavia.” She nodded. “Thanks. So, you had British nannies. And I heard that wasn’t so good.”
“They were mean. And Kat hated them.”
“Right. Kat doesn’t want a nanny.”
He forked into his sausage with a gloomy expression. “Or a governess.” His eyes lit. “But I do. I like you, Miss Meri.”
“Thank you, Mishka. I like you too. And I’ll do my best to convince Kat that you both can use a bit of help. Maybe she won’t be so against it.” She got an idea. “Hey, Mishka. You can help this go better.”
“I can? How?”
“You could try being nicer to your sister. Don’t tease her. And do not call her ugly. Maybe you could even listen to her—or pretend to listen—when she bosses you around.”
His nose wrinkled. “I have to do all that?”
“If you want me to stay, it may help. Or maybe you want another British nanny?”
He shook his head.
“If you can be kinder to Kat, not get her so riled up, maybe I can win her over too. We know she loves sports. And I’m fairly athletic. If I can play some sports with her, maybe she will change her thoughts about having a nanny.”
“I guess that might work.” He looked puzzled. “Are youactuallygood at sports?”
She shrugged. “I’m okay.”
“Do you think…I mean, would you…could you help me? Because when I go to school with the other boys and it’s time to go outside…well, it’s not much fun.”
“Do they pick on you because you’re not good at sports?” she asked gently.
He barely nodded.
“If I stay here, I promise you, Mishka, before I go you will be better at sports.”
Before he could respond, Kat came into the dining room. Instead of acting surprised that the girl hadn’t slept in until nine, Meredith commented on how delicious the crepes were. Kat put a couple things on her plate, filled a glass with orange juice, and sat down.
“It’s a beautiful day out there,” Meredith said cheerfully. “This morning would be perfect for a little tennis match.”
“Can I watch?” Mishka asked.
“You hate tennis.” Kat narrowed her eyes. “Why would you want to watch?”
“Maybe he’s getting old enough to appreciate the sport,” Meredith suggested.
Kat let out a snicker. “That’d be a laugh.”
“You don’t know—”
“Mishka,” Meredith interrupted Mishka. “Food in your mouth?” She locked eyes with him, hoping he was getting her message.
“Oh.” He put his napkin to his lips, dramatically wiping them as if he understood then mumbled an apology.
“It looks like you’re done, Mishka.” Meredith pointed in front of him. “Can you take your empty plate to the kitchen?”
“That’s not our job,” Mishka protested.
Meredith remembered they were royalty. “Well, I know that. I thought it would be kind to do…for Mrs. Warner. I plan to take mine in and thank her for a delicious breakfast. But you don’t have to if it’s too much to ask.” Would reverse psychology work on that overly smart boy? He picked up his plate and struggled with his silverware but eventually carried everything to the kitchen.
