Awakening The Shy Miss
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Not a finish. Dimitri pushed the thought away immediately and without tolerance. He wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on what else this evening was; the beginning of the end. This was the last project, his final foray abroad before he had to return to Kuban and take his place at court as all loyal, royal Kubanian males did when they turned thirty. He’d known this day would come. He’d been raised for it, but knowing its imminence didn’t make it any easier to accept. To give up this world and all its riches now, when there was so much more to learn, seemed a great tragedy. But not yet. There were still a few months. There was still time and he would be damned if he’d let the future pollute the present.
He turned his attention to Andrew at the sideboard preparing brandies. ‘You, my friend, were rude this evening.’ It would be far better to occupy his thoughts with more immediate issues. Andrew usually behaved with good manners. Not so tonight.
‘Rude?’ Andrew laughed and handed him a brandy before taking the seat opposite and settling in. A cool evening breeze drifted in from the open French doors of the study, a perfect late summer night. ‘To whom? I was charming to everyone who matters.’
Dimitri cocked an eyebrow and engaged in good-humoured debate. ‘The pretty girl doesn’t matter? That’s not like you, Andrew. I thought pretty girls were your specialty.’ Pretty, rich girls. But Dimitri was too much of a friend to say that out loud.
‘There were lots of pretty girls tonight.’ Andrew grinned and sipped his brandy. ‘Which one?’
‘The first one. Evaine,’ Dimitri prompted.
‘Evaine? Oh, Evie.’ Andrew shrugged dismissively. ‘She’s always around. Good sort, I suppose. Rather shy. You think she’s pretty? We grew up together. I suppose I never thought of her as pretty or otherwise.’
‘Well, she’s clearly thought of you,’ Dimitri probed. The girl had been eager for Andrew’s attention, all smiles and doting eyes whenever he looked at her, which was seldom. Andrew had been oblivious. His friend might not have noticed Evaine Milham, but he had. It was a habit of his, to excavate people the way he excavated sites. He liked looking beyond their surfaces to find their true natures. It made him a better judge of character. He’d seen a far different woman than the girl Andrew so readily dismissed.
Behind the plain upsweep of her hair and the quiet way she presented herself, Evaine Milham had fine features and a wide, generous mouth that lit up her face when she smiled—which was not in public company. She’d been uncomfortable tonight. Her hair might have been simply styled, but its colour was lustrous, a deep chestnut that reminded him of autumn afternoons. Her gown, also simple in fashion, had been intricately embroidered around the hem, where no one would notice. Another sign that she was not a woman who craved attention. Yet there was a certain quiet steel to her. When she’d been pushed to it, she had stood up for herself, demanding the respect she was due.
Taken together, these were no minor clues that Evie Milham was more than she appeared. It was too bad people didn’t look close enough to see those things. He would wager there were secret depths to Miss Milham. ‘I think she might be pretty if she were to do something with her hair.’ Dimitri decided to nudge the point. ‘Perhaps you should give her a second look. It’s no small thing to have a woman’s affection.’ A man could lay claim to no greater prize in this world than a woman’s loyalty. His parents’ marriage had taught him that. It had also taught him that such a gift should be protected, not shunned with the casual disregard Andrew showed Miss Milham.
Andrew gave another shrug as if to suggest it was nothing new, that he was used to having the women of West Sussex fall at his feet with adoring eyes. It was probably true. Andrew had never been short on female attention when they’d travelled together. His new friend had a knack for finding the loveliest, wealthiest woman in a room and latching on to her.
‘Evie’s not my type.’ Andrew’s tone was dismissive without hesitation. Miss Evie Milham would be disappointed to hear she’d been summarily discarded. She’d seemed quite interested, as if Andrew was her type. Andrew took a healthy swallow from his glass. ‘Never has been, never will be. She’s not rich enough by far. I suppose it’s a good thing I haven’t noticed her looks. It would hardly matter how beautiful she was if there’s no money to go with her, and in her case there isn’t. At least, not enough for me. Her father’s a baronet, not exactly a gold mine.’
Dimitri nodded noncommittally on both accounts, keeping his thoughts to himself. Andrew was not usually so harsh when it came to women. Tonight, he was downright callous. It was also the closest Andrew had ever come to admitting he was in the market for a certain type of bride. Dimitri had noticed, of course—the desire to be with the richest women, the state of the furnishings in Andrew’s home, which were comfortably worn out of necessity as opposed to a fashion choice. Still, Andrew was no pauper. Andrew lived well. He drank the finest brandies. In Paris, he’d spent money on opera seats and the expensive opera singers that went with them. Andrew simply didn’t like making economies. Apparently, Evaine Milham was an economy.
Dimitri gave his brandy a contemplative swirl. He had to be careful here. Who was he to judge? He was a prince with no apparent financial limitations. He had wealth untold as long as he returned to Kuban on time. He would never have to worry about economies. And yet, Andrew had the one thing that eluded him. Freedom. The freedom to go anywhere, to do anything, to be anything. There were nights when Dimitri thought he’d trade all the wealth of Kuban for that freedom and a pair of shabby chairs. He leaned back and sighed contentedly. ‘It was a good idea to come here, Andrew. Thank you for this opportunity.’
* * *
There were nights when Andrew knew without question he’d trade everything he had, everything he was, to be Dimitri Petrovich, Prince of Kuban: rich, handsome, charismatic, with the world at his feet. This was one of those nights. He’d seen the people approach Dimitri with something close to awe, the men impressed with his title and knowledge, the women impressed with just him. Andrew longed to command a room like that. He had his own charisma, it was true, but he knew it didn’t rival Dimitri’s magnetism. Of course, money probably had something to do with it. Money always had something to do with everything.
It was also one of those nights when he found Dimitri irritatingly high-minded. Of course, it was easy to be without sin when one was wealthy enough not to have to care. Andrew rose and poured another glass of brandy—the good stuff. If he had to listen to Dimitri go on and on about his plans for the villa excavation, he might as well enjoy himself. ‘This will be good for Little Westbury. The excavation will provide jobs.’ Andrew tuned it out. He had heard it all before, how retrieving history created a sense of local pride in small communities, how it helped the economy, not just labourers at the site, but the businesses that supported a large labour force: farmers, bakers, butchers who supplied the food required for such an endeavour; tourism and news stories that would bring people here, people who might require more services than a single inn or tavern could provide. The town might need two such places. The Prince had vision and he had the talent to give others vision too, Andrew would give him that.
After all, hadn’t the Prince given him vision? The vision of how dusty, broken artefacts could be translated into shiny gold. Once Andrew had seen the possibilities, history had become a lot more interesting. This villa excavation was going to be his own personal gold mine. He’d finally have the funds he needed, the prestige he needed, to live at the standard he wanted. There would be no more tatty chairs and worn curtains, no more carefully going over the account ledgers of his grandfather’s shrinking estate to make sure the books balanced. Andrew was not interested in what the excavation would do for Little Westbury, but what it could do for him. He would finally be free.
Chapter Three
‘So, how did it go last night?’ The question hit Evie the moment two of her best friends stepped down from the open carriage. It was mid-morning and the sun was riding high towards its noon heat. Soon it would be hot, but for now it was pleasantly warm and Evie let Beatrice and May link their arms through hers, flanking her on either side as they set off for shopping in the village.
Anyone watching them advance down the street would see three young, chattering women, all smiles and laughter, even carefree. In part, that might be true. Evie knew the primary purpose for this shopping expedition was to hear about the excitement of her evening. No one saw the other agenda that brought them together. No one could be allowed to. It was their secret. Time was running out. They might not be together much longer. Already, their fourth, Claire, was on her honeymoon far away in Vienna, where she’d live with her new husband. Beatrice would be the next to go, probably in a few weeks.
Evie shot a covert glance at Beatrice’s middle, softly rounding beneath the loose cotton muslin of her summer gown, proof that it was going to happen. Beatrice was pregnant. And unwed. She would be leaving for Scotland soon, where she could have her baby at a distant relative’s home and her family could forget about her shame. Beatrice’s stay in Little Westbury was merely a two week stop-over in preparation for that journey.
‘Well?’ May prompted with a mischievous glint in her eyes. ‘Did anything happen last night? I heard the assembly hall was a crush.’
Evie smiled at each of her friends in turn as she related her story; how she’d sat behind Andrew and found a way to move up next to him for the toast; how she hadn’t given up and followed Andrew to the stage. She left out other details like Andrew’s disregard.
‘Well done!’ May commended her, gesturing to the shop window on her right. ‘Let’s stop in here at the Emporium. I need to get some drawing paper and pens.’
Masterson’s Emporium was the social hub of Little Westbury, a shop that carried a variety of goods ranging from planting seeds to ready-made gloves straight from London. Customers milled about, looking over the goods in the dim coolness of the shop. A few children ogled the row of sweets displayed in glass jars.
‘How did Andrew take your presence?’ Beatrice sifted through a bin of soaps, lifting them at random to sniff as they waited for May.
‘He was surprised,’ Evie answered honestly. ‘He didn’t expect to see me and it flustered him.’ She didn’t want to admit Andrew had forgotten to introduce her. Beatrice didn’t like Andrew as it was. Bea thought he wasn’t worthy of her. This would just give Bea fuel for that fire. ‘I met the Prince,’ Evie offered brightly, hoping to distract Bea.
‘How was he? Arrogant? Haughty?’ Bea sniffed a citrus-scented soap and wrinkled her nose before putting it back down.
‘No, he was neither.’ Evie gave Bea a quizzical glance. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘He’s a prince. Men like him have a certain tendency towards pretension.’
Evie laughed. ‘Be nice, Bea. He was very cordial last night.’ More than cordial. She couldn’t recall the last time a man had been that ‘cordial’ to her. She couldn’t forget those eyes, her body couldn’t forget the feel of his lips brushing her knuckles. Her mind had rebelliously kept her awake last night with a hungry curiosity. What would it be like to be a woman who truly caught his attentions? She would never be that woman. But it was harmless to wonder from afar.
Bea gave a soft smile. ‘You’re too kind, Evie, always looking for the best in all of us.’
May hurried up to them, a brown wrapped package under her arm. ‘I’m ready to go. Where to next?’
‘The draper’s, I need to get some fabric. I’ve a new dress in mind for autumn.’ It was a beautiful russet silk she’d ordered from a warehouse in London when she’d been in town. She could hardly wait to get started on it. Evie smiled as they set off down the street. ‘You’ve heard all my news, now I want to hear yours.’ The threesome had not seen each other since Claire’s farewell ball in London. Evie and her family had set out for home immediately afterwards, arriving a week ago. May and Bea had only reached Little Westbury the day before after a sudden delay in departure plans.
‘I don’t think there’s much to tell,’ Beatrice began slowly. Too slowly. Evie sensed there was something afoot, but there was no time to enquire.
May squeezed her arm, whispering in frantic excitement, ‘Who is that? He’s crossing the street and coming towards us!’
Evie looked down the street where a tall man in high boots and summer buckskin sans pleats strode towards them swinging a walking stick at his side. She recognised him immediately, pleats or not. ‘That’s the Prince of Kuban, Dimitri Petrovich, himself.’ All six feet and two inches of himself. Her sartorial eye noted the excellence of his wardrobe. He was dressed for an English summer day in a single-breasted tailcoat of camel with a waistcoat in bone linen, set off with a deep green cravat the colour of the forest. But no matter how English his clothing, no one would mistake him for an Englishman, not with that long hair pulled into a sleek tail behind him, making his high cheekbones all the more prominent, his eyes all that more exotic.
‘He is certainly all man,’ May murmured appreciatively. ‘Just look at that swagger.’ Against her better judgement, Evie’s eyes drifted down to his open-hipped stroll, which bordered on decadent. Even his walk was exotic. Good heavens, she really had to find a new word. He was handsome. Perhaps if she wasn’t focused on Andrew, she might find him attractive in a more personal way. For now, though, the attraction was limited to his mannerisms, his fashion. She truly did admire his clothes. Even if she didn’t have her heart set on Andrew, admiring the prince’s clothes was all a girl like her could do. One only had to look at him, so confident, so handsome, so male, and then look at her to know she never stood a chance. She wasn’t the type who caught princes. She was too odd. London had taught her that in the most brutal way possible.
‘Miss Milham, good day.’ The Prince gave a short bow in greeting. ‘What a pleasure to encounter you.’ Evie was aware of Beatrice and May exchanging quiet looks. Her usually confident friends seemed daunted by his presence.
Evie dipped a curtsy. ‘Your Highness, may I introduce my friends? This is Miss May Worth and Miss Beatrice Penrose.’
He greeted each in turn, taking their hands and smiling at them, his eyes as warm and genuine as they’d been last night, proof that she’d been right. These rituals were mere politeness to him. They meant nothing. He asked how they were enjoying the weather and enquired about their errands, making small talk, doing the work of putting them at ease. He must do it all the time, Evie realised, watching the interaction. Everywhere he went, people were probably in awe of him, in awe of being in the company of a royal prince. Did he ever get tired of the effort?
Then he was talking to her and she forgot her speculations. ‘It’s quite fortuitous that I’ve run into you, Miss Milham. I was hoping to take you up on the offer to view your tapestry. I regret we did not get to speak of it more in depth last night.’
Evie blushed under the weight of Bea’s and May’s stares. They were wondering what she hadn’t told them. ‘You are welcome to view it any time. Someone is always at home,’ Evie managed. Beside her, May straightened, her posture becoming alert. That worried her. Apparently, May had overcome any self-consciousness.
‘Tomorrow,’ May interjected with a smile to the Prince. ‘You should come tomorrow to view the tapestry. Evie is always home on Tuesdays in the afternoon and the light in the tapestry room is very good around one o’clock.’ Oh, sweet heavens, May had invited the Prince to her house! Had, in fact, all but begged him to come over. Even for May, this bordered on mortifying. Evie was suddenly wishing the Prince had been a little more awe-inspiring.
‘May—’ Evie tried to mitigate her friend’s boldness. The poor man would feel trapped. ‘He might be busy.’
But the Prince took May’s boldness in his stride. He didn’t sound trapped. ‘One o’clock it is.’ He looked in her direction. ‘If that is acceptable to you, Miss Milham?’
May’s foot came down on hers under their skirts before she could think of politely refusing. Evie heard herself squeak, ‘One o’clock would be fine,’ before the Prince smiled once more and continued down the street.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Evie whirled on May the moment the Prince was out of sight. ‘You invited a foreign dignitary to my house! My house. You don’t even live there. Since when do you invite guests to other people’s homes?’
May gave a smug laugh, unfazed by the outburst. Evie was envious of that laugh, that confidence. Nothing bothered May, not even a flagrant disregard for the rules. ‘Since you started passing up perfectly good opportunities to spend time with handsome men.’ May pulled her into a quiet side street. ‘He was angling for an invitation and you were prevaricating with your generic responses. “Come over any time,”’ May mimicked.
‘I didn’t want him to feel coerced.’ Evie folded her arms over her chest in defence.
‘Oh, I assure you, he wasn’t feeling coerced. He was running wild and free with no fences in sight,’ May replied, blowing out a frustrated breath. ‘Evie, a handsome man who is also a royal, foreign prince wanted to come to your house. How many times do you think that happens, especially in West Sussex?’
‘To see a tapestry,’ Evie reminded her.
May was undaunted. ‘Who cares about the reason why? He’s still coming.’
‘I’m not interested in him that way,’ Evie explained patiently. ‘I’m interested in Andrew.’ She didn’t need to catch a prince, nor did she want to. Her sights were firmly set on Andrew Adair. Besides, what would a man like the Prince—a dashing, well-travelled, sensual man—do with a girl like her who’d never been out of England? It seemed an exercise in futility to even imagine it; a very warm exercise that she had no business entertaining in broad daylight on a village street.
‘Let me try, May.’ Beatrice stepped up. ‘Evie, dear, you can use the Prince as leverage. Men are competitive creatures.
‘Once Andrew sees another man interested in you, it will pique his own curiosity, especially if that man is a royal prince and a friend. Andrew will wonder what he’s been missing.’
‘And he’ll make the effort to find out?’ Evie supplied the rest. She beamed at her friends. Perhaps May’s plan was pure genius after all. ‘What would I do without you? I’m so glad you’re here.’ She paused and gasped as a sudden thought hit her. ‘You will come tomorrow, won’t you? Both of you? You’ll know what to say, what to do. You know what my father will be like. He’ll go on and on about King Arthur and all of his books far longer than is decent and my mother will be so overset about a prince coming to visit, she’ll spend the afternoon on the fainting couch or pestering the cook for perfection.’ Her parents were good people, but they were not social people. Entertaining was not their strong suit. ‘I can’t possibly face the Prince alone.’
There was no rush of assurances. She had the sense again that something was wrong. Bea and May exchanged another of those looks between them. They’d been doing that a lot today. May took her hand, her blue eyes serious. ‘We’d love to be there, but I’m afraid we can’t make it.’ She flicked a glance at Bea and Beatrice nodded. ‘We are leaving tomorrow for Scotland.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Evie protested. ‘But you’ve barely arrived?’ She looked at Bea. ‘What has happened? We were supposed to have two weeks.’
Bea’s hand went protectively to her stomach. When she pressed like that, catching the fabric so that it was flat against her body, her stomach looked larger, the pregnancy more advanced. ‘I’m showing sooner than expected.’ She bit her lip.
Evie felt immediately selfish. ‘I can let out some more dresses for you. We can do it this afternoon.’ She’d been altering Bea’s clothes for her since the spring, using her needle to keep Bea’s pregnancy discreet.
‘That’s sweet of you, Evie, but no.’ Bea gave a sad smile and shook her head. ‘My parents would be more comfortable knowing I’m safe in Scotland before any speculation begins.’ That was putting a polite trim on it, Evie thought. Beatrice’s parents were worried about scandal more than they were worried about their daughter’s safety.
Beatrice put a brave face on. ‘Besides, if I’m showing so soon the baby might be early, it might be twins. It will be good to be away and settled before too much longer.’ She meant before November, when the baby was due. Late autumn didn’t seem so far away when one looked at it like that. In less than four months Beatrice would be a mother. Alone. Evie glanced at May. No, not alone. ‘You’re going with her?’
‘Yes.’ May’s eyes met hers in a silent plea for understanding. Evie nodded. Beatrice needed May more now than she did.
‘I’m glad you’ll be with her.’ It was the truth. Beatrice shouldn’t be alone. If her family refused to be there to help her through the birth, then her friends definitely should be. She wasn’t sure how May had arranged it, but it did bring her a sense of comfort to know May would be there.
Beatrice reached for her other hand. ‘We are sorry to leave you, Evie. But I think May has set you on a path towards success.’ The words offered a new light to May’s bold gesture. It had been a parting gift. May had pushed her towards her future with the invitation to the Prince.
The import of that didn’t escape her. They weren’t the Left Behind Girls Club any more. Claire had Jonathon. Beatrice would have May and the new baby. Everyone was moving forward. For the first time since their childhood days, Evie was on her own.
Chapter Four
Dimitri strolled promptly down Evie’s drive at half-past one the next day, admiring the haphazard compilation of bricks and time that was the Milhams’ house. Definitely Elizabethan, he concluded, in its initial construction. He could make out the symmetry of the era in the roofline. He squinted up against the sun to take a more professional interest in the house. An archaeologist was part-historian, part-architect and part-expert in a host of other subjects as well. He picked out a few themes with his keen eye. There was a nod to early Georgian in the pediment above the front door.
That pediment was likely the most recent addition to the house’s eclectic architecture. From the state of the front gardens, the latest generation hadn’t paid much attention to the external state of the house. He strode along a gravel drive where flowers grew in wild anarchy alongside, having long ago given up any adherence to the limits of the beds they’d been planted in. There were no boundaries here, none of the order of the organised, ornamental gardens of Kuban, modelled on the tamed excellence of Versailles. There were no pruned hedges or carefully shaped bushes. Yet, the look suited the place much better. Many back home would disagree with him, would give such wild nature a disparaging glance. He found it charming, a peaceful haven. He wondered what the Kuban nobility would do if he replicated such a style at his home.
The housekeeper answered his knock and he stepped inside, his senses taking it all in with the astute eye of an archaeologist trained to look for patterns and behaviours: books stacked on consoles in the hallway, books lining shelves in every room the housekeeper took him past, some books lying open. The interior matching the exterior perfectly. The occupants of this house had far more important priorities than landscaping. They lived an internal life of the mind.
‘I’ll let Miss Milham know you’re here.’ The housekeeper left him in a cheery yellow sitting room, where more books populated the walls and a small, cosy cluster of furniture upholstered in yellow-and-rose chintz resided in the wide bow of the windows.