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.
‘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,