Awakening The Shy Miss. Bronwyn Scott
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distaste as if that explained why her father hadn’t been included in the initial investors in the site, all men from London with further-reaching historical interests.
The Prince looked at her with encouragement, as if he’d like to hear more. Evie took the opening to elaborate. ‘Yes, we have a tapestry that is somewhat noteworthy.’
Andrew was smiling now too, but his was a gesture meant to silence, not to encourage. ‘Later, Evie. If you tell him about it now, there won’t be anything to reveal when he sees it.’ Andrew’s hand went to the Prince’s arm, his face wearing another smile, this one meant to cajole. ‘Besides, we have people to meet, Dimitri.’ The message could not have been clearer. While people stood by, suitably enthralled by the royal presence among them, Andrew called the Prince by his first name. Andrew had risen above the country commonness of Little Westbury; risen above her. Evie suddenly felt very small, very burdensome, as if she was a child who’d forced her unwanted self into the company of adults. Perhaps melting wasn’t a bad idea after all.
The Prince stood his ground long enough to politely take his leave. ‘I shall look forward to the tapestry, Miss Milham.’ She thought she saw an apology in his eyes for the abruptness of their meeting. But surely he understood Andrew’s need to move on as well. Once again she’d miscalculated. She should have anticipated the evening’s demands on Andrew’s time.
‘I look forward to it.’ Evie dipped another curtsy and watched them move away, the pair immediately engulfed by the other guests craving their attention. She was alone again after a brief moment in the sun of Andrew’s attention. In some ways it felt worse now that she’d had a taste of that attention, what it felt like to stand beside him.
She had to stop the self-pity! She was being ridiculous. What had she expected? That somehow Andrew would take her up with them? Include her in his rounds tonight? Why shouldn’t the Prince and Andrew be popular and sought after? They made a handsome pair of males, the Prince with his dark hair and warm eyes; Andrew with his golden, English good looks.
Evie smiled softly to herself, her mind already justifying Andrew’s behaviour. This was a big night for him. He had a lot on his mind, there were people for the Prince to meet. It was no wonder Andrew didn’t want to stand around talking about tapestries or exchanging pleasantries with someone who wasn’t important to his cause this evening. She was selfish to want to keep him all to herself. She had made her first overture, she had to be content with that. And she was. Claire and Beatrice and May would be proud of her. She’d not accepted the first opportunity to be defeated. She’d gone to the stage instead and put herself forward. That in itself was a big step—one of many she’d have to take in this quest to capture Andrew’s affections.
Even if Andrew’s behaviour had bordered on rude, she understood the reasons for it and he had noticed her in the end. She had to take baby steps. She had to get Andrew’s attentions first, then his affections would follow. As her father was fond of saying, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Evie drifted to the perimeter of the assembly hall now that the evening’s goals had been met. She needed to celebrate her victories, not wallow in her defeats.
The night had been a success! Dimitri Petrovich, Prince of Kuban, allowed himself the rare private luxury of slouching into one of Andrew’s comfortably shabby overstuffed chairs. People had been interested in his project and in him. He didn’t fool himself. Interest in the latter was usually a strong recommendation for interest in the former. Being a prince had its merits even if it came with inordinate amounts of fawning. But the cause was worth it.
He pulled at his cravat and let out a sigh. ‘Ah, that feels better.’ Interest was a good sign. It meant the funds would come. Right now, the funds to start the project were all his, but eventually he would want to turn this project over to the people of Little Westbury and they would need to support it. For now, his mind could confidently race ahead to getting the project underway and all the next steps that would entail. There were arrangements to make, men to hire. But all that would keep for tomorrow. Tonight had been a start.
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