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
