Awakening The Shy Miss. Bronwyn Scott

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       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.

      A housekeeper. Dimitri smiled at her departure. No stodgy butlers here. A housekeeper had received a Prince of Kuban and had no true notion of who had just walked into the house. He liked the novelty of that anonymity. Everyone fussed over him as if he were more special than the next man. But here, in the Milhams’ household, he sensed he might be able to move past that. Andrew’s words drifted back to him: She’s not rich enough. The Milhams did not keep a full complement of staff, perhaps for multiple reasons. Perhaps it was financial, or perhaps they understood every servant was another responsibility, one more acquired burden, an anchor against freedom. Dependents were both a blessing and a curse.

      ‘You came.’

      He turned, catching the sound of surprise in Evie’s voice. She looked cool and fresh in a white summer muslin sprigged with tiny blue forget-me-nots. Blue was definitely her colour. It brought out the auburn highlights in her hair, turning it more chestnut than brown. They’d not been obvious at the assembly. Dimitri smiled. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’ He spoke the words without thinking, the teasing, flirtatious response coming easily to his practised wit. This was how urbane princes interacted with women. He was curious as to how Evie Milham would respond. How would his hypothesis play out now that they were alone, away from a crowd where she felt self-conscious? He told himself it was no more than simply his usual ‘excavation’ of a person, of taking their measure, yet a part of him was on edge, wanting her to make a certain response, wanting her to come alive for him.

      She blushed a little, but she did not shrink from being direct. ‘I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I feared May pushed the appointment on you.’

      ‘I wouldn’t miss it.’ He was touched. She’d been advocating for him. She’d been trying to protect him. It was a very small protection to be sure. In a life spent protecting others he simply wasn’t used to it being the other way around. ‘Many people would not hesitate to use any means necessary to capture a prince’s time.’ He probed carefully. It was true. One woman had followed him to the privy and locked the door.

      ‘I think you’ll find I’m not like most people.’ Another sort of woman would have made the line into a not so cleverly veiled invitation. Not Miss Milham. Was that a warning? A hint of regret? Why ever would she want to be like others?

      He СКАЧАТЬ