Ariella of a British pub. The entire main street appeared to be upscale antique shops, with maybe a gift shop or bookstore for variety. Simon helped her from the car while the driver held the door. It was all very formal and majestic and made her feel like a princess. Which she wasn’t.
People did turn to look at them. She wasn’t sure if she imagined the whispers. While she knew people thought she was pretty, she didn’t have the kind of looks that demanded attention. In fact she considered herself a nondescript brunette, so she didn’t usually have to worry about standing out from the crowd. People recognized Simon, though. He was tall and broad and attracted admiration without even trying. They’d probably stare at him even if he wasn’t a well-known prince. Maybe they were turning to look at him for the same reasons she wanted to—because he was handsome and his smile could melt an iceberg.
In the first store they looked through some old paintings and drawings, all rather in need of restoration, and admired a painted cupboard. In the second, Ariella became entranced by a group of tiny snuff boxes. She loved to open them and find the tobacco smell still there, as if the owner had just finished the last pinch.
“Which is your favorite?”
“I’m not sure.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “The silver one has such delicate engraving, and I love the colors on this enameled one. But I think I like this black one best.” She picked up a shiny black box. She wasn’t even sure what it was made from. Possibly something insubstantial like papier-mâché. It had a delicate painting of a girl standing under a tree that must have been painted with the world’s tiniest brush.
He took it from her, which surprised her. She grew even more surprised when he handed it to the shop owner—who had to be roused from some old books he was sorting through—and paid for it. After the shopkeeper had wrapped it in tissue and deposited it in a tiny brown paper shopping bag, Simon handed it back to her. “For you.”
She blinked. “I didn’t mean for you to buy it.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
“I don’t think a man has ever given me a snuff box before.” She kept her voice hushed, not wanting to convey any impression of romance to the store owner.
“You can’t accuse me of being clichéd, at least.” That infectious smile again. She found her own mouth curving up. Surely there was no harm in the gift. It wasn’t terribly expensive, just a sweet gesture. “I notice you like miniature paintings. I saw several at your flat.” He opened the shop door and they stepped out into the sunlight.
“I do. A perfect world in microcosm. And just for one person at a time to look at and enjoy. Maybe it’s the opposite of my parties where everyone must have a good time all at once.”
“You keep giving me a new perspective on things I take for granted.” He smiled. “Our driver, David, tells me there’s a state park near here. What do you say we take a picnic lunch there?”
“That sounds great.”
It was lucky she agreed because David had already been given orders somehow. The car was piled high with white deli bags and a newly bought cooler containing chilled drinks. She was so used to creating fairy-tale meals for other people that it was rather bizarre to have someone else pulling all the strings. All she had to do was enjoy.
David drove them into the park, past several battlefield sites, to the bank of a winding river. He spread a pretty French provincial patterned cloth—which must have been a rather expensive purchase back in Danes Mill—and unpacked the deli bags filled with gourmet salads.
Ariella settled onto the cloth and Simon poured her a sparkling glass of champagne. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this pampered.” They helped themselves to a warm tortellini salad and a crisp slaw of carrot and beetroot with a sesame seed dressing.
“You deserve it. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and it’s time for you to let off some steam.”
She sighed, and they sipped their champagne. Not surprisingly, it was very good. “Is your life like this every day?”
“If only.” That intoxicating smile again. “My life is usually far more prosaic.”
The driver had tactfully vanished, and they were all alone beside the rushing stream. Tiny yellow flowers bloomed along the banks, and the rich mossy