“I fully plan to love him,” she said in a sharper tone than she intended, but then Grayson was so annoyingly persistent. “There is nothing about him not to love. Why, he’s every woman’s dream.”

“So you are going to do it again. Marry someone you don’t love.”

“Stop it at once, Grayson.” She drew her brows together. “This is not the same. Not at all. I am not a nineteen-year-old girl. I am a woman who knows her own mind. He is what I want, and I intend to have him.”

“Why? You don’t need his money.” He paused. “I assume he has money.”

“Of course. He’s a prince.” Camille scoffed. “And how do you know I don’t need his money?”

“You’re a very wealthy widow.” He shrugged. “Win has kept me apprised of your life these past eleven years.”

“Yes, of course, he would, wouldn’t he?” He and his cousin had always been as thick as thieves. Precisely why she had kept her distance from Winfield Elliott for all these years.

“As I assume you are aware of the twists and turns of my own life.”

“Not at all. I have made it a point not to be.” In truth, she had avoided any talk of him whatsoever, going so far as to forbid Beryl to so much as mention his name. Beryl must have said something to Mother, who never spoke of Grayson either. Given that Camille’s social circle rarely crossed his cousin’s, or that of most of his friends, it had been remarkably easy to go for years without hearing a word about him. She knew he had gone off to America shortly after her marriage and had been involved in some sort of business enterprise. She had heard as well that he had never married; but beyond that, she had no idea how he had lived his life or what had become of him. She hadn’t wanted to know, hadn’t wanted to think of him, hadn’t wanted to regret. “Indeed, I know nothing about your life from the moment you left this house until today. Nor do I wish to.”

“I see.”

“If you have heard enough now, perhaps you would be so good as to take your leave.” Again she gestured at the door. “Finally.”

“What happens after Christmas?”

“You refuse to let this be, don’t you?”

“You said I was stubborn.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” She sighed. “The day after Christmas, Nikolai shall have to return to his country because of a monetary crisis—”

“A what?”

“A monetary crisis. Beryl assures me it happens all the time.” She waved her hand absently and continued. “I shall accompany him, of course. And then, at some point before the wedding—”

“Dependent, of course, on whether or not he proposes.”