The Accidental Countess (The Aristocrat Diaries 3)

“Understandable. I studied in Liverpool myself. Same as you, not far from home, really, but I didn’t come back for a weekend job.” Bethan chuckled. “No wonder you like this side of the store.”

Eva dipped her head, smiling. “It’s nice to find a new place to browse.”

“Well, you’re welcome here anytime to browse, my love. I’ll even pop a pot of tea on, and we’ll talk art, if you’re ever in need of a little company.”

I smiled. Of course she would. That was Bethan through and through—a mother hen to everyone she met. She always had time for new residents, and I wasn’t surprised that she was already trying to take Eva under her wing.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you.”

“Right, well, while you’re making friends, could you convince her to let me buy her something?” I asked. “She’s being rather stubborn about it.”

Eva shot me a look. “I only meant to come in and mooch about,” she said.

“I know. But you like stuff in here, so I don’t understand why I can’t buy it.”

“You’re better off choosing something, Eva, dear.” Bethan patted her arm. “He’ll just keep on at you. I remember when his grandpa was the earl, and my father owned this store. Our Matthew was about ten, up here with his parents on a holiday in, oh, I think it was the summer, and he’d saved up a little bit of money. We had a lovely bracelet in that his mother simply adored, and for three days, Matthew begged to buy it. He didn’t have quite enough money—”

“That’s an understatement,” I said. “I had nowhere near enough money.”

“That’s very true.” Bethan laughed. “Anyway, he was so determined to get it for her that his father ended up paying the difference.”

Eva smiled at me. “That’s sweet.”

“Not so much,” I replied. “I had to earn the rest of that bracelet, make no mistake about it. Took me six months to break even with my dad.”

“And you did it?” Eva asked.

I nodded. “He gave me all the cash in the end. He said he wanted to buy it for Mum anyway, but he wanted to teach me a lesson about the importance of understanding the value of money. He said it would serve me well to do that and remember the lesson. I didn’t know then just how vast the estate I’d inherit would be, but I’ve never forgotten that, and now I’m quite grateful for it.”

“So he made you do all that and gave you the money anyway?”

“Everything but the thirty pounds I’d put up in the beginning for the bracelet.” I smiled.

“That’s amazing.”

Bethan slid her gaze to me. “Then what did you do, Matthew?”

“Oh, come on, Bethan.”

“Matthew,” she said in a stern voice.

“What did you do?” Eva asked, tilting her head to the side.

Bollocks. I was cornered.

I sniffed and said, “I asked how much the bracelet was, and when he told me, counted out half of the money, and handed it back to him to pay for half of it.”

“Now that’s sweet,” Eva said, wrapping her arms around her body. She sighed. “I suppose now I have little choice but to choose something.”

Well, that story worked in my favour.

She eyed the Queen Anne style chair she’d run her fingers over not long ago, but ultimately turned her attention to the paintings on the wall. “Who painted this?” she asked, pointing to a landscape of the Snowdonia Mountain Range. “Is that near here?”

“It’s Snowdonia,” Bethan answered. “Crib Goch, to be exact, one of the routes to the peak of Mount Snowdon.”

Ooft.

That one was brutal.

“It was painted by local artist, Owain Williams. He passed in 2006, and it’s not often we get some of his work pass through. Mostly they come from people clearing out a relative’s house and not getting the art appraised to save them some time.”

“That seems like a shame,” Eva said. “I couldn’t imagine not getting all the art checked.”

“Most people assume they aren’t the genuine things, so they pass them over to antique stores for ease.” Bethan took a step closer. “I know this is a genuine painting, and for you two, I’ll give you a better price than the one on the ticket.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Bethan said, taking the picture off the wall before Eva could protest further. She looked over at me. “Are you taking it now, or shall I hold it for you?”

“Could you hold it, Bethan?” I asked, glancing at the chair. “We’re going for lunch, and I don’t want to leave it in the car.”

“No problem, my dear. I’ll wrap it up and pop it in the back for you.”

I glanced at the chair again, and her lips twitched.

“Eva, now that I think about it, I think I might have some books on some Welsh artists, if you’d be interested in them.”