The Mistress and the Merchant

by Juliet Landon

  Although it might have appeared quite astonishing, after all that had happened, for Leon and Aphra to be so comfortable with each other, more like siblings than one-time lovers, the rest of the family were relieved to see the understanding and kindliness between them. Once he had passed his exams and Bianca was fully recovered, Santo said, they must visit Sandrock to see what he and Aphra were doing there. ‘You could even bring a few students with you,’ he said, ‘to work in Dr Ben’s gardens.’

  To Leon, this was good news. ‘You mean to keep them as they are?’

  ‘More than that,’ Aphra said. ‘We shall extend them and provide apothecaries in the towns with plants they can’t grow. And I shall paint better illustrations of them than those clumsy woodcuts that Fuchs did. Bianca might like to help me.’

  To her delight, Bianca enclosed her gently in her arms and whispered words to her that filled Aphra’s eyes with a sudden rush of tears. ‘You have been so kind. Thank you for coming here. You and Etta. My sisters. Leon and I will come to see your orto botanico at Sandrock, I promise.’

  * * *

  When Aphra told Santo of the promise in the longed-for privacy of the night, Santo ventured an addition of his own. ‘They might see more than that, if they wait long enough. Is the embargo to be lifted now, cruel mistress?’

  Entwining her smooth naked limbs with his rough hairy ones, she gave a huff of laughter at his poorly concealed impatience. ‘Embargo? That sounds like merchant talk,’ she whispered, nuzzling the side of his warm throat. ‘But we are not yet married, signor.’ She was not quite prepared for his reaction, too fast for her to counter but, finding herself suddenly underneath him, had to concede that she was in no position to argue that a few hours were going to make much difference. Were they?

  ‘No, signor,’ she said, between kisses.

  ‘No to what?’

  ‘No, I can’t wait, either.’

  Their loving that night exceeded all their dreams, for now it was not only a longed-for release after their abstinence, but enriched by all they had practised, as if to prepare for the full performance. All that had gone before, all the denials, arguments, admissions and separations were fed into that experience, none of it wasted, but used to show who they were as individuals and what they needed from each other. Giving freely and taking with rapturous abandon, their lovemaking flowed and ebbed on tides of desire, flooding them with unbounded sensations. And for the first time, Aphra experienced a climax greater than that stolen virgin night at Sandrock, when doubts and fears had cast shadows over her gift. This time, she learnt to express herself in ways that gave pleasure to both of them without the anxiety of the consequences, and although she could not say why she was so certain, it was that relief from concern that made her sure she had conceived. In fact, it was Santo himself who suggested it might be so. ‘Lie still, wonderful woman,’ he said. ‘That was incredible. That’s how little Datinis are made, I believe.’

  ‘Made with love, in Italy,’ she murmured, sleepily.

  Epilogue

  The wedding at Padua, though smaller than Signora Juna would have liked, was the happiest and merriest occasion any of them could remember, all the more so for being unexpected. The guests were dressed magnificently, brightly coloured in the Venetian fashion, though few of them could understand why the lovely bride in a golden gown wore a man’s brown-velvet cap until the moment when she exchanged vows with her husband, to whom it belonged.

  Some private jest, the parents said, smiling indulgently.

  Only a few weeks after the departure from Venice of Lord Somerville’s carrack, Leon Datini heard that the marks for his exams at the university were the highest ever recorded, as a result of which he was offered a post as tutor there, with a healthy salary to match.

  Later that year he and Bianca went to live in a house very near the Orto Botanico, with a courtyard where she could continue painting botanical specimens as part of her husband’s studies. By then they were devoted to each other and went on to produce two beautiful girls. They all made annual voyages to Sandrock Priory to discuss the latest horticultural developments for which the priory became famous and from where Santo continued to trade via Southampton.

  Uncle Paul and Aunt Venetia were happily reunited with their boys, to whom nothing sinister had happened in their absence—though Flora’s newest Italian expressions and the sights of Venice with which she regaled them were far worse, they said teasingly, than being without her.

  The D’Arvalls visited Santo and Aphra for their second ceremony, which happened soon after their arrival in England. Aphra’s mother wept with joy and other unnamed emotions, as mothers always did, and soon found another role for her motherliness in helping with the celebrations, a larger event than the first.

  She was also called on to help when Aphra’s twin boys, Paolo and Antonio, were born the following spring, at about the same time of year as Santo had first met the love of his life.

  The Somerville Trading Company went from strength to strength and Etta’s first child was born at Sandrock, quite unexpectedly, while Nic was being delayed by storms on the high seas. They called their son Robin, after their good friend and the child’s godfather Robert ‘Robin’ Dudley, who became Earl of Leicester in 1564.

  Edwin Betterton, Aphra’s younger brother, found a young lady to love—which put a new perspective on his views about the whole process of loving. He and Santo became good friends after the wedding.

  Master Fletcher, Aphra’s steward, married his widowed housekeeper and became father to three healthy sons, one of whom succeeded him at Sandrock Priory.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this story you won’t want to miss these other novels by Juliet Landon

  CAPTIVE OF THE VIKING

  TAMING THE TEMPESTUOUS TUDOR

  BETRAYED, BETROTHED AND BEDDED

  MISTRESS MASQUERADE

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE CAPTAIN’S DISGRACED LADY by Catherine Tinley.

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  Author Note

  The Mistress and the Merchant is the third in a trilogy, the first of which was Betrayed, Betrothed and Bedded, the story of Etta’s parentage and the lust of Henry VIII.

  The second, called Taming the Tempestuous Tudor, is about how Etta came to love and marry Lord Somerville—Nic—in the first year of the reign of Elizabeth I.

  Aphra appears in both these stories, first as a young child, then as a young gentlewoman who accompanies Etta to the royal court.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

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  The Captain’s Disgraced Lady

  by Catherine Tinley

  Chapter One

  Dover—March 1815

  ‘Come along, Mama—it’s this way.’

  Juliana moved confidently along the wharf, ignoring the rain, the sailors, dockworkers and passengers. She wore a fashionable travelling gown of dark-green merino, which clung to her form, and a fetching hat with a small feather stuck in it at a jaunty angle.

  ‘You there!’ Her voice was strong, clear and assured.

  ‘Yes, miss?’ The docker doffed his hat, despite the rain.

  ‘We require a carriage—a good carriage. It will take us to Ashford tonight, then on towards Surrey.’

  ‘Yes, miss. Right away, miss.’

  ‘The porter will bring our luggage. We shall require a place to wait, out of the rain, while our luggage is brought from the ship.’

  ‘Er, yes, miss. You won’t want to go to the Swan—it’s not for the likes of you. You’d be better suited to the King’s Head.’ As he spoke, the docker indicated the King’s Head, failing to conceal his horror at the thought of two gently bred ladies wandering into the Swan in broad daylight. Juliana tried not to smile.

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice gentled. ‘See, Mama? Did I not tell you all would be well?’

  Her mama did not look convinced. She glanced around fearfully, clinging to her reticule as if convinced it would be stolen from her at any moment. Juliana sighed inwardly. Her mama’s anxiety was even worse than she had anticipated. She needed to get her indoors and offer her reassurance. Ignoring the spring rain, which was getting heavier by the minute, Juliana marched purposefully to the inn, her mama following in her wake.

  The King’s Head had seen better days. The sign over the door was a little faded, as was the wool rug on the floor of the taproom. The wooden panelling and gloomy portraits on the walls gave an air of an age gone by, but the stone floor was clean and the brass taps shone.

  The landlord, assessing their quality at a glance, bustled forward to welcome the two ladies. Inviting them to follow him out of the common taproom to the cosy parlour, he asked for their requirements—tea, cakes, and the fire to be built up. As usual, Juliana took charge, making her requests politely but firmly. They were to have sole use of the parlour. The tea should be served very hot, with an additional pot of hot water.

  Mama sank into the nearest chair with an attitude of great relief.

  Juliana immediately went to her. ‘Oh, Mama! You look fagged to death. And I have dragged you across the sea when you never wanted to come. You know I could have travelled to visit Charlotte with just a maid to accompany me. You did not have to come! Here, let me put this cushion behind you. Your tea will be here directly.’ She threw an imperious glance at the landlord, who quickly absented himself in pursuit of the hottest tea he could procure. Good! Now she could spend the next hour or so seeing to her mama’s comfort, soothing her and ensuring she was relaxed enough to cope with the next part of the journey.

  Juliana knew exactly what her mama required, for had she not done this many times before? Mama needed solitude—the parlour door closed against strangers, along with hot tea and reassuring words.

  Mama waited until the door had closed behind the landlord, before declaring tremulously, ‘I do not mind, Juliana. Well, that is to say... I cannot claim I wanted to come, but I could not let you travel by yourself, all the way across the sea. Why, you have never been to England before!’

  Juliana sighed, remembering the many hours of agonised debating. Mama had wanted to accompany her, yet had also not wanted to. Juliana had bitten her lip, not having wanted to influence her mother, content to travel with her or without her. It had been months before Mama had made a final decision.

  ‘And I have told you before, I can look after myself, Mama. Why, I have travelled from Brussels to school in Vienna with just a chambermaid for company, many times!’

  ‘That is different.’

  ‘How is it different? I—but, no, let us not go over this again. You are here and you are weary, and I should make you comfortable. Should you like to lie down for a while?’

  ‘I confess I still feel as though the ground is rolling under my feet, as it was on that awful boat! I declare I thought we would all end up in the sea, it was so stormy! I should like to sit here for a little while, before we continue on.’

  Juliana looked at her mother doubtfully. The crossing had been an easy one, the sea smooth. The rain had only started as they approached Dover. Mama had stayed in the cabin the whole time, not actually being sick, but expressing strong disapproval of the sea and everything associated with it. Juliana had paced the deck, exhilarating in her first sea voyage, inhaling the sea, immersing herself in the experience.

  Perhaps this was why they had never travelled home to England before. Although Juliana was used to her mama’s nerves, she did seem to be reacting particularly badly to her sea journey. Mama rarely left their home city of Brussels, but had made the long journey to visit Juliana in Vienna the previous year, accompanied by her devoted maid, Sandrine. Strange to think Mama had grown up here, in England, yet Juliana had never even visited.

  Until now. Juliana’s dear friend Charlotte—her best friend from the school for young ladies—had moved to England and was now married, and Juliana had not seen her for more than a year.

  Tea was the solution, Juliana decided. Mama would rest here awhile, in solitude, then they could continue their journey.

  * * *

  Captain Harry Fanton, darling of the Thirtieth Foot Regiment, strode into the King’s Head, glad to get out of the rain. The sea crossing had been smooth enough, but he was frustrated at having to return to England when his fellow officers were busy preparing to take on Napoleon again. His colleague Evans followed diffidently. Harry was rarely seen without a smile or a light-hearted remark, but today, his usual good humour seemed to have left him. Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the high bar. ‘Landlord!’

  Harry had lodged many times in the King’s Head and the landlord recognised him and his colleague immediately.

  Ignoring the landlord’s effusive greeting, Harry informed him, curtly, that they required overnight rooms, as well as the use of the parlour.

  Wringing the corner of his apron, the landlord explained haltingly that the parlour was in use, that two ladies—a mother and daughter just off the packet from Calais—had need of the parlour for an hour while they awaited their carriage and—

  ‘Tosh!’ said Harry. ‘Why, we have shared the parlour before, with many fellow travellers! We shall speak to these ladies and all will be well! Come, Evans...’ he nudged his portly, sandy-haired friend ‘...follow me!’

  Knowing his way about, Harry led the way unerringly to the parlour. The landlord stayed at the end of the hallway, still clutching his apron for comfort. Ignoring him, Harry scratched on the parlour door. His friend, experiencing sudden qualms, baulked.

  ‘Dash it, Harry, we need not intrude. Perhaps we should have stayed in the taproom. The beer is the same there!’

  Harry brushed off his concerns. ‘Nonsense, Evans! I have a fancy for the parlour and its fire. I will handle this—trust me.’

  On hearing the command to enter, Harry opened the door. He paused to survey the scene. On a chair beside the fire sat a faded, middle-aged lady with fair hair and gentle blue eyes in a pale face. Standing beside her chair was a young woman, who—

  Lord!

  She was strikingly beautiful. Her height was average, but she seemed taller—something to do with the air of suppressed energy about her. She was as dark as her mother was fair, with glossy brown curls, a stubborn chin and expressive chocolate eyes, framed by thick black lashes. His own eyes swept over her, noting the confident stance, white neck and shapely figure. A vision!

  He smiled—a smile his friends would recognise. They called it the D
azzler, for the effect it had on young ladies.

  He made an elegant bow. ‘Ladies! Allow me to present myself! I—’

  ‘You have made a mistake. This is the wrong room.’

  ‘Pardon me?’ He blinked.

  ‘I said...’ the young lady spoke slowly, as if he had trouble understanding ‘...this is the wrong room. You should not be here. This room is taken.’

  Beside him, Evans gave a snort of laughter, quickly suppressed. Harry’s spine stiffened. He would not be made to look a fool in front of one of his lieutenants!

  ‘This room,’ he returned, speaking equally patiently, ‘is a public room. It is not a private parlour. Therefore—’ he stepped forward ‘—we will join you.’

  ‘You must know,’ she insisted, through gritted teeth, ‘I cannot physically remove you. Hence I must ask you, if you are a gentleman, to allow my mother and me the private use of this room.’

  ‘An interesting dilemma. For you cannot know if I am a gentleman or not, as we have not even been introduced. I am—’

  ‘I do not wish to know who you are! I wish only that you leave this instant!’ Incensed, she stamped a little foot. Her mother, who had been becoming increasingly agitated, chose this moment to intervene.

  ‘My dear Juliana, they are doing no harm. They have been out in the rain, like us, and perhaps also need the warmth of the fire.’

  Two points of high colour appeared in Juliana’s cheeks, as she heard her mother’s words. They were gently uttered, but delivered a public rebuke, nevertheless. Harry almost felt sorry for her. Almost.