A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet)

by Arietta Richmond

  “That is admirable of you, and courageous. I fear that I have no talent for art – beyond appreciating others’ skill – Raphael and Sera’s gallery has allowed me to become rather a connoisseur of paintings. Which makes me positively in awe of those who can paint, and capture anything like reality.”

  They twirled around, and Primrose felt dizzy with joy.

  He did not think her a fool for her dreams. And, apart from her father and her brother, he was probably the only man to hold that opinion.

  “Thank you. Have you, Mr Morton, travelled far? With the number of ships which Morton Empire Imports owns, you must have so many opportunities.”

  He laughed softly, and half shook his head.

  “I have not, sadly. I have been too busy with the running of the business, especially since Raphael was made Earl of Porthaven, with all of the extra responsibilities it carries. I look at the ships’ planned routes, and at the manifests of all of the items they return with, and I harbour the same sort of desires that it seems you do. One day, I would like to board one of those ships of ours, and sail off, to spend months or years exploring the world. But I doubt that I will have that opportunity at any time in the near future.”

  “Then we are both trapped here in England, travelling in our imaginations. At least we may commiserate with each other, on occasion.”

  “Indeed, if we are in such circumstances as to see each other.”

  Primrose looked up at him, feeling terrified, and brave at the same time, unwilling to lose the chance this evening had provided. She licked her suddenly dry lips, and watched his eyes follow the movement. A shiver ran through her.

  “I am quite certain that such circumstances can be arranged, Mr Morton. After all, you need only call upon me to provide us the opportunity to talk.”

  There, it was said. It was completely outrageous of her, and completely outside the bounds of propriety, but she didn’t care. She had dreamed of this man for more than a year, and to have him, tonight, prove that he was so much better than she could ever have imagined, was enough to make her determined that, no matter what, she would not lose him.

  This was the man she wanted to marry and, whatever it took to convince him that he wanted that too, she would do.

  He looked at her, as the music ended, and they spun to a stop, his expression shocked… and something more – something she did not quite know how to interpret.

  “That is true, Lady Primrose. And deliciously, shockingly, practical of you. I would be delighted to accept your invitation to call.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel closed the ledger which lay on the desk before him, and pushed it back across to Mr Manning.

  “That all looks in order, thank you, Manning. It always seems that our ships arrive in batches, no matter what planning you do to space it out. Perhaps the weather conspires against us.”

  Manning laughed softly.

  “You have the right of it there, Mr Morton. But it’s always been that way – even when your father was running the business, it happened. I try to plan schedules, and a structure of the ports of call to balance things out, so that our warehouses here never get overwhelmed, but I fear that, as you say, factors outside our control conspire against me.”

  “Indeed. All we can do is try – when this next batch of ships return, will we have enough warehouse space? Do I need to purchase another building, do you think?”

  “That shouldn’t be necessary – although I have a suitable one in mind, if it comes to that.”

  “That is good to hear. Keep me informed of what is needed.”

  “I will, but these next shipments are all of smaller, easily stored items – spices, some fabrics, decorative carved pieces and the like, plus goods belonging to some of our investors, who will arrange their own storage. This time, there is no timber, or carved larger furniture included. It will not strain our warehouse capacity too much.”

  Gabriel sighed, imagining the riches which Manning described, and wondering, for the thousandth time, what the docks and warehouses looked like, in those distant places where all of the goods came from. And beyond those docks – what were those countries like? How would it feel to be in a place where the temperatures and seasons were so very different from England?

  He wanted to know – not just second-hand, from the tales that the ships’ captains told, but to see it personally. He shook his head, pushing that wish away – it was pointless, he did not have the time to go running off for many months, not when there was the business to run. But that fact did not make the wish less intense. Perhaps, one day, he would manage to go with one of the ships, even if only for a month or two – which was about the minimum time required to sail to and from anywhere even faintly exotic, and have a few weeks to see the place as well.

  Manning tapped his fingers gently on the Ledger, and Gabriel came back to the moment with a sheepish grin.

  “Sorry, Manning, I was woolgathering. Is there anything else that we need to discuss?”

  “Not today, Mr Morton.”

  “Then I’ll let you be off about your business.”

  Manning nodded, and rose to his feet, tucking the ledger under his arm. He bowed, and left the office, leaving Gabriel feeling odd, and rather out of sorts.

  The reminder that he was unlikely to have the opportunity to travel any time soon brought back to him his conversation with Lady Primrose, whilst he was dancing with her, and their shared desire to see the wider world. He had thought of little else for days, reliving that dance, that conversation, that… invitation… in his mind, over and over.

  She had asked him to call upon her. It was shocking, utterly outside the bounds of propriety, yet she had done it. And he had said that he would.

  But… could he?

  He had determined, over and over again, to do so, but each time, he had stopped, feeling foolish – how could he call at the home of a Duke? Surely, the butler at such an establishment would turn up his nose at a calling card from a merchant – and the thought of being turned away at the door made Gabriel shudder.

  But – how could he not?

  He had told her that he would do so, and he was a man of his word. Still, he hesitated. If he was honest with himself, a fear of rejection held him back. Whilst he did not act, he could still imagine that she might welcome him – but if he went, and was rejected…

  He sighed, and left his desk, to stare out of the window of his office, across the busy street below.

  The day was warm, as summer approached, and he could not concentrate on work. Suddenly, he spun away from the window. He would go home, would allow himself an afternoon of leisure, and perhaps tomorrow he would be more focused.

  <<<>>>

  Primrose sat in the small conservatory which was attached to Elbury House, her chair placed with great care to one side of a large pot which held a rose bush in full bloom. It was one of the newer rose varieties, bred to have huge, magnificently coloured flowers, and at this time of day the sun shone almost directly down through the glass panels above to illuminate it in all its glory.

  She sighed – for, despite all of that, it was still a rose – which was not anything exotic at all.

  The sketch in her large journal was passable – it looked like the rose, in all of its detail, and the proportions and perspective were correct. But it did not have that indefinable character which would make it seem almost alive on the page. She would keep practicing. Achieving that realism was her goal – a goal which she had been creeping inexorably closer to for years.

  Would it be easier to achieve that realism if what she was drawing was something more exotic, or if she was drawing it in some exotic place, in a distant part of the world? Or was this drawing not as good as it could have been, because she was distracted? For, if she was to tell the truth, she was not really thinking about the rose at all.

  Instead, her mind kept drifting back to a certain gentleman – and the fact that he had not yet called upon her, even though he had said that he wo
uld. She had held such high hopes in the first few days after Camellia’s wedding, but now, a week later, those hopes were fading, and doubt was replacing them.

  Had he truly been so shocked by her outrageous behaviour that he had decided to stay away? Or was there more to it? Had he said that he would call without ever intending to do so? She could not believe that of him – from all that she knew, he was a man of his word. But what other reason might there be, for him not to have come?

  Primrose forced her attention back to her drawing. Perhaps a little more shading… she shook her head. It was hopeless. Turning to a new page in the journal, she began again, but what she found herself drawing was not the rose – instead, what appeared on the page was an entirely imaginary scene, with lush tropical vegetation on a hill which rose up from the sea, where flowers twined around trees and houses peeked from amongst them.

  She wanted to see such a place, in reality, so very badly, wanted to see if her imagined scene was true, in some place on earth. But how could she ever have the opportunity to see such a place? What possible way could she, a lady of the ton, constrained by propriety and rules, escape to travel to such a place?

  And that thought brought her back to Mr Morton, to the moment when they had shared their desire to travel, to the moment when he had not mocked or lectured her for such an outlandish wish, but had simply admitted to harbouring an equal craving.

  What would it be like to travel to distant places, with a man like that?

  The thought popped into her mind, and she considered it, very much liking the idea – but that was an equally foolish hope – for a woman to travel with a man, she would need to be married to him… and whilst Primrose was quite determined that she would like to marry Mr Morton, she was also wise enough to realise that she might never achieve that desire.

  She looked at the imaginary scene on her page, and sighed, allowing herself to picture it as real, as a place where she might step from a ship, with Mr Morton, and experience a completely different world.

  <<<>>>

  “Gabriel… Gabriel… really, are you awake, or dreaming?”

  Gabriel shook his head, smiling ruefully.

  “Woolgathering, I admit it.”

  His mother eyed him, her expression curious. He knew that look – she would not, now, leave him be until she knew something of what had him so distracted. He sighed, and lifted the cup to sip at his cooling coffee.

  “Gabriel – just what are you woolgathering about? You have been distracted for the last week or more, and you came home at midday today. I know that it must be something significant, for this is the first time I can remember that you have not responded when I asked you about food!”

  He laughed, shaking his head.

  “And what did you ask me, about food?”

  “What new spices you have received, to restock our kitchen – Cook tells me that we are running low on a number of things. But… don’t prevaricate – you have not answered my question – just what were you woolgathering about?”

  Gabriel took another sip of his coffee. So, there was to be no escape from the interrogation. Perhaps it was best just to tell her – his mother was not unsympathetic, nor was she judgemental – but she was persistent.

  “A certain young lady.”

  His mother smiled.

  “Lady Primrose?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me guess – you want to see her, but you are hesitating about it?”

  “Errr… yes.”

  “Why? Not why do you want to see her – that is obvious – but why are you hesitating?”

  “I… how can I simply appear on the doorstep of a Duke? He might cheerfully acknowledge my existence in a social situation, as do many men of the ton who value what our business can do for them, but I am still a despised merchant, when it comes down to it – why should I expect to be welcome in his home, or giving attention to his daughter?”

  “How? Easily.”

  Gabriel shook his head.

  “I do not find it easy.”

  “It is as easy as appearing on any other doorstep – you make yourself presentable, you take our carriage and have James drive you there, you knock on the door and present your calling card. There is nothing difficult about it – nothing but your own doubts about your value as a person. Doubts I never expected you to have, for you were always the most confidently blunt and directly spoken of my children. Gabriel, they will not reject you. She will not reject you. Trust me.”

  He took a large swallow of the coffee, draining the rest of the cup. Theoretically, she was right, but in practice, his heart pounded at the very thought of it – in part from the idea of seeing her again, and in part from fear.

  He did not, he realised, like feeling afraid. She had asked him to call. He should go – it was that simple. If he went, he would know – and there would be no space left for fear of something which might not, as his mother believed, happen.

  “Very well. I will go. Now.”

  Before I lose my resolve…

  But though he did not say those last words, he suspected that his mother heard them, nonetheless, for she nodded and smiled as he turned to the door.

  “You can arrange the spices tomorrow. By then, I hope that you’ll be less distracted.”

  There was laughter in her voice.

  Chapter Three

  Primrose closed the journal firmly, shutting away that imaginary tropical place and all of its impossible temptations. Perhaps some tea in the small parlour was in order, for it had become obvious that she would get nowhere with her drawings of flowers on this particular day. She stood and, carrying the journal, walked back through the house, asking a passing maid to have tea sent to the small parlour as she went.

  It was one of her favourite rooms – more cosy and intimate than the large main parlour, and all decorated in shades of gold, with chinoiserie touches. Paintings and embroideries of chrysanthemums, peonies, and plum blossoms adorned its walls, and it always made her feel as if she could close her eyes, and imagine sitting in a garden in the Far East, surrounded by those flowers. Today, she was not sure if that was good, or not – for it made her longing for foreign shores even stronger.

  Soon, her tea was brought in, and she sipped it, her eyes on the painting opposite her – what was it, about the way that the artist had painted it, which made the flowers seem so real?

  As she considered the techniques of that distant artist, she heard, faintly echoing through the house, the sound of the front door knocker. Who might be calling? They were not expecting anyone, as far as she knew. A distant rumble of male voices followed, and then footsteps approached the door of the parlour where she sat.

  A tap came at the door.

  “Enter.”

  Marks opened the door, and looked in Primrose’s direction with a smile.

  “You have a caller, Lady Primrose. Mr Gabriel Morton. Are you at home?”

  Suddenly, despite the tea she had just been sipping, her mouth was utterly dry. Her heart pounded in her breast, and for a moment she actually felt faint. She shook the feeling off – she was never faint! None of her sisters were either – well, apart from Iris, occasionally.

  He had come! All of her worrying about it now seemed pointless, and she almost laughed from relief. Quickly, she assessed her appearance, and was happy to discover that her gown was unsmudged, and almost uncrushed, and her hands barely touched by marks from her Conte crayons. It would have to do – she would not keep him waiting for the length of time that it would take to change.

  “Yes, please show him to this room, and ask Millie to come and sit in here with us. Oh, and send for fresh tea and some biscuits.”

  “As you wish, my Lady.”

  There was a definite twinkle in Marks’ eye, but his face was impassively perfect as always.

  Primrose stood, leaving the journal on the couch beside where she had been sitting, and brushed her skirts straight. Nervously, she twisted a trailing curl around her finger, only then
realising that the pins in her hair had come loose, allowing various curls to half escape. She pushed the pins back into place, desperately hoping that the result looked presentable.

  Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and her breath stopped for a moment. Then he was there, Marks announcing him as he showed him through the door.

  “Mr Gabriel Morton.”

  He stepped into the room, and Millie slipped in behind him, bearing the new tea tray. Primrose felt oddly as if she was dreaming, but years of training took hold, and she stepped forward to welcome him, even as her thoughts tangled up around just how handsome he was, and how much she wanted to, shockingly, touch him.

  “Mr Morton… I trust that you are well?”

  He smiled, took her hand, and bowed over it – with, she thought, far more elegance than most of the nobly born men of her acquaintance could manage. He rose from that bow, and met her eyes – she felt herself drowning in his gaze.

  “I am, Lady Primrose. I… I hope that you can forgive me for taking so long to fulfil my promise to you, to call? There are times when I become completely caught up in the business, especially when we have many ships arrive at the same time.”

  “Of course.”

  Internally, she chided herself for not having considered the matter – she needed to remember that Mr Morton was very active in the management of the family business.

  “This week was one such week, with six ships returning from diverse parts of the world.”

  “Do come and be seated, Mr Morton, and indulge in tea and Cook’s legendary lemon biscuits. And please, tell me more about these ships, and where they have been.”

  She realised, at that moment, that he still held her hand, and a flush rose in her cheeks. Gently, she used that connection to tug him towards the couch. He started, and flushed in turn, quickly releasing her. But he followed her lead, and as she indicated, settled onto the couch beside her.