He was so close that she could feel the heat of his body across the intervening space and her thoughts turned back to those moments when he had held her in his arms to dance. It was a sensation she wished to repeat, at the earliest opportunity.
She poured the tea, and handed him a cup, and then a plate with some of the lemon biscuits. For a few moments, they simply sat, in surprisingly companionable silence, drank their tea, and savoured the biscuits. Then he carefully set the cup and empty plate aside, and turned that mesmerising gaze upon her again.
“You were right to say that those biscuits are remarkable. But you wanted to know about the ships?”
“Yes – for as we discussed at my sister’s wedding, I yearn to see more of the world than England – and to hear about it is at least a beginning.”
He gave a soft laugh, a rich sound which seemed to vibrate into the very core of her.
“Indeed, I feel the same – I often spend time with our ships’ Captains, getting them to tell me tales of their travels, and of the ports where the items we import are loaded. But even then, it is hard to imagine such places, so different are they from here.” He glanced around the room, studying the pictures and the small chinoiserie items, then turned his gaze back to Primrose. “Imagine places where the weather and the soils allow peonies to grow that large! Assuming, of course, that the artist has depicted them faithfully.”
“As it happens, I rather frequently imagine such places… and I hope that the artist has rendered them truthfully. Even so, I suspect that, seen in person, they would be infinitely better – it is so hard to render a drawing or painting of a flower in a manner that is truly realistic. I try, but I usually fail.”
He looked at her for a moment, and hesitated – she wondered why. Then he spoke, softly.
“Might I… might I see some of your drawings? I… have always wished for a skill like that, to so easily make something where there is nothing but an empty page.”
There was almost yearning in his voice. Primrose smiled, shaking her head, feeling flattered, and terrified at once – she rarely showed her work to anyone. But…. he had asked, and her journal was right beside her.
“I… I don’t usually… but yes, I will show you – if only to demonstrate that it is not easy at all!”
He laughed at her vehemence, but looked eager.
She lifted the journal, and set it upon her lap, opening it. As she pulled the covers apart, it naturally fell open to the last page she had used, and even as he edged closer to her to see, she realised that what was revealed was her imaginary tropical landscape, not the rose which she had failed to adequately capture that morning. Her cheeks flushed, and she found herself bereft of words. The warmth of his body, now so close beside hers, filled her with a different kind of heat, and the ability to think temporarily deserted her.
There was silence for a moment, then he reached out a tentative finger to brush the page.
“That… is not a flower. But it could easily be a representation of my dreams. It is beautiful – is it a real place? Or…?”
Primrose turned her head to meet his eyes, only to discover just how close he was – his lips were but inches from hers, and for a moment she was tempted simply to close that gap, and to kiss him. The intensity of that shocking thought stunned her, and she dragged her gaze from his lips to his eyes.
Which was a mistake, for immediately, she was caught, drowning in the midnight sea of his deep blue green gaze. He waited, saying nothing more, until she pulled herself out of her daze, looked away, and answered him.
“It is not real, but simply a product of my imagination, of my longing, if I am honest. I… I drew it this morning. I did not set out to. I was trying to capture this…” she turned the page to the previous one, to show the sketch of the rose, which she still felt was somehow lacking life, “but… I could not get this to look as I wished it to.”
He drew in his breath sharply.
“If that is what you call failure, then I am in awe. I cannot imagine how beautiful something would be, which you considered a success. It is as if I could touch the petals, and find them soft.”
She lifted her eyes to meet his again, feeling suddenly as if she was floating.
“Truly? You feel that way when you look at it?”
“I do. I have no skill in prevarication – in fact, I have more of a reputation for lamentable bluntness. I would not say it, unless I meant it. Empty flattery is not something I wish to ever indulge in.”
Dizzy joy filled her. If she had made even one person feel this way, it was an enormous step forward.
“I… thank you.”
He smiled, that smile which lit his face and made him impossibly handsome, and Primrose found herself smiling back.
“Lady Primrose, I find myself compelled to discover some more exotic flowers for you to draw, now that I have seen this. I will make some enquiries, amongst those whom we import plants for….”
Yet again, he had surprised her, proving just how different he was from every other man that she had ever met. Instead of attempting to diminish her abilities, he went out of his way to encourage her. She wanted, in that instant, to kiss him, but she restrained herself, conscious of Millie sitting quietly in the corner.
“That would be wonderful, should you manage to find some.”
<<<
Gabriel felt happier than he had for a long while. The expression on Lady Primrose’s face, when he had suggested that he might find more exotic flowers for her to draw, was worth any inconvenience that task might bring him.
When she had turned to him, her eyes alight at his comment about the realism of her drawing of the rose, her lips slightly parted, he had been hard pressed not to kiss her. That he had even thought of it, with a maid present in the room, was scandalous – but, nonetheless, he had thought it. Had wanted it, rather badly.
He pushed that thought aside, considering instead the remarkable drawings he had seen. She was beyond talented – the rose which she had deemed an inadequate representation had genuinely seemed to him to be so well represented that it seemed real, seemed to lie upon the surface of the page, rather than be drawn. And the landscape… that imaginary place which so well echoed his dreams, had been equally magnificent. What might she draw or paint, given the chance?
He wanted to do more than just find her beautiful flowers, if he was honest with himself – he wanted to carry her off to those far distant places that they both imagined, to see together what they were really like, and to allow her to sketch and paint them. What might such paintings be worth, he suddenly wondered, in his brother’s art gallery? He should tell Raphael and Sera of Lady Primrose’s skill, when next he saw them.
But would a Lady of the nobility ever consider selling her work? Wouldn’t that be seen as scandalous? He sighed as the carriage rolled through the London streets, bearing him back to Morton House. This – this was why he deluded himself if he thought anything could really come of his attention to Lady Primrose – no person of the ton would ever consider squalid commercial reality in the way that he did.
Yet she had been so pleased by his response – surely she would want others to appreciate her work too? Appreciate, yes – but she would likely not wish to go so far as actually selling anything… still… he resolved to ask Sera her opinion, for Sera was a Lady born, and would understand how Lady Primrose might think, far better than he could.
<<<
“Sera – might I speak to you about art?”
“Of course, Gabriel – although I had thought that you were not especially interested in the matter, except from a commercial perspective?”
He felt his face colour a little at her words, but pressed on. They were sitting in the parlour at Morton House, waiting for his mother and Raphael to return from the warehouse, for Sophia had insisted that her elder son accompany her to look at the spices, having pointedly accused Gabriel of avoiding sorting them out for her. He had laughed, and looked offended – but been secret
ly glad of the chance to speak to his sister in law.
“This is a… ah… sort of commercially related question.”
“Do ask then, this sounds interesting.”
“Would… would a Lady of the ton ever consider selling her art? Or would that be entirely too close to trade to be contemplated?”
“Well… that would, I suspect, depend on the Lady. For some, it would most definitely be beyond the pale. Why do you ask? Is there a specific Lady that you have in mind?”
Gabriel swallowed, knowing that he might well be teased by his family as a result of this conversation, but he went on, regardless – the image of that stunning drawing of the rose still sharp in his mind.
“Yes, actually, there is. I have discovered that Lady Primrose Gardenbrook is a remarkably talented artist. She seeks to capture things, especially flowers, as they really are, rather than in interpretation. I have seen a drawing of hers which would make you think that you could pick the rose up, and lift it off the page. She also draws landscapes which are beautiful. I may know very little about drawing, but I have learnt to recognise skill when I see it - and it struck me that her work might be commercially viable – not that she needs the money, but I believe that she would enjoy the recognition. So I thought that I would ask you. I would not wish to say anything to her, if by doing so I would cause offence.”
“Hmmm… the Gardenbrooks are not quite your standard ton family – it is entirely possible that she would consider it. But leave this idea with me for a few days, and I will let you know the conclusion that I reach.”
With that, Gabriel had to be content, for at that moment, Raphael and his mother returned.
Chapter Four
The following day, as Primrose settled in the family parlour with a book, her mind kept replaying her conversation with Mr Morton. Would he really find a way to provide her with exotic tropical flowers to draw? She could not imagine how he might, but still, that he even offered was wonderful - as wonderful as the feeling had been, of him sitting so very close to her.
She sighed, putting the book down, unable to concentrate on reading, when her imagination was engaged in far more interesting pursuits. Outside, the day was warm, and the sunlight through the large windows made the room seem filled with light.
She stared, unseeing, at the sparkling motes of dust which floated in the sunbeams, her mind filled with the image of the tropical scene she had drawn, imagining being there, approaching that coast on a ship, accompanied by Mr Morton.
It might be an impossible dream, but she could not remove it from her thoughts, so strong was the image – she could almost smell the salty sea air.
Her musings were disrupted when the door opened to admit her sisters, Violet and Iris, and her brother, Thorne - who, as usual, was the first to speak.
“Daydreaming sister? And what… or who… might be the subject of those dreams?”
Despite all intentions to not do so, and despite a lifetime of practice in facing Thorne’s teasing, Primrose felt herself blush. There was a moment of silence, as she desperately tried to think of a suitable answer. But before she had a chance to form words, Violet spoke.
“Have you not been observing what goes on in this house Thorne? She is undoubtedly dreaming of one Mr Gabriel Morton – the very gentleman who called upon her yesterday…”
Primrose swallowed, hard – now she would be teased in earnest. She had known, from the moment that she had so rashly invited Mr Morton to call, that him doing so would reveal to her family the fact that she was interested in him – a fact which she had, for the last year, managed to avoid having them notice. But now that they had, now that the teasing was about to begin, she felt unsure.
Thorne regarded her, a definite spark of devilment in his eyes, and a wry smile on his lips. Then, as he dropped into a seat opposite her, he gave a half laugh.
“So, sister, it seems that you have rapidly taken action – far more rapidly than your older sisters did. Are you that keen to shed the title of official family spinster?”
Iris giggled, and Primrose glared at her, then turned that glower upon her brother.
“I am, dear brother, not yet twenty – I can hardly be regarded as a spinster.” His look of unmitigated amusement infuriated her, and impulse took hold, just as it had when she had asked Mr Morton to call. “But, to save you the effort of asking irritating questions – and to make it harder for you to tease me, I will do the most shocking thing imaginable – I will tell you the unvarnished truth.”
“The truth? How intriguing. Do you mean to say that you do not always tell me the truth? I am devastated to hear that.”
Primrose waved a hand at him dismissively, as both Violet and Iris giggled.
“Of course I don’t – where would be the fun in that? And anyway, you don’t tell us the truth all the time either, do you?”
Thorne grinned.
“I will not, of course, admit anything, either way. But do go on, sister dear, and tell me this truth which you believe will change how I treat you.”
Primrose swallowed again, then lifted her chin defiantly.
“Yes, Mr Morton called on me yesterday. Yes, I very much hope that he will call again. Yes, that means that I am ‘interested’ in him. He has shown himself to be a discerning gentleman, one who allows that women may have abilities and dreams beyond the ordinary. And yes, I was recalling our conversation, at the point when you entered the room.”
Thorne blew out a puff of breath, and eyed her a little as one might eye a hissing cat – considering whether it would scratch or bite if further provoked. Secretly, Primrose was rather pleased – her brother rarely hesitated.
“I see. And this declaration is supposed to make me less likely to tease you? I fear that you underestimate my persistence. Still, such a direct answer is unusual – a novelty indeed. Has he indicated an intent to call again?”
Primrose felt her cheeks heat again.
“Ah… not exactly, but things that he said implied…”
Thorne burst into laughter, and Primrose, irritated beyond bearing, threw the cushion from beside her at him, which only made him laugh more as he caught it.
Iris looked at Primrose and spoke quietly.
“He has always seemed to me to be a courteous gentleman, although he appears to avoid society…”
Primrose turned to her sister, ignoring her still laughing brother.
“He does, doesn’t he? I think that he is still somewhat unhappy with the way that most of the ton treat him – the same way that they used to treat Bella, until she became a Duchess. You would think that having a brother who is an Earl, and a sister a Duchess would be enough for the ton to ‘forgive’ him for being a merchant, but many of them are so ridiculously prejudiced.”
Thorne stopped laughing, and turned a serious face to her as he tucked the cushion behind him and leant back in the chair.
“Primrose, if he is the man you want, then I hope that you realise that no-one in this family will have any concerns. A man’s character is far more important than the accident of who his parents are, at least as far as I am concerned. So pursue that association if you wish. But I do not promise not to tease you along the way.”
Primrose smiled, and sagged back a little against the back of the couch. Until that moment, she had not realised that, deep inside, a tiny doubt had been hiding, about what her family would think. And, now that she had declared her interest to them, she saw no reason not to actively pursue an association with Mr Morton – and hope for more.
<<<
They were at Hartswood House, Bella and Lucian’s residence, having just completed a wonderful dinner. In the huge main parlour, both men and women partook of port, brandy, and sherry, whilst collecting in small groups for conversation. Bella’s family were almost all there, as were Primrose’s family, and a small number of other guests closely associated with the families.
Whilst Primrose had spent a little of the evening speaking with others, she had been disap
pointed to discover that Mr Gabriel Morton was not present. Rather than allow herself to become mournful at his absence, Primrose was wandering the edges of the room, studying the paintings featured on its walls. She was shocked to discover that she had never really looked closely at these works of art before – perhaps because, when visiting Bella, they normally sat in Bella’s private parlour, rather than this huge room.
There were clusters of potted palms set about the room, mostly against the walls and in corners – which was irritating, for it made it hard to get close enough to some of the paintings to study them. Still, Primrose pushed her way in amongst them, determined to learn from the technique on display.
Squeezed in between the wall and a very large cluster of plants – plants which completely obscured all view of the couch set behind them, and the room beyond it, her face was mere inches from the surface of an enormous still life painting, the central part of which was a huge vase of mixed flowers. Perfect!
Minutes passed as she studied how the artist had created the sense of depth, the apparent fall of light, and the illusion of delicate textures on petals. Then, a steady thread of sound penetrated her concentration. Voices. People had obviously taken a seat on the couch, and were talking.
She froze in place. She could not, now, simply emerge from her hidden corner and casually wander off – it would be thought that she had been intentionally eavesdropping. But… if she stayed here, she would hear everything that was said. Her cheeks heated – what if what she heard was personal, and scandalous?
Still, she stayed frozen in place, and, despite telling herself that she shouldn’t, she listened. After a moment, she breathed a very soft sigh of relief. The voices belonged to Bella’s brother, Raphael, the Earl of Porthaven, and his wife, Sera. At least they were unlikely to say anything utterly scandalous – although one never knew…
A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 3