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

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A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 4

by Arietta Richmond


  “Sera, do you remember, just after our wedding, when we danced in the garden…?”

  “Of course I do. There were lanterns, and a fountain, and I told you that it made me think of exotic places I would like to see.”

  “Yes. Well… now that Domenic is a year old, I have been thinking about that, about what I said then.”

  “Oh? Which bit of what you said?”

  Sera’s voice was full of almost teasing laughter, as if she could guess what Raphael might say next. Primrose gave up all semblance of convincing herself to be good, and settled in to listen.

  “The bit where I suggested that I would like to fulfil your desire to see distant exotic places… I have been rather remiss in arranging even a beginning to that, but I wanted Domenic to be old enough, and well settled enough, that if I took you away for two months, he could cope.”

  “I see. I rather suspect that he will find such a separation far easier than I will – for he adores both my mother and yours, and they will completely spoil him, if we are away. But… where are you thinking of taking me? Surely almost everywhere ‘exotic’, we would be gone far more than two months?”

  Primrose felt her heart beat harder at their words – she was filled with envy – they were discussing exactly the sort of adventure that she so desperately wanted to have. Raphael gave a soft laugh at Sera’s question, then spoke again.

  “You are right – but there are a small number of suitable locations in reach – and I will admit that what has caused me to suggest this now is a possible commercial advantage…”

  Sera laughed in turn.

  “I should have known that this would make money for the business, as well as fulfilling my dreams.”

  “I promise that I won’t just focus on that – this is for you, even if it may result in something more.”

  “I believe you. So – where?”

  “The Canary Islands – also known as ‘The Fortunate Isles’. With good winds it is only a two-week sail to get there, yet it might as well be on the other side of the world, from what I have been told. It is tropical, a Spanish possession, and the islands abound with remarkable flowers and native plants, as well as being a centre for the production of sugar, and wine. But what I am interested in is far different from those. For centuries, the islands have also been a centre of the production of specialist dyes – and I have heard rumours that a new dye making venture is about to begin there – one with huge potential for trade.”

  As Raphael said this, his voice had dropped to a near whisper, as if he worried that some commercial competitor might overhear. Primrose had to force herself to stay perfectly still, when instinct insisted that she lean closer so that she could still hear. There was silence for a moment, then Sera’s voice came again.

  “That sounds intriguing, and if it is only a few weeks each way, then yes, we could be gone only two months, and still have time to explore the Islands, somewhat. You will have to tell me more of this dye-making industry – later. But… if they make dyes, is there not also a local community of artists? Most places which can provide pigments seem to inevitably attract those who wish to use them.”

  Primrose swallowed – if she had been envious before, she was doubly so now. Raphael answered Sera, continuing in that soft voice.

  “Of course there are – for the Spanish influence has also been strong for centuries – there are magnificent buildings, and they are decorated, I am told, as well as those in Castile. Are you thinking of importing art for the gallery?”

  “I am – do you think it feasible?”

  “I don’t see why not. And given how well paintings of exotic places and plants from the East sell, I would expect that there would be a good market for them.”

  They spoke for a little longer, but mainly about what would need to be arranged in London for the care of their child, and Primrose barely heard it. Her eyes still rested on the masterful brush strokes of the painting before her, but her mind whirled. The very idea of seeing such a place, of drawing and painting such a place, was the embodiment of her dearest wishes – well, all of her dearest wishes except the one that involved marrying Mr Gabriel Morton.

  That Raphael and Sera might go to such a place, and soon… an idea rose in her mind, as outrageously shocking as most of her thoughts had been of late.

  What if she could find a way to go with them? Could she persuade them to allow that? If she could, she did not expect that her parents would forbid it – for Lord and Lady Porthaven were surely impeccably qualified to chaperone her.

  The idea grew – now that she had thought it, she felt filled with determination – she could not release the idea. Behind her, she heard the sounds of movement, and voices moved away. After a few minutes, she carefully emerged from her leafy corner, and continued about her examination of the paintings in the room, forcing herself to look calm and steady, as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Inside her, a certainty settled – soon, she would call upon Sera, and somehow, raise the subject, even if it meant admitting to her eavesdropping, and convince Sera to allow her to go with them.

  This was an opportunity she could not allow to slip away.

  <<<>>>

  Gabriel watched the door close behind his brother and his sister-in-law, his mind in turmoil. He hoped that he had concealed his envy well enough, but he suspected that he had not. The previous night, while he had dined with an investor rather than with the extended family, it seemed that Raphael and Sera had made a decision – a decision which left him feeling jealous and out of sorts.

  They were going to do exactly as he wished he could, and board one of their ships, to sail off to an exotic location, full of marvels. They had come this evening to tell him, and his mother, and to discuss with his mother how caring for Domenic, Gabriel’s nephew, was to be managed whist they were away.

  They had been so very happy about the idea, and he could not blame them – they both spent far too much time on business and other responsibilities, and too little on themselves. Still, how he wished that he could do the same – but he could not. Especially with them away, he needed to be here to manage the business.

  He took himself to bed early, still feeling unhappy - his mother looked at him knowingly, but said nothing – for which he was most grateful.

  Chapter Five

  Primrose sat in the parlour, fidgeting. Millie sat in one corner, patiently attending her mistress. Mr Morton had sent a message, asking if he might call, and take her for a drive in the park. She had immediately sent a reply, confirming that she would be delighted to see him. Now she waited, unable to settle.

  Ever since the dinner two days earlier, she had thought of little but the idea of travel, of convincing Lord and Lady Porthaven to take her with them. And the thought of travel had also inevitably brought Mr Morton to her mind, brought her wish to travel, with him, to the centre of her thoughts.

  In that two days she had also spent hours in the Elbury House library, searching for information on the Canary Islands.

  There had been lamentably little to find – a history book about Spain and England’s contention over ownership of the Islands, some twenty-five years earlier, and a botanical text on the plants to be found there.

  She was sure that there was much more to be learnt, and had hoped for a traveller’s journal or the like – something less dry facts and more colourful description – but sadly, no such thing had presented itself. Obviously, she would have to make a visit to Bigglesworth’s Books, and see what Mr Bigglesworth might have, tucked away on those overflowing shelves.

  Outside, the faint rattle of carriage wheels on the cobbles drew her mind back to the present, to the warm London day, and to the, hopefully imminent, arrival of Mr Morton. Shortly after that, the sound of the door knocker echoed through the house, followed by approaching footsteps.

  Marks paused in the doorway, and announced him.

  “Mr Gabriel Morton.”

  As the Butler stepped back, Mr Morton moved into the room,
the light from the window catching sparks from his deep dark eyes. Those eyes met hers, and everything else faded away – how was it that he stole her breath, just by being in the room?

  She forced herself to step forward, to greet him, all the while feeling flustered, her heart beating far faster than normal.

  “Mr Morton. I trust that you are well, this fine day?”

  “I am, Lady Primrose. It is a beautiful day – well suited to a drive in the park.”

  “Indeed. I admit that the idea appeals greatly – no matter how unfashionable it is, I am very fond of the feeling of the sun on my skin. Have you brought a carriage suited to Millie accompanying us? Or something more… daring?”

  He laughed softly, his lips curving into a smile which was almost wicked. She licked her lips at the sight.

  “I am not sure that I would call it daring, but it is not really suited to taking a third person – it is a phaeton – not too high perch, but still rather limited in its seating. But surely, in a vehicle so open to public view, there can be no concern about propriety?”

  Primrose felt her heart beat even faster, if that was possible. They would be alone! Well, alone all but for the eyes of anyone who was out in the park to see them. But no one would be in hearing distance. It seemed, after the normal constraints of society, almost scandalous.

  “I do not believe so, no. I will just gather my bonnet and gloves.”

  At those words, Millie came forward bearing the required items, and within minutes Primrose found herself stepping out into the sun on Mr Morton’s arm. A footman stood holding the horses – an easy task, for they rested, hips cocked, noses down, drowsing in the warmth of the sun. From the door, Marks watched as Mr Morton helped her up onto the high seat, then climbed up himself to take the reins. Primrose knew that Marks would reassure her parents that all was been done according to propriety.

  The footman stepped back, and Mr Morton woke the horses from their doze with a gentle call and a soft flick of the whip, urging them forward. They wound through the streets towards Hyde Park in a companionable silence, as Primrose admired the skill with which Mr Morton drove. It was unusual for a man born to the merchant classes to have such skill – or even, in most cases, to own a carriage and pair. But the wealth of the Morton family had allowed them to achieve things that others might not.

  That thought, reminding her of where their wealth came from, made her wonder that Mr Morton had taken time away from managing the business, in the middle of the day, to take her for a drive. Did that mean… did that mean that she was important to him? She certainly hoped so.

  They reached the park, turning in through the gates onto the gravelled roads within. There were only a few people to be seen, walking, riding, or driving, for it was still early in the day for the ton, and many would not be seen here for a few hours yet. Mr Morton pulled the horses back to a steady walk, and turned a little on the seat to meet her gaze. That movement brought his thigh into contact with hers, and heat ran through her from that point.

  His expression was somewhat uncertain, and for a moment they continued in silence, until he spoke, with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

  “Lady Primrose, I admit that I find myself unsure what to say. There is so much possibility for conversation, and I would not bore you by choosing to speak of matters which hold no interest for you.”

  Primrose regarded him with amazement, and delight, feeling her face move into a broad smile. He really was quite wonderful.

  “Mr Morton, I believe that you have just proven yourself to be a most extraordinary gentleman. I do not think that I have ever had a conversation with a man, apart from my father and my brother, where the gentleman cared in the least to know if I was interested. Most men are too busy speaking of themselves to wish to know what I care about.”

  His eyes opened wider, then he turned away a moment, guiding the horses as they passed another carriage. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but filled with a hint of an emotion she did not understand.

  “Truly? I cannot imagine being so self-centred as not to care what someone else thought, not to wish for a conversation where both parties are equally interested. I must assume that, if I am unusual in that, then it is no wonder that I often find social occasions… uninspiring.”

  It was a view of the world that Primrose had never considered – the idea that a social occasion might be found uninspiring for such a reason. But now that she considered it, it seemed completely appropriate.

  “Is that… is that why you have attended so few of them in the last year?”

  It was a very forward thing to ask, yet she could not help herself – she wanted to understand how he thought of the world. He turned those dark eyes back to hers, and she was caught by them, unaware of anything beyond the intensity of his gaze. His lips twisted in a wry smile.

  “It is, at least in part. The most enjoyable social occasion I have attended was your sister’s wedding – because of the conversation I had with you, where we spoke of travel, of things beyond the narrow sphere of respectable society – of things which we actually care about. I find most social conversations to be about nothing. Is that too blunt of me?”

  Primrose laughed, delighted again.

  “It is not. I find that I prefer blunt honesty to endless prevarication.”

  He looked a little startled at her words, but smiled – a smile which lit up his face, and made her heart pound wildly again.

  “I am delighted to hear you say so. And in the light of that preference, may I then suggest that we simply talk about travel, about both of our wishes to see places far from here, with our own eyes?”

  “I think that would be wonderful. Tell me about all of the places that your ships go to, please?”

  They reached the end of the long park, and turned, making their way slowly back, ignoring everyone and everything around them as they spoke. For a while, the conversation was just as she had asked – a list of places that Morton Empire Imports traded with, and what he knew of those places. Primrose found herself full of envy – he might not have travelled to those places, but he knew so much of them, touched things which came from them, every day. It made her world seem so much a smaller place.

  After a while, he paused in his recitation, and looked out across the park for a moment, then turned back and spoke again, his voice quieter.

  “I discovered, in the last few days, that my brother and his wife plan to take a trip, soon, with one of the ships. This will be only the second time that he has ever done so, and I know that they have wished it for a long time, but I find myself deeply guilty of the sin of envy. I do not begrudge them their chance to see some of the world together, yet I would so wish to do the same. But I cannot – there is the business to think of, especially if Raphael is away, I must be here. Which practical reality does not in the least stop me from wishing it otherwise.”

  Primrose felt her breath stop for a moment. His wishes so strongly echoed her own, yet she pitied him in that instant – for she, at least, believed that she had a chance to join his brother on that trip, and he, for very sensible practical reasons, could not. She was glad that she had such a chance, no matter how hard it might be to convince Lord and Lady Porthaven to allow her to go with them, but still, part of her deeply wished that he could also go with them, that she could undertake this adventure with the man at her side now. She swallowed, searching for the right words.

  “I… I envy them too. Perhaps… perhaps there will be a chance for you to travel in the future – at least, as a man, you may do so alone, whereas I…”

  “That is true. I wish that you might also get such a chance – I confess that I would very much like to see the drawings you would undoubtedly make on such a journey – I envy you that ability, to record faithfully what you see, so that it might be shared with others, who do not have the chance to see it first-hand.”

  Primrose felt almost dizzy at those words – for yet again, he was encouraging her, rather than telling her what a Lady sho
uld or shouldn’t do. Perhaps, if she could convince Lord and Lady Porthaven to allow her to accompany them, she could at least bring back many drawings to share with him, to ease his yearning?

  “I… hope so too.”

  <<<>>>

  Primrose raised the knocker on the door of Porthaven House, and rapped firmly. Behind her, Millie stood patiently, and Primrose thought, for the thousandth time, how silly it was that a woman had to have a maid or footman, or a close relative, with her at all times. Still, in a situation like this one, where she hoped to gain what she wanted, it paid to appear to do absolutely everything according to ‘the rules’.

  Moments later, the door was opened, and the Butler showed her in to the parlour, informing her that he would let Lady Porthaven know that she was there. It was a beautiful parlour, decorated with the best of the furniture and items that Morton Empire Imports imported, accompanied by a selection of works of art from the gallery’s collection. As usual, Primrose could not resist – rather than sitting demurely, she went from painting to painting, studying the techniques and the representation of light.

  She was still deeply engaged in that when the door opened behind her.

  “What do you think of this latest batch? They are from a new artist – an Italian cousin of Sophia’s.”

  Sera’s voice was warm and friendly, and Primrose released some of the tension she had been holding in her shoulders, all unintentionally. That Sera honestly sought her opinion was a relief, after so many people assuming she knew nothing of art. She turned away from the painting and went to greet her hostess.

  “I am impressed – they have a distinctive style, somehow delicate and detailed whilst bright, vibrant and aggressive in the brush strokes.”

  “I agree – it is unusual, isn’t it? But enough of that for now – would you care for some tea and cakes?”

  “I would, thank you.”

  Sera stepped out into the hallway for a moment, and spoke to the footman there, sending for the tea, then came back in and waved Primrose to the couch. Once they were seated, Sera turned curious eyes to Primrose.

 

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