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

by Arietta Richmond

  The time slipped by fast, with Primrose utterly absorbed in her work, and it was only when Sera and Señor Cristóbal returned to where she sat that she became aware of the world again. The fact that Señor Cristóbal had come to stand close behind her, looming over her shoulder to watch her work, was what brought her out of the focussed state. He felt, somehow, threatening, as if he judged her, and found her wanting. The contrast between the way that she had felt when Gabriel had watched her draw, and now, was acute.

  She shivered, put the crayons away in their box, and looked up at him. His expression was odd.

  “Señor Cristóbal – now that you have seen it, what do you think of my work?”

  He blinked, as if startled that she would address him, then assumed a smile which felt, to her, utterly false.

  “I can see that you have some ability, for a woman, although I am not sure what purpose such detailed sketches may serve.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Primrose saw Sera stiffen, and she clenched her own teeth for a moment, to prevent herself from snapping at the supercilious young man. A long breath later, she spoke.

  “Drawing gives me pleasure, Señor Cristóbal. And the final sketches and paintings which I make whilst I am here will allow others, in England, to gain some sense of the beauty of this place, which they may never visit in person.”

  His eyes narrowed, as if the concept that she would wish to provide such a service to others was an alien concept to him. Sera, who Primrose suspected had likely found his commentary on the paintings of the church to be patronising and possibly of a character which demonstrated how little he knew of art, stepped forward a little, and spoke.

  “In addition, Señor, I am quite certain that there will be a good market for Lady Primrose’s work. The aristocratic patrons of my art gallery will pay well for the paintings she produces. So, as far as you wondering what purpose they may serve – a commercial one, which will add significantly to our wealth.”

  His eyes turned back to the journal on her lap, and this time, what she saw in his face as he studied her sketch was unadulterated greed.

  Chapter Eleven

  They had spent a pleasant morning, wandering about the town, speaking to local merchants, and generally exploring. Gabriel could see that Sera thought she had found a few artists worth buying from, and he was pleased. Lady Primrose had, as usual, been drawing incessantly, but had actually managed to put the journal away at times to purchase items as gifts for her sisters.

  Now, they sat on a blanket in a small park not all that far from the Cathedral, a picnic before them. It was, after some days of detailed business discussions, and rather formal mealtimes in Senor Pérez’s home, a relief to be somewhere by themselves, to be able to speak with the certainty of not being overheard.

  A tree shaded them from the afternoon heat, and below them, a trickle of water ran down through the ravine to the sea. That ravine could be seen going up, and up, a shadowed cut into the hills above, creating the sense that there were secrets to be found up there. He had been told that sometimes, here, it ran like a river, and at other times of year it was dry.

  Some distance from them, a multi arched bridge crossed the sandy bottom of that ravine – looking excessive, given the small amount of water currently present. Nonetheless, he had been assured that, when the rains came, it was very necessary to keep the two parts of the city connected. Lady Primrose had, of course, drawn it. Now, he saw that she had turned her attention in the other direction, and was sketching the hills above them, where the ravine cut through the landscape, and a winding narrow road could be seen, twisting through the trees to follow it upwards.

  Sera sipped her wine, and smiled, turning to Raphael.

  “So, Raphael – what have you and Gabriel achieved in your secret negotiations with our host?”

  Raphael grinned – Gabriel knew that he was very pleased with the progress so far.

  “Nothing is certain yet – there is more to discuss – but I believe that Señor Pérez and his son can both see the potential in the idea – and that they are very, very keen to be first to produce the new dyes here, to beat their Castilian competitors to the market. I do think that, if we provide the initial stock of the cochineal beetles, and the plants they live on, as well as a guarantee of shipping at an excellent contract rate, and access to the buyers we already have contact with, then they will be willing to run the actual production part of things here, on the dryer high hills which will suit it perfectly.”

  “Will they deal with us honestly? How can you be certain, in cases like this?”

  Sera sipped her wine again, knowing that she would receive a considered answer.

  In the end, it was Gabriel who spoke.

  “I do not think that we can ever be certain. Some people will always be more reliable than others. I do think that Señor Pérez is a man of his word, a man of integrity. His son, however, I am less confident about. Señor Cristóbal wishes to be important – perhaps he feels overshadowed by his father – and I think that he hopes for more wealth than he currently has.”

  Raphael nodded.

  “I agree, Gabriel. The father is solid, and understands that the best benefit comes from working together. The son… has a lot more to learn in life, shall we say. But that should not stop us. It will be Señor Pérez’s responsibility to manage his son. But we have much to work out – this is a long-term venture, for we will source the beetles and their plants from our contacts in the Americas, then there will be an establishment phase here – so it will be some years before we begin to see saleable crops. In the meantime, I plan to continue to buy the orchil dye from Señor Pérez. He has been a reliable supplier for many years now, and the market for the red and purple dyes which can be made from orchil is almost infinite.”

  Sera looked to Lady Primrose at that point, smiling broadly.

  “Do you know, Primrose, one of the artists I spoke to today uses orchil to make her own paints, as well as to dye fabric? The colours of the paints are quite remarkable.”

  Gabriel watched as Lady Primrose lifted her head from her drawing, the afternoon light catching the curling wisps of her hair and making them seem like burnished gold. His mouth went dry at the sight. She sat so close to him that, if he reached out, he could touch that polished gold.

  He resisted that urge.

  “I wonder if she might teach me how to make paints like that?”

  “Perhaps – you should ask.”

  “I will, if you will introduce me.” She turned her eyes back to her drawing of the ravine for a moment, then looked up again. “Do you know where that road goes? Or what it leads to? I feel an intense desire to go up there, to see what the island looks like, from up so high, and to see what secrets that ravine might hide.”

  Gabriel, at her words, looked at the winding road, and found himself in agreeance with her. He wanted to know where that road went. Wanted, if he was truthful, an excuse to get away from the Pérez house, and this city which was so very much a replica of a Spanish town (at least according to Raphael) and to see what the island was like, away from that influence. To explore it with her….

  “Then we should go. I am sure that we can hire a guide, and a small carriage to take us up there. For propriety, Mary could go with us…”

  The words were out before he had time for thought. He waited, suddenly worried that she would not wish his company, that Raphael and Sera would disapprove…

  But her face lit with enthusiasm, and she favoured him with a smile which felt hotter than the sun on his skin, then turned to Raphael and Sera.

  “Oh! That would be wonderful. Can we? I so very much want to draw the city and the sea from way up there.”

  Sera laughed at her enthusiasm.

  “I don’t see any reason you shouldn’t.”

  “Indeed, while you are up there, you can assess the countryside – for higher, dryer places, with good sun exposure, are needed to grow the cactus for the cochineal business. That way, Señor Pérez wi
ll not think it strange that you are avoiding the negotiations for a day.”

  Raphael eyed him with amusement as he said it, knowing full well that Gabriel had been feeling bored by sitting inside discussing, when there was so much to see and evaluate outside.

  “Then let us arrange it for a few days hence.”

  With that, they packed away the picnic items, and rose, ready to walk back to their host’s home. Gabriel found himself naturally falling in beside Lady Primrose as they walked, and the scent of her perfume surrounded him, dizzying in the heat of the day. Men they passed looked at her, and he instinctively edged closer, as if to protect her. It was not his place to do so, but he could not help himself.

  As they walked, they spoke of her drawings, and of what she hoped to see, up on the hills, and of how exciting she found the idea of turning the dyes produced here into paints. He listened, and that analytical part of his mind which looked for optimisation in everything, began to see that, should she learn that process, it could be turned into another arm for their business, apart from supplying her own needs. Would she, a Lady born, be horrified that his thoughts went so fast to commercialising her interests? Probably. But he could not help how he thought.

  He did not speak of it, lest she shudder in response.

  Instead, he simply allowed himself to appreciate everything around him, while he could.

  <<<>>>

  Primrose sat in the chair in her bedroom, a smaller journal on her lap, pencil in hand. On the page in front of her was a sketch of Gabriel – one of many she had made. If she flipped back through the pages, he was represented in every imaginable mood – yet still she found herself drawing him, as if by doing so she could somehow breach the distance which had been growing between them since they had arrived in Las Palmas.

  It was annoying, so annoying, the need for propriety which had reasserted itself once they were on land again! The ship environment had been much more conducive to allowing her to enjoy his company. The memory of those kisses heated her, and populated her dreams every night. But for now, she saw no option but to be perfectly behaved.

  At least, tonight, there was to be a Ball, held by the Commander-General of the province of the Canary Islands. Every person of importance – from the Spanish point of view, at least – would be present. And they had been invited to attend. Primrose’s greatest hope from the evening was that she would have the chance to dance with Gabriel. Only once, of course – anything more would be scandalous – but once was still wonderful, especially if she could manage to manipulate things such that that one dance was a waltz.

  She closed the journal, and sat, dreaming of the evening ahead, and that dance, until Mary bustled in to help her dress. She was very glad that the one ballgown she had packed was new, and perhaps the most flattering gown she had ever owned. It was made from a material which she had only ever seen in the one batch which Raphael had imported from the Far East – a fabric which was composed of a blend of silk, and a very, very fine linen thread. The colour was a mixture of blue and green, which shimmered in the light.

  It made her eyes seem brighter, she knew, and caught the light magnificently. A fine gold braid edged the neckline and sleeves, and that gold was echoed in her necklace and the clasps which were pinned into her hair. Her gloves, rather than the usual white, were a very pale gold in tone as well. Once everything was in place, she gathered up her reticule and shawl, and went to the downstairs parlour to join the others.

  The look on Gabriel’s face when he saw her was one that she would treasure in her memory – one she would try to capture in a drawing, tomorrow. She gave him a bright smile, then turned to look around the room. As she did, the first other person she found herself looking at was Señor Cristóbal. His eyes traversed her, from head to toe, in a manner which she found beyond insolent, and the heat in those eyes when they eventually met her own made her shiver unpleasantly. He might be dismissive of her art, but it appeared that he found her person attractive, if that look was anything to go by.

  She looked away, and went to Sera, just as Señor Pérez and his wife entered the room. Soon, they were all squeezed into Señor Pérez’s large carriage for the short drive to the grand ballroom where the Ball was to be held.

  She was exceeding grateful to be squashed between the wall of the carriage and Sera, for it meant that she was as far as it was possible to be from Señor Cristóbal. The journey was mercifully short, and they were soon passing through the welcoming line, and into the large space, which was filled with a crowd of well-dressed people. It was, Primrose thought, not all that very different from the crush of a Ball in London during the Season.

  At first, she was faced with a whirl of introductions – there were so many names to remember, and her grasp of Spanish was barely adequate to dealing with it all. When the orchestra struck up for the first set, relief filled her – she would not have to talk as much! But that relief was short lived, for, as soon as those first strains of music drifted through the room, Señor Cristóbal appeared by her side, and asked for the honour of the dance.

  He might have used those words, but his manner indicated that she was the one who should be honoured to dance with him. Still, politeness bound her, and she acquiesced graciously, allowing him to lead her to the floor. At least it wasn’t a waltz.

  <<<>>>

  As Gabriel watched Señor Cristóbal lead Lady Primrose away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He did not, at all, like the way that the man looked at her – his manner was far too familiar, his eyes lingered far too long on the curve of her breasts where the cut of the bodice revealed them.

  Yet she was not Gabriel’s – he had no right to resent her dancing with another man – even if he thought the fellow’s manner inappropriate. Still, if Lady Primrose ever expressed a desire to be protected…

  A cluster of young ladies nearby eyed him hopefully – it seemed that, despite being a merchant, the fact that he was new to the Islands, well-connected, and wealthy, was enough to make him most interesting. Courtesy would suggest that he should dance with at least one or two of them. He swallowed, drew himself up, and went to them, intentionally choosing to approach the one who seemed quietest and plainest. A Miss Hetherington, if he remembered correctly from the introductions.

  If he had to pay attention, in any way, to anyone other than Lady Primrose, then he would choose the girl who likely received the least attention normally. She would be more likely to be grateful, and not excessively talkative. He led her to the dance floor as the others all fluttered and whispered behind their fans, and thought, with cynical amusement, that this was no different from London.

  Somehow, he survived the dance set, watching Lady Primrose as best he could, as the twists and turns of the dance steps brought them near each other. She did not look happy, even though her face bore a smile, and Señor Cristóbal seemed, to Gabriel’s eyes at least, to retain his hold on her hand always just a little longer than the dance required. By the end of it, Gabriel was utterly grateful to deliver the young woman back to her family, and re-join Raphael and Sera. He reached them at the same time as Lady Primrose and Señor Cristóbal.

  Lady Primrose looked pale, and a little shaky, which startled him.

  “May I get you a cordial, Lady Primrose? Or would you prefer to dance?”

  She turned her eyes to him with an expression which he did not immediately understand, and smiled.

  “If you are asking me for this next dance, Mr Morton, then I am delighted to accept. Refreshment can wait until after this set.”

  He offered her his arm, his heart suddenly pounding, for the music just beginning was a waltz. She turned her face to him as they reached the other dancers, and the smile she gave him was genuine, full of happiness, and her eyes spoke of memories of kisses on the ship. He placed his arms around her in the appropriate manner, resisting the urge to pull her far closer than he should, and rejoiced in the fact that, where he had seen her flinch away from Señor Cristóbal, there was n
o flinching here, with him. Far from it.

  They began to move, and he forgot everything else, simply revelling in the feel of her in his arms, after the recent days of distance and propriety. They floated through the dance in perfect harmony, oblivious to anything but each other.

  Which meant that neither of them noticed the somewhat thunderous glare with which Señor Cristóbal regarded them.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’ve secured us the services of a guide, with a wagon. Its not the most elegant of conveyances, but it is sturdy, and well suited to rough, hilly roads.”

  Primrose looked up as Gabriel entered the room, his voice full of enthusiasm for their planned trip up the ravine-side road. The canvas before her bore the beginnings of a complex painting – this one a study of the courtyard garden, replete with many birds and flowers. The detail, and the colour, was more challenging than anything she had attempted before. She was, cautiously, pleased.

  Sera had taken her to meet the local artist – an older woman of mixed Guanches and Spanish blood – and she had surprised Primrose with her attitude. She had been more than happy to teach Primrose her methods for making paints in unique colours, exclaiming about how pleased she was to see a woman demonstrate true interest and aptitude in an area which was so often regarded as a male preserve. Now, the results of two days of careful paint mixing were beginning to grace this canvas.

  “That is good to hear – when will we go?”

  “Tomorrow. We must rise early, so that we have the full day available. The darkness closes in so fast in these climes, we do not want to risk returning down that road too late.”

  Primrose nodded, then looked at her canvas again. The afternoon light through the large window was beginning to fade, and the best time of day for painting was gone. She carefully sealed her paint containers, rinsed her brush vigorously in the small jar of thinning oil, and set it aside. No one would disturb her work before she returned to it in two days’ time - Señor Pérez had set aside this small parlour on the upper floor for her use, once Sera had explained the requirement. She rose, and stretched.