But who was it? The question rang in her mind as she walked along the hallway towards the parlour – who would call that Thorne would say might not care about her appearance? Could it be…? Hope filled her in a great wash of warmth. If it was Gabriel… what might he say?
She shook her head at her own nervousness. Likely, it would be someone else entirely – although who, she could not say. But she smoothed her skirts again as she settled onto a couch in the parlour to wait.
A maid hurried in with a tea tray.
“Mr Marks said I should bring you this, my Lady.”
Primrose nodded, and the maid scurried out again, just as Marks appeared in the doorway.
“Mr Gabriel Morton to see you, my Lady.”
She stood, mouth dry, and heart thundering in her breast, as he stepped into the room. Marks retreated, leaving the door open, but, she realised, no maid had come in – in a manner quite dreadfully flouting propriety, they were alone together. She did not care. With this man, she had cast propriety aside long since.
Primrose went to him, smiling even though, inside, she still feared rejection. But his eyes met hers, and suddenly her doubts seemed foolish. The warmth that she saw there reminded her of how he had looked at her, that first day when they had gone up into the hills, just before he had kissed her.
“Gabriel… it is wonderful to see you again so soon.”
Oh! That sounded so formal! She shook her head, almost laughing at herself – a lifetime of training in dealing with polite society had simply taken over. But he did not seem dismayed. He took her hand in his, and bowed, pressing a lingering kiss to her bare fingertips. Heat bloomed from that spot, filling her whole body. When he rose from the bow, she tightened her fingers on his, and drew him towards the couch.
“Please, sit – would you like tea?”
There she was, being formal again! She did not know how to be anything else, was not sure what to do, or where they stood, or how to talk to him. Which was utterly ridiculous.
She had not, she suddenly realised, released his hand – and he had made no attempt to free himself. Now, he shifted a little on the seat beside her, and cleared his throat. Perhaps he was just as unsure about what to say as she was.
“Primrose… I…” he paused, and swallowed, as if nervous. She met his eyes, deeply curious. “I came here today to say something to you that I should have said long since. But first, I must apologise to you.”
“Apologise? What for?”
“For the way that I have treated you, over the last three weeks or more. I have been an unmitigated fool. I allowed my own uncertainties about my place in the world, and the way that society judges me, to distort my perception of you, and of my own feelings.”
Primrose felt shock run through her – what was he implying? Did he mean…?
“I accept your apology, although I think that I owe you one as well. I allowed my own desires to drive me, disregarding what you may have wanted. My behaviour was unforgiveable – I should not have pressed you, and argued with you. Or kissed you when you so obviously did not wish me to.”
He gave a soft laugh, and squeezed her fingers.
“Never think that! I wished those kisses, with every part of my being – I was just convinced, at the time, that I should not. That anything between us would be impossible.”
“At the time? Does that mean that you hold a different opinion now?”
She licked her lips, feeling almost faint, for his answer to that question seemed more important to her than anything else in her life.
“It does. And I came to change my opinion because of you – because of your actions. Your courage, and your willingness to defend me against those fops in Godalming, made it most obvious to me that love was worth fighting for, that position and society’s opinion really should not matter. That I needed to put aside my own fears, and fight for what I want, what I love, as fiercely as you did.”
She considered those words carefully, tears springing to her eyes. Did he truly mean…?
“Love?”
“Love. Lady Primrose Gardenbrook, I love you. I think that I have, almost from the first time that I met you. I am no longer fool enough to attempt to deny it.”
She leant forward, without thought, without consideration of anything but his words, and brought her lips to his. What began as a gentle brush became far more, as he pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. When they drew apart, she smiled, a smile which lit her face completely.
“Mr Gabriel Morton, I am very glad to hear that. For I love you, and most definitely have, since the very first time that we met. I have hoped for so long, but I despaired of ever knowing that you might return my feelings. But… now that we have each acknowledged what we feel – what shall we do about it?”
“I rather thought that part should be obvious – will you marry me, Primrose?”
There they were, the words she had begun to believe she would never hear. Dizzy joy filled her.
“Yes, oh yes, I will marry you, Gabriel. As soon as can possibly be arranged!”
Laughing, he pulled her close again, and kissed her, only drawing back when a voice came from the doorway of the parlour.
“I see – I take it that you have something to ask me, Mr Morton?”
Primrose blushed, but did not remove herself from Gabriel’s arms. Her father stood there, waiting, but she could see, by the sparkle of humour in his eye, that he was not unhappy with what he saw before him. Relief filled her – not that she had doubted him, really, but…
<<<
Gabriel felt as if the world had twisted beneath him. She had said yes! That she had declared her love for him, had so readily forgiven all of his past foolishness, was more than he deserved. But he was going to appreciate it, was going to make sure that he was never so foolish again.
He was deeply engaged in the pleasure of her kiss when the voice snapped him out of that dream, instantly.
Her father! What must the Duke think? He went to move back from her, but she did not release him. He swallowed, hard – why should he move back? He loved her, and she had just agreed to marry him. This was the first moment in which he should demonstrate the courage which she had inspired in him.
“I do, Your Grace, although I fear that I have acted rather pre-emptively. I have just asked Lady Primrose to marry me, and she has done me the honour of agreeing to become my wife. I must hope that you will give us your blessing, Your Grace, although, even if you do not, you will find me determined to marry her regardless.”
The Duke regarded him sternly, but there was a hint of something most positive in his eyes.
“I see. Do you love her, Mr Morton?”
Gabriel was startled – it was not the kind of question which he had expected. Normally, the father of a girl being courted asked about what sort of life the prospective husband might provide her, where they intended to live, that sort of thing. He supposed that the Duke, knowing full well the wealth of the Morton family, had rightly ignored that part of the matter, but still – he had expected to be asked how he would deal with society’s likely disapprobation of the match.
“I do, Your Grace, more than I can express.”
The Duke turned his gaze to Primrose.
“And you, my minx of a daughter, do you genuinely love Mr Morton? This is not some whimsy of yours, as an act of defiance?”
Gabriel turned to look at Primrose’s expression.
“Father! I would never so trifle with a man’s affections – and I believe that you know it. I thought it was only Thorne who teased me so. Of course I love him. I have from the moment that I met him – it just took me a little while to convince him….”
The Duke gave a satisfied nod.
“Then I see no reason not to approve. You have my blessing. Now, do please draw a little apart, and comport yourself with some dignity – for the moment that I tell your mother, you know what will happen.”
Reluctantly, Gabriel removed his arms from around Primrose, and sat
back – which was as well, for, from behind the Duke, another voice spoke.
“Tell me what?”
The Duchess came to stand at her husband’s side, giving him a challenging look, which Gabriel could immediately see bore a strong resemblance to expressions he had seen on Primrose’s face. The Duke took his wife’s hand.
“My dear, you have another wedding to plan.”
He gestured towards Primrose and Gabriel. The Duchess seemed to freeze in place for a moment regarding her husband, and Gabriel had the oddest feeling that she was making sure that the Duke did not jest. Beside him, Primrose whispered, very softly.
“Wait for the reaction, approximately… now…”
And on her word, the Duchess spun back, her face wreathed in smiles.
“Excellent! I shall call on your mother tomorrow, Mr Morton!”
Shock ran through him – a Duchess was going to call at Morton House, rather than asking his mother to come to her? Somehow, around Primrose’s family, the normal rules of society appeared to become suspended.
The Duchess turned to her husband again, and a rapid discussion began, on the likely timing of the wedding. Primrose interjected, without concern for politeness.
“As soon as possible, Mama.” Her mother glared, then shrugged. Primrose turned to Gabriel. “She is annoyed, because the less time she has to plan, the less of a grand production she can make the wedding.”
Gabriel laughed, shaking his head.
“You do realise, of course, that Sera will likely call on you today or tomorrow to discuss the plans for your art exhibition? You will need to weave dealing with that around the wedding plans too.”
Primrose went positively pale at his words.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Primrose felt suddenly rather queasy.
Her art exhibition… the thing which she had been frantically painting and drawing for, whilst pretending that the final part, in which her skills as an artist were revealed before the ton, did not exist. The exhibition which she had not, at any stage, mentioned to her parents.
Who were now looking at her, with matching raised eyebrows. Her mother spoke first.
“Art exhibition? Pray tell, Primrose, what art exhibition?”
“Aah… the exhibition which Lady Porthaven wants to put on at her gallery, of the paintings and sketches which I did whilst we were away?”
“The exhibition which you have previously neglected to mention to us?”
“Yes…”
The Duke and Duchess met each other’s eyes.
Then the Duke sighed, and directed his next words to Primrose.
“I see. Let me understand the details of this. Will this exhibition be presenting your work as being by you – your true name? Or as being by a pseudonym? I ask only so that I can be prepared for the reactions of the ton.”
Primrose felt a moment of panic – for she did not, yet, know the answer to that question. She was, she realised, afraid – afraid of revealing her art to the ton, and of being looked down on, being castigated for doing unladylike things. As she considered, Gabriel reached out and took her hand. She met his eyes, and there, she found her answer.
He had praised her courage, had told her that it had inspired his own. He had chosen, now, to ask her to marry him, knowing that they would face disapproval from many of the ton, had told her that love was worth fighting for. Well, she loved the act of creating art, almost as much as she loved Gabriel. If he could face society’s disapprobation, so could she.
She turned back to her father.
“I believe it will be presented under my true name. I considered a pseudonym, but, in the end, I am not ashamed of what I create, nor of the fact that Lady Porthaven regards it as being of a suitable quality to sell. I do quail a little at the thought of what some people may say, but I am determined to go ahead regardless.”
Her father’s expression shifted, from concerned, to a broad smile. It was as if she had passed some test, by giving that answer. Her mother still looked a little alarmed by the idea, but if Father approved, he would convince Mama.
“Well said, daughter. Although you rarely show me your work, I have seen enough of it to be proud of your skill – as you should be yourself. I care not one whit what fools may say, if art makes you happy. And if those same fools wish to pay good money for it, even whilst gossiping about you, then that makes the point quite nicely – their judgement of you is invalid. But do, please, discuss this with Lady Porthaven as soon as possible, so that the wedding and the exhibition do not become a tangled disaster of failed planning.”
The Duchess drew herself up, and glared at her husband.
“My planning does not fail. I shall simply involve Lady Porthaven in all of it, as well as Mrs Morton.”
With that, she spun on her heel, and left the room, calling for the housekeeper, and obviously intending to start planning immediately.
Primrose felt warmth fill her – a warm sense of relief, of being loved, by her family, and Gabriel. A warmth which allowed her to consider, for the first time ever, what it might be like to be acclaimed as an artist, publicly.
“Thank you, Father. I hope that you like the work that I have done, once you see it.”
“Daughter, I am quite certain that I will – so much so that I insist that you show me everything, and let me choose one piece for my study wall, before anything is ever shown to anyone else.”
<<<
Primrose peeked around the edge of the curtain which covered the entry into the back room of the Gallery. Out in the main area, every wall and stand featured her work – from pencil sketches, to conte crayon works, to oil paintings almost as tall as she was. People wandered about, pausing to study works which caught their eye.
Amongst them, Raphael, Sera, and Mr Featherstonehaugh circulated, speaking to each one as they went. She felt quite faint – half the ton were out there – people she saw at Balls and soirees all the time, some of whom were the biggest gossips imaginable. If they decided to hate her work, the discussion in the parlours of London would be incessant, and nasty.
And soon, she would have to go out there. Would be introduced as the artist. No one knew, yet, who had painted them, beyond the indication given by her initials. They had chosen mystery to ensure a good attendance, and Sera had made sure that all of the Gallery’s best customers would attend, keen to have the chance to be first to purchase works by a new artist.
In fifteen minutes, it would be time for the grand opening – with the unveiling of the largest, and best, of her pieces, and speeches, and food and drink for the guests. Sera had even invited the Prince Regent, as he had, in the past, purchased paintings from the Gallery. Not that Primrose expected him to want to own any of her work – what she painted was not anywhere near as salacious as the art that the Prince Regent was reputed to favour.
It all still seemed utterly impossible that this was happening, but it was. The last three weeks had been a synchronised madness of exhibition and wedding planning.
A madness in which she felt rather like a leaf tossed on a storm, as her mother, Gabriel’s mother, and Sera had somehow made everything that needed to be done, get done. She had helped where she could, had spent many hours finishing some of the paintings, and had, regularly, escaped for drives in the Park with Gabriel.
She let the curtain fall, and stepped back, checking her hair and her gown in the mirror again. Behind her, Gabriel rose from his chair, and came to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.
“You will do perfectly. You have the courage to face down attackers and slandering cads – that courage will do just as well in the face of the gossips of the ton.”
“I am not so certain – after all, the gossips of the ton are slandering cads, just in another guise – and I am not sure that a whole roomful of them will be so easy to vanquish as just three.”
“Nonetheless, you will do it, because you want this, and you deserve it.”
She grasped his hand, and smiled, still afraid,
but determined. Out in the main room, a whisper of conversation shifted, and she went to peek around the curtain again, then dropped it hastily.
“The Prince Regent – he is here.”
“Then the success of your exhibition is assured.”
At that moment, Sera came through the curtain, a big smile on her face.
“Are you ready? Raphael is just calling for everyone’s attention.”
She stepped past them, into the kitchen which was right at the back of the building, and directed the footmen and maids who waited to bring out the trays of drinks and food. Then she returned to Primrose.
“I am shaking. Surely everyone will notice?”
“They won’t, you look perfectly calm and steady. Now come, it is time for us to introduce you.”
Primrose went with Sera, and Gabriel followed them. They emerged into the main room just as Raphael spoke the announcement.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce to you the artist who is responsible for the magnificent body of work we present to you today – Lady Primrose Gardenbrook!”
Primrose stepped forward to stand beside him as the whispers went around the room at lightning speed.
“A woman…”
“A Lady – how shocking…”
“A Duke’s daughter… scandalous…”
“But magnificent work…”
“This makes the work even more collectible…”
She swallowed, and waited to see what would happen. As yet, no one approached her, as if they were all too shocked to know what to do. To one side, the Prince Regent stood, with the usual crowd of toadies surrounding him. He looked, Primrose thought, amused. Then, as the whispers slowed a little, he moved, coming towards Primrose. She drew herself up, afraid, yet refusing to give any appearance of weakness.
The Prince Regent reached her, and she curtseyed, the full court curtsey, surprised that she did not wobble abominably.
“Do rise, Lady Primrose. I wish to congratulate you – on the quality of your art, but also for so thoroughly and successfully shocking the ladies and gentlemen present. You have enlivened my day considerably. I like your style – artistic and otherwise. I believe that I will commission you to paint a piece for me. Although… I do prefer works of a rather more… salacious… character than most presented here. Could you bring yourself to paint such a thing?”
A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 17