Page 3 of The Artisan and the Duke
“Yes, I need to speak to you on an urgent matter.” Gregory turned an apologetic smile towards the father and daughter duo he had been speaking with. “I know that a man of your stature understands that business can’t wait,” Gregory said to Sir Greyson. To Yolanda, Gregory gave a bow and offered, “I certainly hope you enjoy yourself.”
Yolanda gave him a smile which she hid behind her gloved hand. Gregory grabbed Boris’ arm and led the man away forthright. Gregory only halted when they were hidden from sight by the columns. “Mercy on you, good Boris,” Gregory said with feeling.
Boris chuckled. “Running from the matrimonial yoke again, Cousin?”
“As fast as a mule who has had the whip one too many times,” Gregory agreed heartily. It was then that Gregory took in his cousin’s appearance. “Boris, you shaved.”
Boris tapped his chin. “By the King’s name, someone has stolen my beard,” Boris said with dramatic flair.
“You are still an awful actor,” Gregory said as he clapped his hand on Boris’ shoulder. “Tell me that you have not been enchanted by a foul potion.”
Boris’ curly eyebrows furrowed until they almost touched his curly locks. “Your tongue always holds such clever mockery, but in all seriousness, I am courting a young lady.”
“What young lady have you caged with your lion’s gaze?” Gregory leaned his elbow against the column as he watched his cousin intently.
Drawing himself up, Boris said proudly, “I’m courting the youngest daughter of the Marquis of Dorchire.”
“Is that the one with the freckles? Or the one with the prominent front teeth?” Gregory asked the question earnestly. He never could keep track of the Marquis’ daughters. The man had seven of them after all, and they looked exceptionally alike.
Boris groaned, “She has freckles, Gregory. Honestly, you should think of your position more than you do. You carry on as if you are still a boy running through the gardens and stealing fruit.”
“If only I were,” Gregory lamented.
Boris was a good two inches taller than even Gregory who stood six feet tall, and he looked every bit of it and then some when the man drew himself up to his full height. Gregory patted his cousin on the shoulder again amicably. Boris relented a bit in his stance. “You should think of heirs,” Boris said gently. “Or will you leave that to Fred?”
Fredrick was Gregory’s younger brother. Gregory had been set to join the war, but when their father died, Gregory took over the title, and Fredrick took Gregory’s place on the battlefield. Gregory sighed, “Fred is still recovering. I think the fairer set is not on his mind at the moment.”
“I had heard that he was injured,” Boris said sadly. “I do hope he is well enough to join us on an outing or at least for a visit soon. I would very much like to catch up with him. You will tell him that, will you not?”
Gregory nodded. “Of course I will.”
***
“Jules,” David Larkin called as he came over to where Jules was making sure the walls of the shop they were building were level. Jules raised her eyes up to the man. She and David were junior masons together before Jules got promoted. David panted, “There’s been a fire.”
Everyone seemed to be running the next moment. It was as if the whole of the human population was swarming towards the light that flickered in the predawn hours. All the tradesmen and women that were close enough rushed to help, but at the building they were pushed back by the heat.
Jules stared open-mouthed and filled with frustration. Try as they might to rush into the building, the flames pushed them back. No help seemed to be coming, but there was the commotion of running feet. Buckets and water flew between hands. Jules could not see where they were getting the water from.
A woman’s cry near Jules made her turn her head towards the ailing woman. The woman sat miserably leaning against a post with another woman’s arms around her as if holding the wailing woman back from the fire. “My Bonnie!” the woman wailed over and over.
Jules understood. The factory had employed children. Jules swallowed down her fear and ran toward the fire again. The fire burst out a window. Jules and two men scattered to avoid the flying glass. “We can’t get in,” one of the men shouted.
“Just help with the water,” Jules shouted. “It’s too far gone. We need to keep it from spreading to the other buildings.” She felt defeated, but there was no reason to get others killed.
***
The breakfast was spread out over the small, intimate table that his mother liked to eat at in the morning. Lady St Claire had a very dear affection for the roses in her garden and liked to dine among them whenever possible. Gregory looked out through the glass doors that opened onto a stone terrace where his mother’s breakfast table was set up.
As Gregory opened the door to go out into the garden, his mother looked around at him. She was a short woman, full of figure and of fire, as Gregory’s father had always said. “Morning, Mother,” Gregory said amicably as he came over and pulled out a chair for himself.
“And to you, son of mine,” Lady St Claire said in amusement. “Did you run into that merchant and his daughter?”
Gregory gave his mother a look of dismay. “I certainly hope that you have not been encouraging Greyson and his offspring with their schemes,” Gregory said as he picked up a plum off the fruit bowl set to one side.
“I would not say that,” Lady St Claire said with a wry grin. “No. I simply have stated to the merchant that I would very much like to see you happily wedded. If he took that as an endorsement, then that is on his shoulders.”
There was no point in arguing over the details of what she said. The woman was used to the twisting tongues of the courtesans and ambassadors of the court. She could talk herself out of anything if she were given enough room to manoeuvre. Gregory ate his fruit in silence. His mother seemed content with that arrangement as well as she went back to looking over her garden.
