“There he is right now,” Ambrose said from his place standing near the fireplace. “I hear Sir Thomas bested you, Chastain. Not to worry, I’ve never beaten him myself.”
Rose rushed to greet him and lead him to where her friend Emma was seated next to an elderly woman on a long Grecian sofa. “You haven’t been properly introduced to my aunt or my friend Emma.”
Aunt Abigail, or more properly Lady Markham, looked him over without speaking. Introductions made, Rose informed him the two young women would be joining the adults for dinner.
“Iris is allowing it as a special treat,” she whispered.
He glanced at Iris. Her attention was solely on her conversation with Lottie, Peake, and Sir Thomas. He excused himself, eager to be away from the watchful Lady Markham.
“Tomorrow will be splendid,” Lottie said.
He listened closely to hear what the young woman was referring to.
“I do so wish you could go with us, Sir Thomas,” Iris said, looking up at the baronet with imploring eyes.
“Unfortunately I have an appointment in the village I cannot escape,” the man replied with a regretful sigh.
“Do you care to accompany us, Lord Peake?” Iris asked.
“Sadly, I cannot. I have several letters of business to write tomorrow,” Peake replied.
Chastain privately thought Peake made up an excuse so as not to be included in the outing. He wondered if anyone would name the event Iris had planned for the morrow when the butler announced dinner. Iris moved forward with her brother to enter the dining room. His own place was at the end of the table far from Iris. He was seated next to Lottie and across from Rose and Emma. To his annoyance, Sir Thomas sat next to Iris. He looked at Ambrose and his friend also didn’t look best pleased at the seating arrangements.
Iris’s white velvet gown was very becoming, her shiny hair sprinkled with golden leaves. The effect was elegant without being overdone. He appreciated that Iris always looked suitably attired, not as if she was trying too hard to be of the fashionable set.
“Will you join us on our outing tomorrow, Lord Chastain?” Lottie asked between sips of white soup.
“I would love to,” he replied. He had no idea what was planned. No matter. His purpose at Marcourt was to spend time with Iris.
Lottie looked briefly at Iris who was conversing, yet again, with Sir Thomas. “Thank you. We could use your assistance.”
The soup was removed, the fish course presented. He noted the familiar way in which Sir Thomas picked out the most succulent pieces of fish for Iris. He glanced at his host, to see Ambrose frowning at the couple. Maybe Iris had arranged the seating assignments at the table.
“How will you occupy your day tomorrow, Ambrose?” Lottie asked.
“I promised Rose to take her and Emma ice-skating. The pond isn’t solid enough. Despite the lack of snow, Rose would like to take one of the sleighs out for a drive.”
“Did you remember there is an assembly ball tomorrow evening?” Lottie asked.
“I had forgotten,” Ambrose replied with a frown. “You ladies would like to attend the ball?”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Iris said from her place down the table. Lottie answered in the affirmative as well.
“One would think you were tired of dancing after London,” Sir Thomas said in a teasing voice.
“I didn’t get to dance with you, my dear friend,” Iris replied with a sweet smile.
He felt the need to grit his teeth.
“You know I dislike dancing,” the baronet replied.
“As does Ambrose,” Lottie said gaily from her place beside him. “All the better we attend the assembly.”
It was decided the adults would go as a single party. When the younger girls expressed sadness at being left out, Iris promised Rose her friend Emma could stay at Marcourt for the night. He was surprised by how deftly Iris handled her youngest sister. So well indeed Rose never seemed to know she was being managed.
“When was the last time you attended a local assembly?” Lottie asked him after the dessert course was served and everyone exclaimed over the slices of pineapple.
“I’ve never had the pleasure,” he replied.
“You will have a grand time. There are so many diversions in Norfolk you may desire never to leave the county.”
His gaze moved to Iris. He was delighted to see her staring at him after the marked attention she’d been showing Sir Thomas during the meal. She hurriedly dropped her eyes and concentrated on her plate. “Yes, the diversions are many.”
He changed the subject by asking Lottie about her cultivation of pineapples.
“Shall we join the ladies in the drawing room?” Ambrose asked him when the last course was taken away. His friend looked at the other men present.
“That sounds a capital idea,” Peake replied as the assembly stood.
Rose and Emma took themselves off to the nursery. In the drawing room Sir Thomas and Peake carried the conversation as Ambrose appeared to be as averse to conversation at present as he was. He thought his friend looked rather tired. As for himself, he was tired of Sir Thomas.
Tea was served. A few minutes later Iris suggested cards.
“Hear, hear,” Peake replied. “Perhaps I may beat Sir Thomas at a game.”
“I really must take my leave,” the baronet replied with a smile directed at Iris. “Caring for my sister can be exhausting.”
Iris directed a maid to fetch the girl. Although Miss Emma looked as if she would protest leaving the house, her brother handled her as deftly as Iris handled Rose. Good lord, was the man good at everything?
“Let me see you out,” Iris said to the baronet and left the room with Sir Thomas and his sister.
The most recent question he had about the annoying neighbor was answered by Ambrose. “Sir Thomas’s parents are currently in India. He often has charge of Miss Emma.”
“What card game should we play?” Lottie asked him, effectively distracting his attention from the doorway to the room. The girl smiled, her eyes wide. He wondered if she read anything into his interest in Iris’s movements. To his consternation, he noticed Lady Markham was watching him again.
“Loo? Whist?” Peake shook his head and sighed. “It matters not for Ambrose will cheat at whatever we play.”
Chapter Six
Iris noted Chastain preferred coffee for breakfast. The man ate heartily at every meal and never failed to praise the cooking.
“If I convey any more of your compliments to my cook she may run away with you,” Ambrose replied to Chastain’s latest comment on the quality of the scrambled eggs.
“I would happily take her on. You know my father’s French chef in London is abysmal.”
“I agree.” Peake shook his head, his countenance sorrowful. “His cakes are as hard as horseshoes.”
Ambrose and Rose said their farewells. They would collect Emma and be off for a sleigh ride.
“What outing have I volunteered for?” Chastain asked Iris.
She supposed Chastain would have joined any outing proposed to further his chances of winning the wager. “I promised to visit Mr. Jennings’s wife Anna and her baby today. Ambrose suggested a gentleman accompany me and Lottie. The servants have been gossiping about a stranger being seen in the area recently. I would feel more comfortable if you came with us.”
“I am at your service,” he replied and added, “I should not like to think of you ladies in any danger during your outing.”
Iris felt a pang of guilt at the concern evident in Chastain’s voice. The ride to the small cottage Anna and her family lived in did go through some rather dark woods. She hadn’t really fibbed after all. There was a stranger reported in the area before the family left for London several months ago.
She gifted him a sunny smile. “Thank you, Lord Chastain. Lottie and I need to collect a basket from cook and a few gifts to take with us. Shall we meet in the entry hall in ten minutes?”
Chastain agreed. She and
Lottie rose from the table to go about their errands. They had worn travelling dresses to the breakfast room and were ready for the day.
In the carriage she took a seat beside her sister. Each woman had a warming brick for their feet and shared a blanket for warmth. Lord Chastain sat on the bench across from them. She didn’t know where to look, her eyes repeatedly drawn to the man across from her. In such tight quarters his musky scent filled the carriage. It warmed her from her head to her toes. She must remember her sister next to her and not make a cake of herself.
Lottie started the conversation in the right direction.
“I just adore babies,” the girl said. “Have you ever held an infant, Lord Chastain?”
“Never. I know no one of any close acquaintance who has one,” he replied.
“Ambrose should marry so I may be an aunt.” Lottie grinned.
“I shall tell him to oblige you,” Chastain replied in a teasing voice. He winked at them both.
Iris thought the viscount looked less wary once the subject was changed from babies in general to the possibility of Ambrose having offspring.
“Ambrose does not seem the least inclined to marry,” she said pointedly to Lottie.
“Mrs. Cleary would marry him in a thrice,” her sister replied.
Iris explained to Chastain that Mrs. Cleary was a widow in the village and had often stated her desire to remarry.
“And you, Lord Chastain? Are you a confirmed bachelor?” Lottie asked, her eyes wide and guileless.
Iris looked out the carriage window. Her sister may have overplayed her hand.
“I imagine I will have to marry at some point and produce an heir,” Chastain replied, his tone bland.
“You shouldn’t wait too long. Once you are old you may discover it harder to find a wife.”
“Lottie!” Iris moved her gaze from the outside view to her sister. “My goodness, one would think you had turned into Rose.”
“She may be right,” Chastain replied. “My twenty-four years may seem ancient to some.”
Iris shook her head. “It is very hard for me to believe a titled man would have difficulty finding a wife if he wanted one.”
“Do I have nothing but a title to recommend me?” the viscount queried. His husky voice enveloped her, making her forget her sister was next to her, listening to every word.
“Are you hoping for a compliment, Lord Chastain?”
He looked to consider her question. “Compliments should be sincere.”
“Well then,” she replied and proceeded to openly look him over. “You are a handsome man and fine of figure. Your teeth are good. You have a full head of hair.”
He chuckled. “Are you buying a horse?”
“You have a title and from what I’ve heard through gossip, a rather large fortune. All in all, I believe you are prime marriage material.” Hearing herself list the reasons he was a good catch did not help her wayward feelings. She must remember he was a wastrel.
“What of his character?” Lottie asked. “I must ask as Rose is not present and the heroines in her novels always refer to a man’s character.”
“Lord Chastain does appear very loyal to his friends,” Iris replied, her gaze not leaving the man in question. She must respect that character trait. “Which would suggest he is of good character in that matter at least.”
“I agree.” Lottie nodded. “Since Rose is not here, I will announce that Lord Chastain is an honorable man and needs a wife. He would then settle down nicely.”
Chastain laughed aloud. She couldn’t help but join in.
“Lottie, you are a wonder,” the viscount said. “Iris tells me Rose is writing a story about me. I do hope it has a happy ending.”
The carriage came to a blessed halt. The driver opened the door, forestalling any further discussion about Rose’s book. Chastain made no mention of their being accompanied by the driver and thus having some measure of protection. She trusted he might think she wanted his company; which she did after a fashion.
Iris presented Anna a gift of a knitted blanket for the babe, a tin of tea, and a basket full of hand pies. Lottie brought along Rose’s gift of a picture book made from a blank journal. The girl had written and illustrated a story about a lost baby bunny finding its way back to its burrow.
“Oh, the babe is beautiful, Anna.” Iris cooed over the child in its mother’s arms.
Her triumph at disconcerting Chastain was to be short lived. He stood near the doorway of the tiny cottage, looking as uncomfortable to be there as Anna looked to have him in her home. A miscalculation on Iris’s part. The mother handed the swaddled infant to Lottie.
“What is the babe’s name?” Lottie asked from her place close beside Iris.
The sisters exchanged looks. Was the bald baby a boy or girl?
The mother looked over her shoulder from where she prepared tea not a step away. “Michael,” she replied.
“A strong name for such a handsome boy.” Lottie motioned for Iris to take the baby. She handed the silent child to her sister.
“Oh, you are so precious,” Iris whispered. She smiled at Lord Chastain. “Come see the babe.”
The man looked cautious but moved to stand nearby. He leaned in for a closer look at the child and the baby began to wail.
“I think I frightened the child,” the viscount said in a soft voice, color rising to his cheeks. He returned to his place near the front door of the house. “Excuse me ladies, I’ll check on the carriage.”
She was touched again to see concern for someone else written on Chastain’s face. Could he be acting? She would have to ask Lottie her opinion on the matter.
Their hostess did not look disturbed by the noise of a wailing baby. She pressed a cup of tea into Lottie’s hands, took the babe from Iris, and nodded to a mug of tea for Iris sitting on the only table in the room. The overpowering smell of onions and garlic reached out to Iris from a pot on the same table as Iris picked up the mug.
The women murmured pleasantries and a few minutes later, the child’s eyes were drooping. The room was very warm due to the roaring fire in the grate. The smell from the pot on the table was hanging over her. Iris decided Lord Chastain had waited for them long enough.
“The baby was darling,” she said to her carriage mates once they were on their way back to Marcourt.
Lottie replied, “He was very quiet for a newborn.”
Chastain raised an eyebrow. “Quiet?”
“He only cried when he saw you,” Iris replied with a grin.
Lottie added, “It will be different when you have your own children.”
Chastain cleared his throat. “I instructed the driver to return to Marcourt. You ladies have no other errands?”
“Not this afternoon. A neighboring family is expected for tea.” What she failed to mention to Chastain was their neighbor Mrs. Blakely was a notorious gossip and Iris expected the woman would irritate the viscount. “Mr. and Mrs. Blakely grew up in the same village as our mother and Aunt Abigail.”
When they arrived back at Marcourt Iris changed into an afternoon dress. Anna’s small cottage had also smelled of smoke from the roaring fire. Her maid assured Iris her hair only smelled of the lemon rinse she used after bathing. Lottie entered her sister’s bedchamber to inform her the Blakely’s had arrived.
While Iris’s maid put the final touches on her mistress’s hair, Lottie studied the artifacts Iris had displayed on her dresser. She picked up one of the Roman coins Iris had found in October at a dig near the village and studied it.
“I need to speak to you for a moment about Lord Chastain,” she said as she checked her appearance in the mirror of her dressing table. “Do you think he is a sincere man?”
Lottie returned the coin to its place on the dresser. Her eyes met Iris’s in the mirror. “I think he is. Chastain has shown a lot of care in all his dealings with our family. He seemed genuinely concerned that he might have scared the baby today. I was quite touched.”
Her sister
spoke the truth. She too believed Lord Chastain had been honest in his care and concern for her and her sisters. “Thank you, Lottie.”
Lottie asked, “Shall we go down?”
She pushed back the chair she was seated in and came to her feet. “I’m ready. My maid informed me Rose is in her bedchamber scribbling furiously away at a story inspired by her sleigh ride today.”
Mrs. Blakely was a round, gregarious woman. Her husband was lean but just as talkative. Ambrose, Chastain, and Peake joined their party in the long drawing room. Once introductions were made and the teacups sorted, Mr. Blakely asked Peake and Chastain if they enjoyed fishing.
“It is a relaxing way to spend the afternoon,” Chastain replied non-committedly. “Not quite a winter pastime.”
Mr. Blakely prattled on about fishing lures. Iris made sure the village gossip caught her stealing glances at Lord Chastain. Once she saw a light in the busy-body’s eyes she relaxed her ogling of the man.
When her husband exhausted the topic of fishing, Mrs. Blakely found her opening.
“How do you like our little corner of England, Lord Chastain?” the matron asked the viscount.
“I find the area charming and the people very accommodating,” he replied.
“Do you not think the ladies here as lovely as any in London? Do our Iris and Lotus not bloom as beautiful as any flowers in society?”
Lottie groaned. Both Chastain and Peake looked confused.
“Lotus?” Chastain asked the woman.
“Why ‘Lotus’ is Lottie’s given name,” the matron replied.
Lottie’s cheeks turned pink. Lord Peake smiled wryly.
“Our mother loved gardening very much,” Iris said to explain the matter to the two men. “Our father would not allow mama to name his only son after a flower, but he did not protest our names.”
“My mother was also very fond of gardening,” Chastain replied with a smile directed at Lottie. “I understand her desire to name her lovely daughters after flowers. A flowery name would have been wasted on Ambrose as he is rather more like a thorn than a bloom.”
The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1) Page 5
