There was good natured laughter from the group. It was quite clever how Chastain diverted attention away from Lottie. She found herself less astonished this time at his thoughtfulness.
Ambrose grinned at Chastain. “I thank my father every day he held firm in his desire to name me Ambrose.”
“That was my idea,” Aunt Abigail said. “And the name stuck. Everyone knows you as Ambrose rather than as Norfolk like your father.”
There was a short silence. Her aunt rarely joined the conversation. Deaf in one ear from a childhood fever, Iris assumed the woman didn’t hear most of what went on around her.
“I am in deepest gratitude to you for my name.” Ambrose swept the old woman a deep bow.
A footman brought Iris a missive. She recognized the handwriting on the outside of the folded note.
“It’s from Sir Thomas,” she whispered to Lottie who looked the question.
She put the letter in the pocket of her dress. Looking up, she was nonplussed to see Lord Chastain staring at her. She carefully folded her hands in her lap and ignored the flutter in her chest at his intent regard.
The viscount was pulled again into conversation with Mrs. Blakely. She found it difficult to contain her delight as the matron pressed the man to admit the Blevins ladies possessed an abundance of wonderful characteristics.
* * * * *
Once again, Chastain was confused by Iris’s relationship with Sir Thomas. The man could only write to Iris with Ambrose’s approval. He surmised everything was not as it appeared. Or as Ambrose stated it to be. Perhaps the two did have an understanding. He tamped down a wave of panic at the thought of Iris tied to Sir Thomas. The idea bothered him although he didn’t want to examine the reasons why.
He listened to Mrs. Blakely while observing the others in the room. Lady Markham was not as hard of hearing as Ambrose claimed. The woman heard what she wanted when she wanted. Everyone was satisfied to see him as the lucky recipient of Mrs. Blakely’s attention. Iris looked exceptionally pleased at his predicament.
Someone or several someone’s were playing him for a fool. He wondered if Peake had an inkling of the undercurrents surrounding him. The man was content to sit near Ambrose and stay out of Mrs. Blakely’s line of sight.
“Don’t you agree, Lord Chastain?”
He nodded vaguely at Mrs. Blakely. “Oh yes, I do indeed.”
Iris and Lottie exchanged amused looks. The women had deliberately thrown him into conversation with their gossipy neighbor.
Tomorrow he would speak to Ambrose. Ask him the niggling questions he had about Sir Thomas. He found himself wishing Lady Rose was in the room. She was without pretense. The girl would tell him what her siblings were about.
Chapter Seven
Iris studied her reflection in the tall Cheval mirror in the corner of her bedchamber.
“You look lovely, my lady,” her maid said from behind her.
“Mary, you always think I look lovely.” She turned from the mirror to smile at the woman.
“And so you do,” Mary replied. “Those gentlemen friends of milord will see no prettier girls at the assembly than you and Lady Lottie.”
Iris guessed the women of Braxton had never seen more handsome gentlemen than her brother and his friends. She was eager to go downstairs and see Chastain in his evening kit.
“Come along, Iris.” Lottie peeked around the bedchamber door. “I don’t want to go downstairs by myself.”
“Let me see your dress.”
Lottie came into the room and Iris gasped. “You’re beautiful. You look like a princess.”
Although the other girl’s dress was fashioned of the same white satin as Iris’s, Lottie’s dress bore a wide satin sash of Aetherial blue, a perfect foil for Lottie’s light hair.
“If I’m a princess you must be a queen,” Lottie replied. “Oh Iris, I have never seen you look lovelier.”
Her white satin slip was worn under a cream sarsnet over-dress and the gown was by far her favorite. Better yet, Chastain had not seen it before. Her white gloves and satin slippers completed the ensemble.
“You’re wearing mother’s pearl drops,” Lottie said in a low voice.
“Mary wove a rope of mother’s pearls through my hair. Do you mind my wearing the jewelry?” Her throat felt tight.
Lottie shook her head, her eyes bright. “You are the eldest daughter. The pearls belong to you.”
“Ambrose could have kept them for his future bride. He told me mother would want me to have them.”
Mary sniffed, reminding Iris the girls were not alone.
“Shall we go?” she asked lightly, blinking away the moisture that had accumulated in her eyes.
Once they were in the corridor outside Iris’s bedchamber, Lottie said in a whisper, “I can’t wait to see Chastain’s face when he sees you downstairs.”
“Lottie, he’s only showing me attention because Ambrose asked him to.”
“I’m not so sure anymore,” the other girl replied.
She ignored her sister’s remark as they made their way down the stairs. As they entered the drawing room she found herself searching for Chastain only to have her brother approach her.
“You both look lovely. You do our family proud,” Ambrose said with an affectionate smile. She thought he looked well rested. Perhaps his headaches were in the past.
Peake, Chastain, and Sir Thomas rose from their respective seats and added their compliments. Her eyes were only for one man. The viscount was devastating in full evening gear. His artfully folded cravat held no jewelry of which she was glad. His appearance was elegant and understated, none of the puffed sleeves so prevalent in the new fashion. No padding or girdle required. His dark hair glistened in the candlelight.
Chastain never moved his head as his gaze ranged over her quickly. She felt her cheeks heat and her pulse jump in her throat. She didn’t know why it mattered if he approved of her appearance. She couldn’t tell from his neutral expression.
Iris only noticed her aunt when the older woman stood. Ambrose took the woman’s arm as he said, “Sir Thomas has brought along one of his carriages. Shall we go?”
Chastain stepped forward to take her arm. She noted Ambrose looked pleased by Chastain preempting any move by Sir Thomas to escort her. She realized she would forget about the wager whenever she was near Chastain. She should remember this was only a game to these men. All of them, even Lord Peake, were involved.
She hadn’t had much luck convincing Chastain he didn’t want to be in the country. She’d almost forgotten about her objective, so focused on the exciting man who was at the heart of it all.
Outside the house, a stray bit of wind kicked up and she shivered. Their driver stood nearby and stamped his feet a few times for warmth. She noticed he blew into his hands although he wore gloves. Her breath was clearly visible in the cold air outside as she was helped into the carriage by a footman.
She sat in Sir Thomas’s carriage, next to Aunt Abigail and facing the baronet and Chastain. Her brother, Peake, and Lottie were in the other carriage. Warmed bricks under her feet and a shawl tucked around her helped insulate against the chill.
“Is the carriage new?” she asked Thomas.
“It is,” he replied with a grin.
She shook her head. “How many carriages does a man need?”
“I collect them as I do with so many things,” the baronet responded with a shrug.
The rest of their journey passed mostly in silence. She did mention Sir Thomas’s note, reminding her Emma would accompany him to Marcourt to keep Rose company for the evening. The baronet would collect his sister sometime on the morrow.
When the carriage came to a halt, Chastain moved quickly to exit the coach. He handed Abigail from the vehicle and then herself.
“Thank you,” she breathed softly, quite forgetting herself and her plan yet again. She could see his eyes widen in the light from the torches in front of the assembly rooms.
She registered the fact Pe
ake escorted Lottie, but her focus was on Chastain. It was time she determined how much the man could take before running from the county.
The musicians were tuning their instruments when their little group made it upstairs to the room to be used for the ball.
Ambrose looked about him. “Peake, Chastain, there are a few families I should introduce you to before we enjoy the festivities.”
As the three men moved away, Iris tamped down a feeling of loss and took her aunt’s arm. “Shall we get some refreshment, or would you like to sit down, Aunt Abigail?”
“Both,” the older woman replied. “Sir Thomas can fetch me some orgeat.”
“It would be a pleasure,” the baronet replied and took himself off.
People were milling around the edges of the large room. Lottie pointed to a chaise pushed into a corner. Abigail settled herself into a corner of the chaise as Sir Thomas returned with her drink. The small orchestra played a few exploratory notes.
“Is there anything further I may do to add to your comfort, Lady Markham?” the baronet asked.
“Ask Iris to dance,” Abigail replied, waving the man off. “These gels will be busy this evening I wager.”
Her friend bowed to her. “Lady Iris, may I have the honor?”
“Of course,” she replied as she resisted the urge to see where in the room Chastain might be.
Thomas swept her into a country dance. The steps took them away from each other and back again. “He’s standing next to your brother in the corner where we settled Lady Markham.”
“Who?” She frowned.
“Chastain.”
She remained silent for several moments.
“I think you fancy the man.” Thomas said into her thoughts as they parted and met again.
“Thomas! He is merely my brother’s friend.”
“And half in love with you, I’d wager.”
“I don’t believe Lord Chastain has it in him to love anyone besides himself,” she replied in jest, although she wasn’t as convinced of the idea as she might have been two days ago.
“I have known you for many years, Iris. You’re attracted to him and it scares you.”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Thomas knew her almost as well as she knew herself.
“Most men aren’t like you, Thomas. If I were to marry my husband will want me to sit at home waiting on him hand and foot rather than traveling around England digging for antiquities.”
“I’m sure there is a man out there who will understand your passion for digging and not be threatened by it. I wish we were better suited for the matrimonial state. Alas, you will never see me as anything more than a friend.” He gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Does that hurt you?” she asked tentatively.
He smiled. There was only affection in his expression. “I wish every happiness for you, my dear girl. Maybe there is more to Lord Chastain than you believe. After all, he has very good taste in women.”
“Thank you, Thomas.” She debated whether to tell the baronet about her brother’s wager with Lord Chastain but realized her friend would surely confront her brother if not Chastain himself if he knew of the bet. “I wish happiness for you as well.”
* * * * *
To distract himself from seeing Iris in the baronet’s arms, Chastain asked Lottie for the next set. As he attempted not to look at a certain dance couple, his partner’s smile grew wider.
“They make a lovely pair,” Lottie said.
“Who make a lovely pair?”
Lottie snorted. “The two people you are determined to not look at: my sister and Sir Thomas.”
He didn’t what to say. She had the right of it.
“It has always been understood they would probably marry,” the girl said conversationally. “I don’t think Iris is in love with him.”
“Did I ask?”
“No, but you’re wondering about it.”
He couldn’t believe the cheek of the woman. Ambrose did let his sisters have quite a bit of freedom so he really shouldn’t be surprised.
“Why would you think I have any interest in Iris’s feelings for Sir Thomas?” he asked with a shrug of his shoulders, his tone dismissive.
Lottie replied, “It’s obvious you’re fascinated with her.”
“Do you have any other theories you would like to share with me?” he queried, his tone deliberately light.
“You did ask,” she replied with a twist of her lips. “I think your rakish reputation is merely an act.”
“Do tell,” he drawled, enjoying himself.
“Rose and I think so, but Iris isn’t sure. If she can’t believe you’re unredeemable she’ll have to admit the truth to herself.”
“And what is the truth?” he asked, oblivious to the way the woman’s mind worked.
“She likes you. I think she’s even falling in love with you.”
He missed a step and shuffled his feet to recover. To his luck, their set was over. He didn’t know if Lottie was serious or merely teasing him. When they arrived back in the corner of the room presided over by Lady Markham, he made haste to ask Iris for the next set.
“It would be a pleasure to dance with you,” Iris replied to his request.
He hadn’t expected a waltz at a village assembly. From the surprised look on Iris’s face she hadn’t either.
During the season he had danced with Iris a handful of times but always held himself aloof, careful not to show any partiality to Ambrose’s eldest sister. He’d relaxed his guard with Lottie as she wasn’t a threat. Threat. It was time he admitted to himself Iris wasn’t just any lady. She was special. Absence had made the heart grow fonder. Seeing her again after several months made him realize he wanted to spend more time with her. Learn everything about her.
Her citrus scent surrounded them, her body lithe and strong moving in unison with his. Could the changeable, lovely, loyal woman in his arms really care for him?
“You’re a very accomplished dancer.” What he really wanted to say was that she was graceful and incredibly lovely.
She smiled. “As are you. It is nice to have a partner so evenly matched to myself.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color. He would let the awkward moment pass. He didn’t want to spar with her, to ruin their affinity. Something was different. Lottie’s assertion Iris might care for him changed everything. The wager had to be cancelled. Never mind the ribbing he would get from Ambrose and Peake. He wanted to court Iris for himself.
* * * * *
Ambrose excused himself to get a breath of fresh air outside. Once outdoors he pulled his flask from his trouser pocket and took two swigs of the noxious liquid. His head ached unbearably. He prayed the magic elixir would soon deaden the pain.
Pain. It was a daily companion to him now. The surgeon in London couldn’t do anything about his condition but help him to relieve the discomfort of his affliction. The cool air did help. In a few minutes he felt able to return to the stuffy room upstairs.
Sir Thomas approached him as he entered the ballroom. “Are you quite all right, Ambrose?”
“It has been a long day. I merely needed some fresh air.”
“Would you like me to notify one of your sisters?”
He shook his head, glad the movement produced no residual pain from the headache. “Thank you, but no. I appreciate your concern. I feel well enough not to ruin anyone’s evening.”
The baronet nodded and moved away. He really was a nice man. It was a shame neither Iris nor Lottie seemed the least inclined to fall in love with him.
He simply had to live through his pain a while longer. It looked like his plan for Chastain and Iris might well come to fruition despite a rocky and duplicitous start.
Lottie approached him and grasped his hands. “I believe you haven’t yet danced this evening.”
“Lottie…”
“Either dance with me or I will put a bug in Mrs. Cleary’s ear.”
The thought of the grasping widow who would love to dance
with him, among other things, helped him succumb to his sister’s wishes.
“All right, dear sister,” he said gruffly. “Be it on your head if I step on your feet.”
Lottie laughed out loud. “Dear Ambrose, if you didn’t step on my feet I would think you were an imposter.”
As they danced he began to feel much better. He looked about and observed Iris dancing with an elderly gentleman and his friends doing their duty by standing up with the unattached females in the room.
Lottie studied his face. “You have looked tired of late. What did the surgeon in London tell you about your headaches?”
“He told me to avoid stress or at the very least, nosy females and dancing.”
They danced in silence a few moments before Lottie said, “You have been a wonderful brother to us since Mama and Papa died.”
He swallowed. “And before?”
“Before their deaths you were gone away quite a bit with your friends. You always cared for us in your own way.”
“You are my responsibilities now.” He smiled to lighten the starkness of his words. “Bothersome but lovely responsibilities.”
The set ended. They walked arm in arm to where their aunt was seated, another matron beside her.
“Don’t neglect your happiness.” Lottie squeezed his forearm with her free hand. “We’ll find our own.”
Peake approached to whisk Lottie into the next set. He was left to his thoughts. There was no time to find his own happiness. The most he could hope for was to see Iris find hers.
Chapter Eight
Iris caught Lottie’s eye. She wanted to speak to her sister before either of them was asked to dance again.
“I would like some lemonade,” Lottie said. “Would you care for some refreshment, Aunt Abigail?”
The older woman shook her head. She appeared very interested in the goings-on around her and waved a vague hand at Lottie.
“I’ll accompany you,” Iris replied.
Their aunt was happy enough talking with another matron. Ambrose had disappeared. The other men of their party were dancing with the wallflowers.
“Lord Chastain is enjoying himself,” Lottie said as they collected glasses of watered-down lemonade. She nodded at the dancefloor where the gentleman could be seen dancing with the infamous Mrs. Cleary.
The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1) Page 6
