The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1)

by Angelina Jameson

  “He looks quite content to dance with every woman in the county,” Iris replied with a sigh. “This isn’t proceeding at all the way I planned.”

  Lottie took Iris’s arm and drew her away from an oncoming cluster of young ladies. “You could admit that perhaps Lord Chastain isn’t as selfish or rakish as his reputation.”

  “Did you pay attention to all the articles of gossip you read to me during the season?” she asked.

  “I did notice Lord Chastain’s frequency in the papers became less and less as the season wore on.”

  She wasn’t sure what she felt at that moment. It might be hope. “Really?”

  “After he attended Lady Cair’s ball he was only in the papers one more time.” Lottie paused. “That column suggested Lord Chastain appeared to have taken on a new leaf.”

  “And you believe it as well?” she asked with thinly veiled interest.

  “He’d met you and was content to stay within the proper confines of society just to be near you.” Lottie added, “You might admit you haven’t been trying very hard to drive Chastain away from Marcourt.”

  Her mouth opened but she couldn’t speak. The absurdity of both of Lottie’s statements far outweighed any of Rose’s fairytales. Sir Thomas was nearby and strolled up to them.

  “You look speechless, Iris. I must make note of the date.” The baronet winked at them both. “Do share.”

  “You would not find our conversation amusing,” she replied, controlling the urge to swat him with her fan.

  In response to Thomas’s raised brow, Lottie said, “We were discussing the shortcomings of men.”

  “I’m sure you ladies could go on for days with that particular subject,” he rejoined sunnily. “Any particular shortcoming I should be aware of?”

  She tapped a forefinger on her chin. “Hmmm. If you have any fault, Thomas, it is that you are far too generous with others.”

  “My dear Iris, I believe that ‘fault’ is what has allowed me to remain your friend all these years.”

  Lottie put a gloved hand over her mouth. Iris heard a gurgle of laughter from her sister. She again felt the urge to rap someone with her fan.

  The village apothecary approached Lottie for a dance. Iris’s gaze settled on Mrs. Cleary who was no longer dancing with Chastain. She observed how the men in the room subtly tried to avoid the widow.

  “What about a woman scares men?” she asked Thomas.

  “Pardon?” He looked confused by the sudden change of subject.

  “What could a woman be doing to scare all the men away from her?”

  Her companion chuckled. “Where do I begin?”

  “I’m serious, Thomas. For instance, take Mrs. Cleary. Although she is an attractive woman, unmarried men avoid her.”

  Thomas moved his gaze to search out the woman who looked to be pestering Ambrose to dance with her.

  “She is much too forward.”

  She shook her head. “Mrs. Cleary is not a green girl. She’s a widow.”

  “Yes, but she is still too forward. When she looks at a man you can tell she is thinking marriage. Children.”

  “And that scares men?”

  “Without a doubt,” he replied with a shudder. “When I look into her eyes I see her controlling the rest of my life.”

  She laughed so hard she had to take a deep breath before she could speak. “As bad as all that?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  “I don’t scare you?” she frowned menacingly.

  “You are my friend and never look at me with the idea of capturing me. Possibly annoying me, but never capturing me.”

  She replied caustically, “It must be a trial for you to spend any time in my company.”

  “No gentleman would admit such a thing, Lady Iris,” a voice said from beside her. “I find your company most exhilarating.”

  Chastain stood there looking as relaxed as if he were in Ambrose’s study at his leisure. Was he not in the least bored with the country company? Did he not feel tired of dancing with the gentry of Braxton?

  She needed to drive him away. He was playing a part and convincing her more every moment they spent together. She didn’t know why it should be imperative he leave the county as soon as possible, she only knew he must.

  “Thank you, Lord Chastain,” she mumbled. “How do you enjoy our simple country entertainment?”

  “The musicians are as good as any in town,” he replied.

  Thomas nodded his approval. “Hear, hear.”

  “The company is varied and extremely pleasant,” Chastain added.

  “How very generous of you,” she replied tightly. How nice of him to condescend to complement their society. She must harden her heart against him. She had forgotten every word he spoke was part of a plan.

  He frowned a moment before his brow cleared. “I give credit where credit is due, Lady Iris. You have turned out to be my most skilled dancing partner. I wonder if I might impose upon you for another set?”

  The man could compliment her and her village all he wanted; she must remember he was meant to turn her head. Another few dances wouldn’t harm her and besides, at present she had no notion how to implement her next idea to scare the man off.

  “It would be an honor to dance with you, Lord Chastain.”

  Several windows in the large room had been opened to let in the cooler air. As they danced, her gaze met his. She couldn’t look away from his eyes which were now a darker shade of green. Her head swam at his nearness. Losing her balance, she stumbled. Lord Chastain drew her from the floor.

  “You look like you need a moment to collect yourself,” her dance partner said.

  “I am a trifle warm.” She fanned herself.

  They stood near a pair of balcony doors that were ajar. “I will fetch you something to drink, my lady.” He bowed the slightest bit. “Perhaps if you stand here and get some fresh air you will feel better.”

  She nodded wordlessly and he left her. Several deep breaths later she felt steadier on her feet. The cool air had been a blessing. She was very much afraid she was falling under Chastain’s spell.

  “All that remained to drink was orgeat.” Chastain handed her a glass of the liquid, their fingers brushing for the slightest moment. He moved to stand a foot away. They both remained visible to the rest of the assembly.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, uncomfortably aware her gloved fingers had trembled when their hands touched.

  “Are you quite recovered?” he asked after she’d taken a few sips of her drink. His voice sounded hoarse.

  “Yes,” she replied dumbly, struck by the intimacy of their situation. Tall potted plants were on either side of the doors. They were cocooned in the greenery.

  Chastain had probably been in this position many times before. She’d never been alone with a man other than male relatives.

  A light spattering of rain could be heard hitting the balcony outside the open doors. She smiled, thinking of the dust on the road to Braxton. “I imagine your valet rescued your Hessians.”

  Chastain nodded, his returning smile gentle. His features looked softer, his eyes more slumberous. Although she might be an innocent, she knew he wanted to kiss her.

  “Chastain…” She heard a strange note in her voice. Could it be longing?

  The man would think her besotted with him at this rate. Wouldn’t that play into her hands? She thought again about the things Mrs. Cleary did to drive away men. Perhaps her obvious desire to be kissed would shock Chastain. Right now, the last thing she wanted was to drive him away.

  He reached out a hand and touched her face. Just the slightest caress. His voice reflected the regret in his eyes when he said, “I should return you to your aunt.”

  * * * * *

  Chastain was up early the next morning after a night tossing and turning in bed. He dreamed he had been reckless and kissed Iris at the assembly. Would she have enjoyed his kiss? He guessed she had never been kissed by a man. The proper Sir Thomas wouldn’t have da
red.

  The thought of the baronet kissing Iris propelled him out of his bed. He dressed himself rather haphazardly as he needed a wander in the house to clear his mind. A look out of the single window in his room informed him it had snowed, if but a light dusting.

  He found himself in the conservatory, admiring Lottie’s pots of flowers. His mother would have been entranced by the variety of potted plants and fruit trees. He wandered up and down the two rows of greenery, reflecting on his time at Marcourt. He’d arrived at the estate on Sunday. It was now Wednesday. The day before Christmas.

  A family Christmas hadn’t been in the cards since the year his mother died. For the first time in a long time he wondered how his father would spend the day. What would his father think of Iris? The lady was outspoken, determined to pursue her interests despite what others thought. She was so unlike his mother. Iris would never let a husband dictate how and where she lived her life.

  He sat down on a bench, willing the sun to rise. He would speak with Ambrose that very morning, tell him he would no longer be a part of any wager involving Iris. He would ask permission to court the lady. An interview with Ambrose was less concerning than having to ask Iris if she would encourage his suit or if she did indeed have an understanding with Sir Thomas.

  As he thought about what he would say to Iris, his eyes closed. Suddenly tired, he nodded off.

  Sometime later, a light noise caused him to start. He opened his eyes. To his surprise, Iris stood near the entrance of the room, not ten feet away. He rose to his feet.

  “Lord Chastain,” she said in the softest of voices.

  Iris wore a pale-yellow morning dress. She appeared rested and ready for the day. Had she slept without dreams while he’d barely slept a wink? Not a flattering realization after their interlude at the assembly. He realized he was dressed in his clothing from the night before, no neckcloth, his shirt open at the throat.

  “Good morning, Lady Iris.” The sky could be seen brightening through the glass surrounding them. “Excuse my appearance. I couldn’t sleep so I went for a ramble.”

  “And came to the conservatory.”

  “Yes.” She looked so fresh in yellow, her dark hair pulled away from her face.

  “Do you enjoy plants, Lord Chastain?” She shook her head, a lopsided smile on her face. A flush rose up her throat. “I mean gardening. You asked Lottie about her pineapples. Do you have an interest in gardening?”

  “I did once.” He rubbed a hand on his chin. He must look a sight, unshaven and in rumpled clothing. “It was a passion of mine.”

  “What happened to make you lose interest in the activity?” She took several steps forward.

  “My father sent me off to school as soon as he could. He told me I spent too much time with my mother in her garden.” He grimaced. “I needed to be off amongst other boys, not hiding behind my mother’s skirts. My father thought gardening was a woman’s pastime.”

  Iris squared her shoulders. He could feel indignation roll off her in waves. “I would imagine the members of the Horticultural Society would disagree. What did your mother have to say about your being sent away?”

  “It didn’t matter. My father has always done as he pleased with no regard to others.” He’d never spoken so intimately about his childhood with anyone other than Peake and Ambrose. He returned his attention to the plants in front of him, strangely comforted to share some of himself with her.

  Iris made a rude noise. “Then you should count yourself lucky you do not behave in the same fashion.”

  “Do I not?” How could she believe it when she thought the worst of him?

  “You have shown yourself to be a true friend to my brother. The patience you’ve shown with Rose. And last night…”

  He looked at her then, his gaze sharp. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me when you could have.”

  “We were in a crowded room.”

  The flush on Iris’s throat spread to her cheeks. “Nobody would have seen us.”

  He closed the gap between them. Looking down at her, he smiled a crooked smile. “You’re disappointed I didn’t kiss you. I’m disappointed as well.”

  “Chastain.” Her gaze lowered to his chest. She didn’t move away from him.

  He loved the sound of his name on her lips. He wanted to hear it again. He wanted her to know he cherished her, that he would work to deserve her. His hand came out and grasped her chin ever so lightly, lifting her face closer. He bent his head as he stared into her wide eyes. Her eyes fluttered shut. He touched her lips lightly with his own. He heard a sigh, not sure which one of them had uttered it.

  Ambrose be damned. Kissing her felt right. Like coming home.

  “Iris,” he said against her lips. “My darling girl.”

  * * * * *

  Iris fought to stay upright. The feel of Chastain’s warm mouth against hers was sweeter than she ever dreamed. He had spoken the truth. She had desperately wanted his kiss last night. When he called her his darling girl she could have melted into a puddle at his feet. She had no defense against his skill in seduction.

  What if someone happened to see them? Peake. Or Ambrose. The wager came to mind. Did he kiss her because he wanted to or was it to win a bet? She opened her eyes and jerked her chin from Chastain’s hand. She was sure Ambrose didn’t expect his friend to seduce her.

  “Is kissing me part of the plan to turn my head?”

  The slumberous look in Chastain’s eyes turned to one of alertness. His hand released her chin and he took several steps backward. “You knew about Ambrose’s wager?”

  “Iris and Lottie both knew about the bet.”

  She swung around to see Rose standing just inside the doorway of the room. The girl’s expression was sullen, her voice high-pitched when she said, “My sisters didn’t know I heard them talking about it. No one ever notices me after all.”

  Rose turned and ran from the room. Iris strode past Chastain without a word. On the way up the main staircase she passed Lottie on her way down.

  “What has happened, Iris? Rose is crying and you look as pale as death.”

  Iris hurried up the stairs to the third-floor landing and down the corridor to Rose’s bedchamber, Lottie in her wake. She was surprised Rose’s door was unlocked. She opened it to see the girl sitting on her bed sobbing, Emma beside her.

  “Rose, please tell me what’s wrong.” Lottie stepped forward. “Please, dearest.”

  Rose took a breath before she said, “Chastain kissed Iris!”

  “He didn’t!” Lottie gasped.

  The only reply was the sound of Rose’s broken sobs in the room.

  Iris knew she had to take charge of the situation. “Lottie, please take Emma down to breakfast. Rose will be quite all right. We shall be down momentarily.”

  Lottie didn’t argue. She coaxed Emma to go with her. When the others had left, Rose stopped crying. Iris noticed there was very little sound outside of Rose’s bedchamber. Nobody had come running up the stairs demanding Iris explain her behavior. Ambrose and Chastain might well be in the study toasting the conclusion of their wager.

  “How could you?” Rose asked between hiccups. “You don’t even like him. Chastain was meant for me.”

  She blinked in surprise. The idea Rose was besotted with Chastain never crossed her mind. “Oh, my darling. I am so sorry if I have hurt you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Chastain sat in the study with Ambrose. His friend was seated behind the mahogany desk that once belonged to his father, Chastain in a stuffed chair opposite. He had met Ambrose’s parents a few times in London. They had been warm people, obviously in love with each other. He’d felt envious of the bond between them and the open affection the couple showed their only son.

  “Why haven’t you called me out or demanded I marry your sister?” He’d gone to his bedchamber to dress properly before he received the inevitable summons from his friend.

  It was merely a matter of time before servant
gossip would reach his friend’s ears if Rose’s distress wasn’t reported to Ambrose by Iris or Lottie.

  In response, Ambrose rubbed his temple with his right hand.

  He wondered if his friend was listening to him. “Ambrose...”

  No reply. It was time he found out what Ambrose was up to.

  “Sir Thomas is always underfoot,” he said into the silence. “You allow him to write to your sister. The man is of good family. How is the baronet unfit for Iris?”

  “He isn’t what my parents wanted for her,” Ambrose replied, his gaze on the desk before him. “My parents wanted their children to marry for love. Iris doesn’t love Sir Thomas.”

  “He’s handsome, a baronet, evidently wealthy,” he said with a frown. “I’d marry the chap if I were a woman.”

  Ambrose looked at him. “Lottie tells me Rose is upset over what happened.”

  “Far more upset than you appear to be.” He stared at his friend. “I believe you expected something like this to happen.”

  “Rose will get over her disappointment. I guess I owe you a pair of horses.”

  He was flabbergasted at Ambrose’s casual mention of the wager after recent events. “You’re not making any sense, Ambrose. I kissed Iris. In your house. What do you have to say to that?”

  “It is easy for anyone to see that you and my sister are well matched. I give you my consent to marry Iris.” The words were said quietly and calmly.

  “What about her wishes? What about mine?” He came to his feet. No matter what Ambrose said, there was no assurance Iris would agree to marry him. Or that she loved him. That worried him more than any ulterior motives Ambrose had for promoting the match.

  “I have known you for years, Chastain. Can you honestly tell me you don’t want to marry Iris?”

  He didn’t respond to the other man’s words until he stood at the door of the study. He turned to face his friend, afraid for the first time in a long time. Afraid the woman he cared for didn’t care for him. “No. No, I can’t.”