The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1)
Page 8
The entry hall was alive with movement. Sir Thomas had arrived to collect Emma. The girl was in the midst of donning her pelisse when Chastain entered the room. He’d planned to ask a footman to fetch Iris to the drawing room. None of Ambrose’s sisters were in attendance as the baronet made ready to leave the house.
“Sir Thomas,” he said to the other man with a nod of his head.
“Lord Chastain.” The baronet smiled grimly and stepped forward. He leaned in to say softly, “Make her happy.”
That was all that passed between them before Sir Thomas and his sister took their leave of Marcourt. Once the entry hall was deserted of guests, he asked the footman to ask Iris to join him in the drawing room.
* * * * *
It had taken several minutes to calm Rose down. Iris pointed out the girl was besotted with Mr. Jennings a few months ago, Sir Thomas before that.
“And I do like Chastain,” she said to Rose. “I like him a lot.”
“Then I forgive you,” Rose replied, drying her face with a handkerchief supplied by her sister. “I guess now I know how my story ends.”
“Do you? Oh Rose, I wish I did.”
Rose remained in her bedchamber, opting for a tray in her room while Iris went down to breakfast. Emma was subdued and said little. Sir Thomas arrived. Lottie offered to speak with him.
“No, this is my chore,” she replied.
When she and the baronet were both seated in the parlor with the door wide open, she explained the morning’s events to Sir Thomas.
“Rose and Emma will recover.” He leaned forward to study her face. “How are you?”
“I knew about the wager from the beginning. Rose has evidently also been listening at keyholes as she knows how Chastain was lured into the wager. He was told I had formed an attachment with you and to break the connection.”
Sir Thomas nodded. “Ah. I see. Lord Chastain was also duped. That should make it easier for you to accept his proposal.”
“Thomas, I don’t see him proposing to me. Ambrose will have to admit he caused this muddle and his friends will be free to leave.”
“Yes, Ambrose has much to answer for. I do however doubt very much that Chastain is eager to leave Marcourt.” Sir Thomas stood up. “I anticipate a missive very soon announcing your nuptials.”
She crossed to him and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I do love you, my friend.”
“I know.” He bowed. “Be happy, Iris.”
Now she stood inside the drawing room. Chastain was also on his feet, one hand resting on the mantelpiece in the room, his attention on the fire before him.
“I almost quit the house after tea with Mrs. Blakely. She nearly had me engaged to you that day.”
She took a few steps closer to him. “You danced with her at the assembly. You even danced with Mrs. Cleary.”
“Walking to the village in the cold, a squalling baby, tea with the notorious gossip of Norfolk.” He chuckled, his gaze still on the flames before him. “Dancing with Mrs. Cleary was the least of my worries.”
“You brought it on yourself,” she reminded him lightly. She very nearly laughed with him, the absurdity of the last few days not lost on her.
He nodded. “True.”
“What did you wager for?”
He hesitated. “Ambrose’s new pair of grays.”
Iris wanted to be angry with him. She merely felt nothing about the bet. She loved him. Right now, if she felt anything, she felt numb.
“You wanted to scare me away,” Chastain murmured. The only noise in the room was the settling of a log on the fire.
“Your loyalty to my brother is admirable.” Despite her best efforts, despair crept into her voice.
“The more I think about it, your efforts seem only half-hearted.”
She remained silent.
He turned his gaze from the fire to her face. “You couldn’t have done anything that would scare me away from you.”
What was he saying? She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
He stepped away from the fireplace. “Your brother and Peake have been the best of friends to me. As close to a family as I’ve had in a long time. I didn’t stay at Marcourt for Ambrose. I stayed here for me.”
“For you?”
He moved to stand in front of her. A mere arm’s length away.
“Getting to know you and your sisters during the end of the season made me crave what I didn’t have all the more.” He looked away from her. When he returned his gaze to her face, she swore his eyes were moist. “My mother died soon after I left for school. My father didn’t tell me until she was in the ground. From that day I wanted to punish him. He desired that I should settle down, so I caroused as much as I could. Made sure my name was on all the gossip’s lips.”
“And now?”
“What he wants doesn’t matter. All that matters is what I want. Need.”
She didn’t feel numb any longer. Every sense was poised. Waiting. “What do you want, Chastain?”
“I want to belong somewhere. I want a family. I want you.”
She put a hand to her breast. After a deep breath she asked, “Why?”
He clasped her hands in his. “Because you are brave, opinionated, changeable. You’re everything I’m not but everything I need. I love you, Iris. I love you.”
Epilogue
June 1823, London
Chastain followed his wife up the stairs in the rented townhouse in London’s Grosvenor Square. Her hips swayed as she walked down the corridor to their bedchamber, the bottle green of her gown a perfect foil for her dark brown hair.
As soon as they were in the privacy of their set of rooms, he moved to take her into his arms.
“First you coerce my father into attending our wedding and now he insists we visit every month. The breach between us is healing. You appear to be a miracle worker, my lovely wife.”
“I do have my wiles,” Iris replied as she wrapped her arms around the neck of her husband.
“Well I know it,” he replied and proceeded to kiss her soundly. As soundly as he’d wanted to the first day he met her. Her scent enveloped him. The warmth of her body beckoned to him.
He hadn’t thought about another woman since he’d met his future wife. His hand closed over her breast and she released a moan from her delectable lips. The day he married her was the best day of his life. Their wedding night… He’d been as overwhelmed as she, knowing he was the only man who would ever kiss her, touch her.
And her family had welcomed him with open arms. To his amusement, Rose had quickly transferred her devotion to Lord Peake. If Iris was correct that young miss might have some competition from Lottie. As for Ambrose? The man apologized to his sister with some silly excuse of knowing she was meant to be with his friend. Although Chastain believed there was more to the wager, Ambrose would give nothing away.
He detached his lips from Iris’s and looked down where his hand rested on her warm, firm breast. He moved his hand away and she groaned in protest.
“Is it my imagination or are your breasts fuller?”
“Do you think I’m gaining weight, dear husband?” Iris’s voice held a challenge.
He was on shaky ground. He looked up and winked at her. “Your breast feels larger. I’m not complaining.”
“That may well be,” she replied. “Aunt Abigail noticed my weight gain. Your father even asked me about it.”
“My father?” Now he was really astounded at the behavior of the man who had sired him.
“Why do you think he wants us to visit him so often? He regrets the time he lost with you by being jealous over your closeness with your mother.” She put a hand on her stomach. “He wants to make sure he has a relationship with his grandchild.”
“Grandchild.” He moved his hands to circle her waist. He lifted her up and laughed out loud. “A baby. Our baby.”
Her eyes were bright. He swallowed the emotions rising inside of him. He wanted to shout his happiness.
“Are you pleased, my love?”
“I am the happiest man in England. I gave you my heart at Christmastide. It is only fitting our child be born then.” He put her back down, wrapped his arms about her and placed his chin on her hair. “And she will be allowed to go digging for antiquities as often as she likes.”
Her reply against his shirtfront was tinged with laughter, “If it is a boy, he can garden every single day if he wishes. My physician believes I am due at Christmas.”
“I gave you my heart at Christmastide. It is only fitting our child be born then. Thank you, my love.”
“For what, husband?” She looked up at him, her face reflecting the joy he felt to have her with him.
“For giving me a family.”
THE END
About the Author
Angelina Jameson is a multi-published author of historical Regency romance. Growing up in Las Vegas, Nevada, Angelina joined the US Air Force to see the world. Dreams of visiting the United Kingdom were fulfilled when she was stationed at RAF Lakenheath in the beautiful countryside of Suffolk, England. Five years later she returned to the states having acquired a love of not only all things British but also Regency and historical romance.
With the help of Romance Writers of America, the hobby of writing developed into a dream of sharing her stories with others. Angelina currently lives in the great state of Alaska with her supportive husband and two teenage sons. She loves to write with a steady supply of coffee nearby and one of three cats on her lap.
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