by Jenna Jaxon
Iris came to her feet. “I will share the tale of Lord Chastain’s afternoon of discomfort with you when I return. To prove to you I am immune to Lord Chastain’s charms, I will wager my new bonnet on the safety of my heart.”
“That is a wager I will happily take. You are sure you can convince the viscount to accompany you and Rose to Braxton?”
Iris nodded although her sister’s attention had returned to her plants. “I’m counting on Rose to do the convincing for me.”
* * * * *
Chastain thought Peake would be a better candidate to court Iris as the man appeared to have no romantic interest in the girl whatsoever. As for himself, Iris had placed a spell on him from the moment he’d first set eyes on her at Lady Cairs’ ball.
He’d scanned the ballroom for the tall figure of Ambrose when his gaze settled on the back of a young lady clad in a cream gown with seafoam overlay. Her glossy brown hair, piled atop her head in an elaborate coiffure, betrayed strands of red in the candlelight. The exquisite length of the lady’s neck and her shapely white shoulders beckoned to him from the top of her gown.
“Delicious,” he said on a breath.
The woman tipped her head to the side. He imagined he could hear the throaty ring of her laugh. Despite the demureness of the gown the lady wore, her practiced laugh and flirtatious pose persuaded him she would be no debutante. Silently he commanded the woman to turn her head and she did.
Chastain felt the impact of her coffee colored eyes upon him as a warm rush of awareness spread through him. She held his gaze. Her cautious smile had a ring of truth in it. He struggled to reconcile her shyness with the calm self-assurance the woman exuded.
Bored with the masquerades and card parties he frequented during the season, his decision to visit Ambrose’s townhouse in Mayfair led him to this ballroom. His friends’ butler informed him straight away the family could be found at Lady Cair’s ball.
“No message,” he’d replied to the manservant’s standard query and took himself off to the soiree in Grosvenor Square.
Lady Cairs, a distant relative of his mother, had doted on him since his infancy. He’d most assuredly received an invitation to the event and discarded it out of hand. Although he rarely attended entertainments of the marriage mart whilst in town, he knew his hostess would welcome another eligible bachelor at her ball.
Although he’d succeeded in slipping into the ballroom unannounced, Lady Cairs stood before him now, effectively blocking his view of the lady in green. He ascertained by the glint in the society maven’s eye that she harbored some curiosity as to his sudden appearance.
“My good friend Lord Ambrose requires my assistance in squiring his sisters,” he said to accelerate the inevitable inquisition.
“The marquess has managed most of the season without your aid.” Lady Cairs tone was ironic. Her skeptical smile proved she didn’t believe his excuse one little bit.
“I have been otherwise occupied.”
To his relief, the woman’s attention shifted to a large bejeweled matron who stood beside them. He resumed his journey to the brown eyed goddess, so fixated on his goal he didn’t notice her companion until he stood in front of Ambrose himself.
His friend performed the introductions. The word ‘sister’ sliced through him. The expression on his goddess’s face changed from interest to regret.
Chastain knew that despite how exquisite the girl might be she was well and truly out of his reach. There was one set of women a gentleman would never toy with: his friend’s sisters.
He now sat comfortably ensconced in said friends’ country house, having been asked to show attention to a woman who beguiled his every waking moment.
“What boon does he receive from your scheme?” Peake asked, rousing Chastain from his inner musings.
“Yes, old man, what do I get if I win our bet?” The idea of wooing Iris did appeal to him. His heart would be more than safe and the chit deserved a little comeuppance for her indifference to him.
“The pair of grays I recently purchased at Tattersall’s,” Ambrose replied straightaway.
“Quite an incentive.” He remained silent a moment. “Simply for making sure Lady Iris falls in love with me?”
His friend’s expression became as hard as stone. “You will remember she is my sister.”
“And thus sacred,” Peake said.
“I will treat her with the utmost respect.” Good heavens, he had just agreed to Ambrose’s absurd plan.
Ambrose’s brow cleared. “Christmas is on Thursday, three days from now. You and Peake are set to depart next Sunday. If Iris is enamored of you by then, you can have the grays.”
“How do you wish me to proceed?”
“Lightly,” the marquess replied with a chuckle. “Iris doesn’t know you very well. What she does know is from reading the newspapers during our time in London.”
Peake shook his head, his expression mournful. “Not reassuring for a young lady to be courted by the darling of the gossip sheets.”
“I want my father to see my name in print as much as possible.” Chastain shrugged. “He thinks me a wastrel. I’ll show him a wastrel.”
“It is now one o’clock,” Ambrose said, glancing at the carriage clock resting on one corner of an oak pedestal desk. “Lottie is undoubtedly in the conservatory or orangery, Rose is scribbling some wild story and Iris will be restless. She will be looking for diversion. That is where you come in, Chastain.”
Ambrose’s sisters had left London in late August. Although Chastain hadn’t seen Iris for nearly four months she had often been in his thoughts. The chance to spend time with the woman with her brother’s approval no less, couldn’t be missed.
He stood up and sketched a bow. “I will find fair lady and join her in a diverting activity.”
“I do believe I hear a commotion in the entrance hall,” Peake replied.
“Rose,” Ambrose said with a sigh. “She announces, by one way or another, her presence wherever she goes.”
CHAPTER TWO
“What are you playing at?” Peake asked Ambrose once Chastain exited the study.
“Pardon?” he replied with his own question, stalling for time.
“You told me Iris had several offers of marriage this season. If you’d pressed her to accept one of her suitors you would be rid of the unsuitable baronet.”
“Iris wasn’t in love with any of the gentlemen who offered for her. I will not have her wed where she does not love.”
“Is she in love with the baronet?” Peake shrugged. “If that is your only criteria for her future husband…”
Leave it to Peake to find holes in his story. Ambrose felt the dull throb of one of his headaches coming on. The house was uncommonly warm with fires having been laid in most reception rooms. He needed fresh air.
“I believe Iris’s attachment to Sir Thomas is a superficial one. Having Chastain show her some attention will allow me to discern how Iris and the baronet truly feel about each other.”
Peake appeared to consider the merits of the argument. “What if the unthinkable happens and our friend falls in love with your sister?”
Both men were silent a moment before the laughter began.
“You were shamming it,” he replied and laughed again.
“It could happen,” Peake said. “And I might become the next king of England.”
Ambrose took a few deep breaths, eager to leave the stuffiness of the room. “Join me for a ride?”
“Despite the chilly weather, that sounds a capital idea. Past time you gave me a tour around this grand estate of yours.”
Ambrose was relieved to see the entry hall empty. When he asked after Iris, his butler informed him Lady Iris, Lady Rose and Lord Chastain had departed for Braxton.
Located around the west side of the house, the stable block housed many fine mounts to choose from. While Peake mounted a black hunter, Ambrose pulled a small flask from his trouser pocket and took a mouthful of the liquid inside. Wit
h luck, the laudanum would soon dull the hammering in his head.
His sisters had lost their parents and would soon lose their only brother. They didn’t deserve to be cast adrift in the world to be foisted on relatives who wouldn’t care for their happiness.
He’d never seen Iris look at a man the way she looked at Chastain. For that matter, he’d never noticed Chastain preoccupied with pretending not to be preoccupied with a woman until now. He did not relish the role of matchmaker. Desperate times called for desperate measures. It would all work out in the end. He only prayed he would live long enough to see at least one sister settled before his physician’s diagnosis became a reality.
* * * * *
Iris found Rose in the girl’s bedchamber. Her youngest sister sat cross-legged on her four poster bed, writing in one of her numerous journals.
“A lady should sit at a writing table,” Iris said with a teasing smile.
“A lady should knock before entering my room,” Rose replied.
Ignoring her sister’s comment, she walked to where the girl sat and looked down at the book in Rose’s lap. “Who is the hero of your story today: a knight in armor or a pirate, perhaps?”
To her surprise, the younger girl hastily shut the journal she’d been writing in. Rose’s normal ruddy complexion turned a deeper red when Iris asked about her work.
“I’m not finished with it yet,” Rose replied as she shoved the journal under one of the many pillows grouped behind her.
The girl typically jumped at any chance to show her stories to her sisters. At only twelve years, Rose was not yet out and had been more than happy to sit at their town house in London writing whilst her sisters enjoyed the social whirl of the season.
Lottie had enjoyed London.
As for herself, the first part of the season bored her to tears and the last three weeks had been a trial. Lord Chastain began to appear at nearly every social event the family attended. To her irritation the man was far more handsome and interesting than all the young bucks in London combined.
The season was nearly over when she met Chastain for the first time. Lady Cairs’ ball was a crush. The room felt warm with too many bodies. None of her dance partners were remotely fascinating. She’d felt an invisible tug on the back of her neck and turned her head to see a man who quite literally gave her goose flesh.
She was considered tall at five feet eight inches. The man looked as if he would tower over her. His dark hair was tousled in the new fashion. His eyes were a light green, the color of Spring grass. She watched, her heart drumming sharply in her chest, as he navigated a path from Lady Cairs to a spot in front of her brother.
Her elation at finally meeting a man who appeared a cut above the rest turned to disappointment as her brother introduced the handsome gentleman as Lord Chastain, an often fixture in the gossip sheets.
“Lord Chastain is in the papers again,” Lottie said that very afternoon as Iris sat in the parlor of their rented townhouse, attempting interest in her needlework.
She pretended indifference to Lottie’s statement, although she listened closely to the paragraph the other girl commenced to read aloud.
“Lord C, an often subject of this column, was seen last evening at the Royal Saloon enjoying the gaming tables. When two women vied for his attention Lord C invited both ladies to sit with him for dinner. Much to the chagrin of many a male present, the gentleman’s dinner companions were the prettiest ladies in attendance.”
“Gentleman?” Iris blew out a breath. “The man is a known reprobate. His interest in any woman could not be construed in the least as benevolent.”
“And what do you know of reprobates?” Lottie giggled. “You grew up as cosseted in the country as any young miss.”
“I know Lord Chastain is a friend of our dear brother and yet Ambrose has not introduced us to him. Such a circumstance should be reason enough to doubt the man’s character.”
Lottie, true to her nature, wouldn’t be put off by her sister’s negative comments about the man as she chose only to see the good in others.
“I think it would be exciting to meet Lord Chastain. He behaves how he wishes and is still accepted in polite society.”
“The man is a viscount, heir to an earldom, my dear sister,” Iris replied. “The ton will forgive him many things they will not forgive the younger sisters of a marquess.”
“Chastain sounds terribly interesting,” their youngest sister Rose said from her window seat.
Iris thought the girl too engrossed in writing in her notebook to pay attention to her sister’s conversation.
“He is probably misunderstood,” Lottie replied.
“Oh yes.” Rose giggled. “He has been hurt by a woman and only needs to find his true love to settle down and live happily ever after. I shall write a story about him.”
“What shall you title your story about the poor, misunderstood Lord Chastain?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.
The younger girl bit her lip and stared into space.
“The Misunderstood Viscount?” Lottie asked.
Rose shook her head vigorously. “Not romantic enough.”
“The Rake Who Really Just Wants Love?” she asked.
“That is a ghastly title,” Lottie replied with a chuckle.
“I have it!” Rose’s face wore a triumphant grin as she turned her attention to her sisters. “The Viscount and the Three Sisters.”
“The Three Sisters.” Iris frowned. “Do you mean us, pray tell?”
“Yes, yes,” Rose replied, her eyes bright. “My tale will be all about our adventures with the secretly lonely, misunderstood Lord Chastain.”
Iris laughed despite herself. The other girl announced she would start writing about Chastain forthwith.
She shook herself and remembered her plan to take Chastain to Braxton.
“I have come to spirit you away to town,” she said to Rose. She would comment no more on her sister’s writing. The girl was growing up. Perhaps she wanted more privacy.
“To buy notebooks?” her sister asked as she slid from the bed and donned her boots. “You promised to share your pin money.”
“So I did,” she replied and looked with disapproval at the state of her sister’s hair. “Where is your maid?”
“I sent her to the dungeons.”
Iris sighed. Better not to ask Rose where the ‘dungeons’ might be if she wanted to leave for town any time soon. “Sit down and let me sort out your hair.”
Iris and Lottie were envious of Rose’s curls, something the girl inherited from their father. Although her hair was straight, Iris also had their father’s dark hair while Lottie inherited their mother’s fair locks. Iris used her fingers to fluff and rearrange Rose’s curls until the girl looked presentable.
Both sisters wore their usual uniform when residing at Marcourt: walking dresses and serviceable boots.
“Don’t forget your bonnet and a pelisse.”
“Shall we walk to town?” Rose asked. She glanced to the window in her room. The curtains were pulled back, the day outside looked sunny.
“That should be acceptable. This winter has been the warmest I can remember. Put on your nicest pelisse. We have company in the house. Ambrose would not like to see you looking like a hoyden in front of his friends.”
Despite muttering ‘hoyden’ under her breath and rolling her eyes, Iris was relieved to see Rose scoop her bonnet from a dresser and pull a fur lined pelisse from an armoire before following her sister out of the room.
Rose skipped quickly, and noisily, down the main staircase. Iris descended at a more sedate pace, wondering if Chastain would still be at leisure in the study.
“Lord Chastain!” Rose was already several treads below Iris. “My sister and I are going to town for notebooks.”
“A worthy pursuit,” a warm voice replied.
Iris almost faltered. The man’s honeyed tones never ceased to disconcert her. She gathered her wits and continued down the grand staircase. Wh
en her feet were firmly planted on the entry hall floor she moved her eyes to the viscount.
“Lady Iris,” her brother’s friend said with warmth. His light green eyes swiftly took note of her appearance.
“Lord Chastain,” she replied, her voice high. Neither her brother nor Lord Peake was in sight. Had Lord Chastain been waiting for her to come downstairs? Was the battle for her heart to begin so soon?
“Have you ever been to Braxton?” Rose asked the man who occupied too many of Iris’s thoughts these days.
“I must admit this is my first trip to Norfolk. I have never had the pleasure of visiting your village. Ambrose describes it as a charming hamlet.”
Iris held back a snort. Charming hamlet, indeed. In her modest opinion Braxton could very well be the loveliest village in England. Her gaze met Lord Chastain’s. She could see laughter behind his eyes. The man was surely teasing them.
“Please do come with us,” Rose said. Her eager smile made her look far younger than her twelve years.
Chastain’s gaze remained on Iris’s face. Since learning she was Ambrose’s sister she couldn’t recall his ever subjecting her to such a lengthy perusal.
“A ride to town sounds delightful,” the viscount replied, never taking his eyes from her face. “If your sister doesn’t mind my accompanying you?”
“You are most welcome to join us, Lord Chastain. We do normally walk to town.” She adopted a sunny smile and wondered if he would see the smugness behind it.
“Walk?” He looked down at his polished boots. He looked up again. The expression on his face appeared to be one of resignation.
“Braxton is less than a mile from Marcourt,” she said with a hint of challenge. “We understand if you are not used to such exercise.”
His gaze narrowed as he smiled in return, if the tight twist of his lips could be termed a smile. “It looks to be nice weather. I believe I should enjoy some exercise.”
