Copyright 2019 Angelina Jameson
Cover Design: Dar Albert, wickedsmartdesigns.com
Editor: Jessica Cale, Safeword Author Services
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this novella may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means-except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews-without written permission. The characters and events in this novella are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
License Notes
This novella is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This novella may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this novella with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this novella and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Dedications
To my husband for his patience, although it must be growing thin after twenty-five years of marriage.
***
Natalie Anderson, your encouragement inspires me.
***
To Lu Levy for not only being a spectacular beta reader but for your unwavering support for romance writers.
***
And to Thomas and Tyler with love.
Prologue
December 1822, Norfolk
Sometimes even happy news could make her feel a little bit sad.
“You’re to be married? Congratulations, Iris!”
Lady Lotus, or Lottie, as she preferred to be called, hugged her older sister. Lottie was blessed with their mother’s burnished gold locks and Iris with their father’s sable colored hair; they were so different in many ways yet the closest of sisters.
Sequestered in Lottie’s bedchamber, the girls could speak openly without fear of being overheard.
“Chastain loves me,” Iris said as she released herself from the embrace and stepped back. “He took part in Ambrose’s silly wager because he wanted to spend time with me.”
Their brother, Ambrose, had asked his friend Lord Chastain to the family seat of Marcourt in Norfolk to turn Iris’s head. The two men had wagered Chastain could do so in a week. Chastain had fallen in love with Iris. Another friend of Ambrose’s, Lord Peake, had also been privy to the deception.
Iris took a seat on a stuffed chair, and Lottie perched on the edge of her bed. It was early afternoon. The morning fire in the grate had burned down to ash. The faint scent of the rosewater she used to rinse her hair hung in the air.
“What has our brother to say for himself? And Lord Peake?” Lottie was astonished that gentleman had been involved. He was a haughty sort of man, too aware of rules and propriety. Lord Peake always had a look on his face as if he disapproved of Lottie’s very existence.
“Lord Peake knew Ambrose was up to something, you see,” Iris replied with a wave of her hand. “He guessed our brother wanted me to fall in love with Chastain. He apologized for his part in the bet. He merely wanted to support his friend.”
“By helping deceive us all. Those three men are lucky you weren’t in love with Sir Thomas. How our brother could believe you wanted to marry the baronet, I shall never know.”
Iris shrugged. “Ambrose refuses to divulge another reason for the wager other than his belief that Chastain and I are well matched.”
When Iris married, everything would change. The two sisters had always been inseparable. Now her sister would have a home and a husband to care for. She must not think of herself, only of Iris and her happiness.
The wind whistled through the sliver of space between the wall and the single window in the room. With the curtains pulled back, she could see some of the light snow that had fallen last night swirling in the breeze.
“How is Rose?” Lottie asked. “I know of late she has behaved as if she were smitten with Chastain.”
Their youngest sister, Rose, only twelve, was often enamored with one gentleman or another. The girl was a true romantic, writing fairy tales in her journals.
“I wonder that you saw it and I didn’t. Rose has decided that perhaps Chastain wasn’t meant for her.” Iris grinned. “I’m afraid her new obsession will be Lord Peake.”
“She’s welcome to him,” Lottie replied. She shook her head. “He is far too fastidious for most women to bear.”
Iris raised her eyebrows. “Is he now?”
“Iris . . .” Lottie’s tone was quelling. Normally she didn’t mind being teased. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel comfortable having Iris believe she was in any way interested in Lord Peake.
Her sister sharpened her gaze. “You do go out of your way to aggravate the man.”
“I am merely being myself. It is none of my concern if he is irritated by my personality.” She looked down and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her blue-sprigged day dress.
Iris sniffed. “You appear to have more ‘personality’ when Lord Peake is nearby.”
It was time to steer their conversation in another direction. She recalled Iris had made a wager of her own. “Rose is welcome to Lord Peake.” She added with a wink, “And since you did fall in love with Chastain, you owe me a bonnet.”
Chapter One
March 1823, London
The wedding day dawned bright and sunny, a good omen for the future. Iris was to marry the man she loved, Ambrose’s recent bouts of migraine appeared to be diminishing, and Rose had found a new gentleman to fixate on. The only difficulty was that Lottie had to see said gentleman: Lord Peake.
“The viscount looks handsome in formal clothes, does he not?” Rose asked in a whisper. “I haven’t seen him wear that claret colored morning coat before.”
Lottie looked across the aisle to where her brother’s friend was seated. The church was full of lit candles despite it being a rather bright day for London in March. “He looks presentable, my dear. Please be quiet now. The vicar is about to speak.”
Rose made a grumbling noise before she lapsed into silence. Lottie’s thoughts strayed to how presentable Lord Peake did look in his dark coat and cream pantaloons as the clergyman spoke about the sanctity of marriage, Ambrose gave the bride away, and Iris was given her ring.
She was glad neither her brother nor his friends had completely adopted the fashion of padding their figures under their clothes. Some might think the men unfashionable; she thought they looked elegant. Her gaze wandered to where her thoughts were. She was surprised to see Lord Peake’s steady gaze on her. With a jerk of her head, she returned her attention to the ceremony before her, the warmth of a flush rising to her cheeks.
Psalms were read. With the final blessing, Iris and Chastain were now husband and wife. Ambrose and Lottie would sign the parish register as witnesses to validate the wedding ceremony.
“To marry for love,” Rose said on a sigh. “I hope someday it will happen for me.”
She patted one of Rose’s hands and replied, “I’m sure it will. I must hurry along and sign the register. Please see to Aunt Abigail.”
Lottie exited the pew and made her way to the vestry at the back of the church. When near the altar, she turned to see Lord Peake assisting Aunt Abigail down the aisle to the front of the building. When she finished signing the register she realized Ambrose had disappeared. She hurried outside to find Rose and Aunt Abigail.
To her dismay, Lord Peake joined them in a carriage at the insistence of their aunt. Lottie wondered aloud where Ambrose had gotten to.
“He will find his way,” Abigail answered as Lord Peake assisted her up the steps of the coach. “
We have our escort right here.”
“I am delighted to accompany you ladies,” Lord Peake said gallantly.
Lottie gave him a vague smile when he handed her into the coach. She made sure to take a seat next to her aunt so Lord Peake would have to sit beside Rose. Rose’s infatuation with the viscount was innocent enough, it couldn’t hurt to indulge it.
To her astonishment, the viscount was in a jovial mood. He usually looked dour and disapproving in her company. Perhaps he sensed her melancholy state and it pleased him. She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. Her dislike of the gentleman caused her to think the worst of him.
Aunt Abigail’s liberal use of lavender eau de toilette tickled her nose, masking the clean light scent she knew Lord Peake wore. She had always thought his cologne smelled quite pleasant.
The carriage jolted forward.
“Ambrose must be relieved to have one of you girls off his hands,” Abigail said when they were settled.
Lottie winced. “Aunty! Really.”
“Sisters can be a burden,” Abigail mumbled in reply.
Rose merely grinned. Lord Peake looked out the carriage window. Aunt Abigail closed her eyes, her features relaxed in quiet repose. Her aunt, more formally Lady Markham, was the sister of Lottie’s late mother. Deaf in one ear due to a childhood fever, one could never be sure if she heard the conversations around her.
The short ride to the townhouse in Bedford Square was passed with Rose recounting the wedding ceremony.
“Iris looked so beautiful. Her eyes shined. And you could tell Chastain is deeply in love with her. What did you think, Lord Peake?”
The viscount looked at the young girl beside him. “I think your sister did indeed look beautiful. Chastain is a fortunate man.”
Rose smiled and nodded her approval at his answer. Lottie closed her eyes, willing the carriage to arrive at the townhouse.
After today, their family wouldn’t be the same. Iris would soon move into her new home. Lottie bit her lip to stem a sigh of self-pity. Her siblings appeared content with the changes to their household while she wondered what was expected of her now. Was she to be Ambrose’s hostess? Did her brother expect her to take on more responsibilities in his house?
“Are you quite well, Lady Lottie?” There was a hint of concern in the male voice.
She opened her eyes. “Quite well, Lord Peake. I’m merely thinking of the breakfast arrangements. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything.”
“Surely there are others who could take care of the wedding breakfast?” The viscount frowned.
She must be imagining the disapproval in the man’s tone. He couldn’t expect servants to arrange a beloved sister’s wedding celebration.
“Lottie planned the breakfast,” Rose replied. “You should see the table arrangements. She worked very hard on them. They are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen—white roses and gold ribbons.”
“Thank you, Rose. I’m sure Lord Peake doesn’t care about the flowers.”
“Indeed I do, Lady Lottie.” He gave her a rare smile. “Flower arranging is an accomplishment every well-bred lady should have.”
Her answering smile was brittle. She couldn’t trust herself to form a civil reply. She was saved from doing so by Rose. The girl launched into a spontaneous account of the current story she was writing about a dog and a rabbit.
* * * * *
Lord Peake was faced with a dilemma. He wanted to ask the assistance of a lady who didn’t like him. Truth be told, he wasn’t overly fond of Lady Lottie. She was the most exasperating female he’d ever met which made her the perfect candidate to help him.
Seated in such close quarters in Ambrose’s town carriage, he’d hoped for a few words with Lady Lottie to smooth the way for his request, but Lady Rose had monopolized most of the conversation.
“Do you like dogs, Lord Peake? Of course you do. The name of the dog in my story is Livingston. It is a long name but distinguished, don’t you think?”
He really didn’t have to respond other than to make a few approving noises here and there during the young girl’s commentary. He stole glances at Lottie, wondering if her less than cheerful mood was really caused by her worry over the breakfast preparations.
When they arrived at the townhouse Ambrose was already there. He mumbled something about having to hurry back to the house to change his waistcoat.
To Peake’s good fortune, he was seated next to Lottie at the wedding breakfast.
She had looked out of sorts in the carriage. If Lottie was concerned about the breakfast, she should be happy with her handiwork. The long dining table was set for twelve, a delicious variety of sweet and savory dishes displayed for the enjoyment of the wedding guests. The gold ribbons on the table centerpieces were a perfect foil for the gilded portraits on the deep mauve walls of the dining room.
“Rose was correct,” he said to Lottie. “Your flower arrangements are quite lovely.”
“Thank you, Lord Peake.” The lady nodded to him before returning her attention to pushing food around on her plate.
Although her mind appeared elsewhere, he must speak to her.
“I require your help, Lady Lottie.” His words did not sound as self-assured as he would have wished. He cleared his throat. “A favor, if you will.”
“How may I be of service?” Lottie asked with little enthusiasm, her gaze upon him.
“My request is of a delicate nature.” He looked about the room. “Perhaps I could call on you on the morrow.”
She gave the tiniest of sighs. “That will be agreeable.”
* * * * *
It was raining outside when Lottie received him in the small drawing room of her brother’s townhouse the next day, the door to the room wide open. Lady Markham was seated on a chaise as chaperone. It was generally accepted that the lady was hard of hearing, so he wasn’t put off his mission at the older woman’s presence.
Refreshment was offered and accepted. Once the teacups were sorted, Lottie asked him, “What matter did you need assistance with?”
He blinked. “You would like to conduct our business straightaway.”
“I see no reason to prolong our meeting. It is no secret that we don’t enjoy each other’s company.”
“That is part of my problem,” he replied with a nod. “I need to spend time in your company to become used to a tiresome female’s presence.”
Lady Markham made a soft choking noise. When he glanced at the lady, she was staring fixedly at the Kilkenny black marble chimneypiece in the room, her expression mild. He returned his attention to Lady Lottie although the abundant use of lace on her peach-colored day gown was off-putting. The dress was only slightly less annoying than Lady Markham’s cloying perfume.
Lottie sniffed. “I think a more pressing problem may be your lack of gentlemanly manners.”
“I apologize for speaking so plainly. You know we don’t get on. Everyone knows we don’t get on. You behave in a light-hearted manner, while I am—”
“Staid. Tedious. Boring. Dull. Etcetera, etcetera.” She smiled brightly.
“Quite,” he rejoined.
“Serious. Grave. Dreary. Shall I go on?”
He shook his head. “Point taken.”
The faint sounds of servants passing in the corridor outside could be heard. Lady Lottie looked content to sit quietly, her gaze fixed on a point near his left shoulder.
“There is a young lady who will make her come out next year.”
Lottie moved her gaze to his face. Her only response was to raise an eyebrow.
“The lady has very much a personality to match your own.”
Lottie bit her lip. Her outer demeanor could only be described as chilly.
He forged on. “The young woman is high-spirited.”
“What assistance do you need, Lord Peake?”
He rushed to say, “I have decided it is time to take a wife. The lady I intend to marry lives on an estate adjacent to my own in Suffolk. My mother prefers the
country, and I would like her to have a companion while I am in London. The lady is of good family, which is really the only requirement I desire in a wife.”
“You are worried about spending time in her presence for long periods of time. You would need to do so to court the lady,” Lottie replied.
He was gratified she had come to the correct conclusion without further explanation. “You understand the matter exactly.”
“And the young lady’s personality irritates you?”
“It does.” He continued in a softer tone, “I regret that my candor may upset you, Lady Lottie. I do not express myself particularly well to women.”
Lottie did not look as annoyed as he’d expected. “What specifically do you need from me?”
“The lady will not come to London until next year. Her mother wants her to have a season. I should like to spend the rest of this season, merely a few months, getting used to your company.”
“What do I receive from allowing you to become used to me?”
He was glad he had given the idea some thought. “You will have the satisfaction of helping someone like myself who is not quite comfortable in social settings. Also, you will see me married off, so I will be obliged to spend less time in your brother’s company. Which means you will not have to see me quite as often.”
“And what is your intended’s name?” Lottie cocked her head to one side.
“Miss Isabelle Bolton.”
“Rank?”
“Her father is a baron.”
Lottie clicked her tongue. “Poor Rose. She is to be disappointed yet again.”
“I am far too old for your sister.”
“If Miss Bolton is not yet out, she might only be a few years older than Rose.”
He shook his head. “She will be eighteen next Autumn.”
Peake surveyed the delicacies on the tea tray. There were several lemon tarts. He picked one up and took a bite. Lottie took a sip of her tea. He remembered she herself was only eighteen years old.
“If I were to agree, how do you propose we go forward with your plan?” she asked.
The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk Page 1
