The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk

by Angelina Jameson

  “As if that would matter,” Iris rejoined with a chuckle. “We have always done what we wished. Remember that when Rose tests you.”

  “I don’t believe she is indifferent to Lord Peake wishing to court Miss . . .” She paused, pretending not to remember the lady’s name. “I don’t recall her surname.”

  “I think the name was Bolton,” Iris replied. “Rose didn’t bring up Lord Peake specifically this morning. Mayhap she is distracted by one of the stories she is writing.”

  “Perhaps.” She didn’t believe it. Rose would fixate on Lord Peake until another gentleman caught her fancy. “Is Chastain’s father happy here in London?”

  “Yes. He will come to Devon sometime after Michaelmas. It is my greatest desire to heal the breach between them.”

  Her attention still on her pillowcase, Lottie said casually, “Ambrose mentioned once that Lord Peake also had a strained relationship with his father when the gentleman was alive.”

  “I remember.” Iris nodded. “He said that Lord Peake’s father was quite the pleasure-seeker. Evidently the man spent a fortune on entertaining in London.”

  The sound of carriages passing in the street could be heard. Lottie wished she was out in the fresh air. When she finished stitching the pillowcase, she would suggest a stroll in the back garden.

  “Lord Peake also had an older brother who died,” Iris said.

  “In the war?”

  Iris shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was in the navy, but he didn’t die in the war. I’m very much afraid he died because of a lark. He was well known for them. Perhaps Chastain will know the details.”

  A father who was a gadabout and a brother who died because of a prank. Did events in his life explain Lord Peake’s serious demeanor, or was he quite simply an unpleasant fellow?

  She remembered when he’d been embarrassed by her teasing the previous evening. His expression had gone rigid. Cold.

  “Speaking of Lord Peake, what shall we do next to help him?” Iris asked.

  “A musicale? A card party? We have so many invitations. He can dance well enough, so another ball isn’t necessary so soon.”

  Iris held up her pillowcase and studied it. “Hmmm . . . When courting a lady, you take her on rides in the park.”

  “Yes. If you don’t think a ride in the park with Lord Peake would start gossip.”

  “If anyone asks, we could say Chastain is feeling poorly so we called on Lord Peake to keep us company.” Evidently satisfied with her progress, Iris returned the pillowcase to her lap and commenced further stitching.

  “A ride in the park sounds pleasant enough.”

  Iris added, “We should also visit Gunter’s. I crave an ice.”

  “Didn’t Chastain bring you an ice yesterday?”

  “He did. I loved it and require another. Perhaps two.” Iris patted her stomach. “I’ve had the strangest cravings recently.”

  * * * * *

  Peake felt a headache coming on as sessions ended. Most of the day was spent listening to Lord Smythe grandstand about the Gaols Act. There was no need for discussion as most of the members of his party agreed with what the act would stipulate: visits by chaplains, salaries for gaolers, and banning the use of irons and manacles, not to mention allowing women wardens for female prisoners.

  “I thought Smythe would bandy words until dusk,” Chastain said from beside him as both men walked out of chambers.

  They hit the pavement. The cool air, although not fresh by any standards, was a relief from the stuffiness of the room they’d just left. It surprised Peake that so many of his colleagues failed to bathe regularly. “Almost made me wish I was at my estate with my mother fussing over me.”

  “Do you fancy a brandy?” Chastain consulted his pocket watch, an elaborate piece. It had been a gift from his bride.

  “If you don’t have to hurry home.” It was five of the o’clock. In the late days of April, sunset would occur over two hours from now. A few drops of rain splashed onto his shoulders.

  “Not this evening. We haven’t had a moment for you to tell me about Bolton’s sister.”

  “Well, then,” Peake replied as Chastain hailed a hackney. “White’s it is.”

  A few minutes later they were deposited in front of the gentleman’s club. His headache all but gone, Peake sipped his drink in a corner of the club library as he told Chastain about his plan to court and marry Isabelle.

  “She is so young.” Chastain took a drink of the amber liquid in his glass.

  “Only two years younger than your own wife.”

  “I saw her in town a few months ago, and she behaved as if she were mute.” Chastain paused. “I can’t imagine her laughing as much as you described.”

  He shrugged. “Whenever I have been in her company, she has been high-spirited.”

  “You think she and Lottie share the same personality traits.” It was not a question but a statement. The frown on Chastain’s face made Peake aware his friend did not agree.

  He chose to change the subject rather than risk a row. “Do you believe Ambrose’s headaches have subsided?”

  “I have no reason to think he is lying to us. Rose and Aunt Abigail plan to return to Marcourt. Abigail will let me know if anything is amiss with Ambrose.”

  “Lady Markham is cognizant enough of her surroundings to do such a thing?” he asked, his tone skeptical.

  “My wife’s aunt is more aware of the goings on around her than one would think. She cultivates a vague look on purpose. She escapes into her mind if her surroundings get tiresome.”

  “If only I could do the same,” Peake replied. “My mother is so enamored of my settling down, I am afraid to tell her I have decided on Miss Bolton. She would hound the girl’s father.”

  Chastain leaned forward, his expression intent. “Why wait?”

  “Although I do not think her father would object to my suit, I have heard her mother on more than one occasion wax lyrical about her plans for her daughter’s debut season.”

  “If no arrangements have been discussed, there is still time to change your mind.”

  He raised a brow at Chastain’s relieved tone of voice. “Why would I change my mind?”

  “You could have the pick of this season’s debutantes. You are of good family, and a peer to boot.”

  “One lady will do as well as another. And do not speak to me of love.” He finished his brandy in a long swallow. Marriages in the ton were based on suitability and fortunes. Not love.

  “I didn’t believe in it myself until I met Iris,” Chastain replied.

  “Isabelle’s mother says the girl is content with a quiet life. If we were to marry, she would be close to her own family. I will have a wife in the country. Heirs. My mother will have a companion.”

  “A fairy tale,” Chastain replied with a twist of his lips.

  “Not perhaps in the way Lady Rose writes a fairy tale but sufficient enough for me.” He kept his tone light despite his frustration with the conversation. His friend obviously didn’t approve of his choice. “I am not my father or my brother. I will approach marriage as I do any other decision: calmly and logically. Emotion does not factor into my choice of wife.”

  Chastain nodded brusquely. “The cigarillo smoke this evening is almost unbearable. I will take myself home. With no sessions tomorrow, I’m sure my lady wife has planned my day.”

  “Good evening. I will avail myself of the prime rib tonight.” He smiled to lighten the mood. “I deserve a good meal occasionally.”

  “Iris will surely have you around to dinner again soon.”

  “I wish I could steal your cook away. My father had a reputation for not paying wages on time. I am lucky to have any servants willing to be in my employ.”

  “Your man Baines seems loyal enough.”

  Peake grimaced. “I always paid him with my pocket money. My lack of recent fashion is not only due to my not liking the current style, but the lightness of my purse. It is very kind of you and Ambrose t
o close ranks with me.”

  Chastain stood up and clapped him on the shoulder, the ease of their friendship restored. “It is of no import. What are friends for?”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning over breakfast, Chastain looked out of sorts. Lottie was left in little doubt for long as to why.

  “In aid of my friend, I am to pretend I am unwell this afternoon?” Chastain looked first at his wife, then at Lottie.

  “Unless you have devised another reason Lord Peake should be seen spending time in the park with Lottie and myself,” Iris replied sweetly. “While we are away, you can avail yourself of Rose and Aunt Abigail’s company.”

  Lottie suppressed a groan. Not the incentive to stay home she would have suggested. “Where is Rose this morning?”

  “She asked for a tray in her room,” Iris replied, “and is pretending to have a fever. Her maid told me our sister put a hot water bottle on her forehead before I went to check on her.”

  “I imagine she wants to prevent us from going to Gunter’s without her.”

  Iris nodded. “That is my belief.”

  Chastain cleared his throat, reminding the ladies of his presence. “All this effort to aid Peake’s wooing of Miss Bolton. Good heavens! The girl is a featherhead. What is the man thinking?”

  He said no more on the subject, to Lottie’s disappointment. She had learned very little about Miss Bolton. As for why Peake would pursue the young woman. Maybe he truly cared for her.

  “I am sorry if our plans inconvenience you, Chastain.” She smiled in what she hoped was an engaging fashion. “Iris already sent a missive to ask Lord Peake to join us on our outing.”

  “Did you really?” A wealth of feeling was in the question the marquess directed to his wife.

  Iris looked not one bit concerned that her husband might be disturbed by her assuming he would go along with her plans. Her mouth full of scrambled eggs, she merely shrugged.

  Lottie opted for a fragrant cup of tea that morning. She sipped her drink, content to observe Iris and her husband. They were clearly besotted with each other. Chastain had been the most sought-after bachelor in London. He was quite the handsomest man Lottie had ever seen. Strange she had never been drawn to him in a romantic fashion.

  She couldn’t recall having ever been interested in a gentleman enough to want to see him every day, whereas Rose developed a tendre for any man she spent a prolonged time around.

  “Lottie?” Iris’s voice pierced the haze of her thoughts.

  “Pardon, sister. I was wool-gathering.”

  “Shall we remove upstairs to decide what to wear for our outing this afternoon?”

  Chastain frowned. “You haven’t received a response from Peake.”

  “I have no doubt to his agreeing to the outing.” Iris gave a nonchalant wave of her hand. “What else would he have to occupy his time?”

  Lottie exited the room after her sister to the sound of Chastain mumbling to himself.

  “He will forgive me,” Iris said with a wink before she turned away and climbed the staircase in front of her. “You should wear your new pelisse today. It is the perfect color for your complexion.”

  She didn’t reply as she didn’t want to speak to Iris’s backside. When they reached the landing for the second floor, the women separated and went to their separate bedchambers.

  A few minutes later she’d selected her walking dress for their outing, paired with jonquil kid boots and gloves. The pale Spanish green of the dress matched her silk pelisse of the same color. She walked down the corridor to see her sister’s bedchamber door ajar. Before she knocked, she came to a halt, aware Iris was not alone in the room.

  Although only a sliver of the interior was visible, she could see her sister in the embrace of her husband. Chastain’s head was bent over Iris, his lips against the skin of her neck above the high collar of her morning dress. One hand cradled Iris’s head, while the other was squarely on Iris’s clothed bottom. Her sister made a mewling sound.

  Chastain chuckled. “If I am to be without you all afternoon, I must content myself with these few moments.”

  Lottie backed away and hurried to her bedchamber. She had never seen a man and woman in an intimate embrace. Chastain’s voice had sounded husky. Iris had responded with noises almost feral in nature. Lottie crossed to her dresser and splashed cool water from the bowl there onto her face.

  She couldn’t imagine a man ever holding her like that or see herself responding to a gentleman the way her sister had. Would someone ever look at her the way Chastain looked at Iris?

  A turn in the garden would settle her thoughts. Tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils were blooming. Her flowers and plants had always been enough to fill her days. The notion she might be missing something in her life would pass.

  * * * * *

  Peake read the missive in his hand. Seated at his desk in the main room of his lodgings, he penned a suitable reply. When he rang the bell, his man arrived promptly.

  “Please see this letter is delivered at once, Baines.”

  The man nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

  “I will be out for the afternoon.”

  “Very good.” Baines left as quietly as he’d appeared.

  Chastain had looked in the best of health the previous evening. No matter. Escorting Lady Chastain and Lady Lottie to Hyde Park and Gunter’s would take his mind from the other letter he’d received that morning.

  The London townhouse had sold with little profit. His father had squandered money on wallpaper and rugs. Those expenditures rarely translated into a good return for money.

  “At least the upkeep for the building is no longer my concern.” He was relieved to learn most of the servants employed by his father would be retained by the new owner of the house.

  His mother worried that others might gossip about the family’s financial status. Other than Chastain and Ambrose, only his solicitor and land steward knew how close they had come to ruin. He was within sight of paying off his father’s debts.

  At present he did not keep a carriage in town. There was no place for it. Iris’s letter mentioned she would send one for him.

  Baines returned with a tray. A plate of cold meat, cheese, and bread was accompanied by a mug of ale. “To fortify you before your outing.”

  The man was his valet, butler, and man of all trades. Nearing his fortieth year on earth, Baines had been with him since Peake had graduated from Oxford six years before.

  “Thank you, Baines. Tell cook not to expect me for dinner.”

  The ladies could take the outing without a male present as Iris was a married woman. He trusted Iris knew what she was about; despite a ride in the park, gossips would not conclude he’d formed an attachment to Lady Lottie.

  Baines ensured his master was suitably attired in cream linen pantaloons, a gray patterned waistcoat, and a gray jacket. A carriage arrived for him in due course. The landau was new, well sprung, and the squabs were upholstered in velvet. Although traffic was heavy, he relaxed in great comfort.

  Upon arriving at the house in Bedford Square, he was shown into the morning room on the ground floor. He couldn’t recall ever being in the room. It was decorated in shades of yellow. Three tall windows like those in the dining room looked out into the back garden. A quick glance outside assured him the day remained sunny.

  Iris was the first to appear, her sister close on her heels. He blinked at the elegant picture Lottie made in her pale green ensemble. She looked lovelier every time he saw her.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Peake.” Lottie nodded to him.

  He bowed. “Good afternoon. This is a very comfortable room with a pleasant view of the garden.”

  “It was our mother’s parlor before it was the morning room,” Lottie replied.

  Her words were accompanied by a sad smile. As he thought of a reply, he heard the faint sounds of someone counting and clapping above them.

  “Rose is in the large drawing room upstairs with her dance maste
r,” Iris said. “Shall we be off?”

  When he’d handed both women into the carriage and was seated himself, he asked, “How is Chastain?”

  “A mild stomach ailment,” Iris replied. “Cook made him a tincture. I do expect he will be back to his usual self very soon.”

  Lottie didn’t meet his eyes. She smoothed her skirts. He was aware of her every movement. Without Lady Markham’s perfumed presence, he could smell the rosewater Lottie wore.

  Seated across from both women, he wondered at how different they looked. Although they had different hair colors, they both had brown eyes. Iris had a bolder beauty whereas Lottie’s beauty was more subtle. He realized he was staring.

  “The driver will take us through Hyde Park. Does that suit, Lord Peake?” Lottie cocked her head to the side, a soft smile on her lips.

  “Whatever you ladies have planned will be agreeable. I am at your disposal.”

  “Well said, Lord Peake!” Iris clapped her hands. “You are coming along very well.”

  He grinned. “That is good to hear.”

  “You should smile more. Does he not look more handsome when he smiles, Lottie?”

  “Oh yes, of course,” Lottie replied. She laughed. It was that same high-pitched laugh he’d heard at the ball.

  He started at the sound. By now he realized a shrill laugh meant Lottie was uncomfortable.

  “We have good weather today,” Iris said.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Much warmer for April than expected, I believe.”

  Lottie remained silent, her gaze on the city outside her window. He sensed he’d made a faux pas. What had he done now?

  * * * * *

  Lottie realized some of the brightness of the day had gone. When she’d laughed self-consciously, Peake had visibly shuddered. “Lord Peake, it is not polite to wince when a lady makes a sound of mirth.”

  Iris bit her lip.

  She was gratified to see the contrite look on Peake’s face. “I did not mean to offend, Lady Lottie. Do accept my apology.”

  His words sounded as sincere as the look on his face. If he was willing to be affable, so must she. “No harm done. Just a spot of advice for the future.”