The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk

by Angelina Jameson

  “We’re entering the park,” Iris said, her words coming out in a rush.

  Hyde Park was not crowded as it was not the fashionable hour. The coach entered the park at Hyde Park Corner at the end of Park Lane. By agreement, the coach stopped beside the path near the Serpentine so they could alight and view the swans.

  Lady Cair was near the water with a young woman. “Why, if it isn’t Lord Peake. I told you about him, Cynthia.”

  The society maven made the introductions, pleasant to all but particularly ingratiating to Peake. Miss Cynthia Davis was the daughter of an old schoolfriend of Lady Cair. The eldest of four sisters, Lady Cair had convinced Cynthia’s mother to allow the girl to come to London.

  “I am sorry to hear Lord Chastain is unwell,” the matron said. “Please give him my regards, Lady Chastain. What a gentleman you are to accompany the ladies on their outing, Lord Peake. What a gentleman indeed.”

  Reading between the lines of what Lady Cair had not told them about Miss Davis, Lottie surmised the girl’s family could not afford a season as she was only in town for a short period of time. Lord Peake was a peer from a well-established family. Lady Cair couldn’t imagine the viscount would consider a match with the girl. The very thought was intolerable.

  The weather was discussed for a few moments as they walked along the water before Iris made their regrets. “We must be on our way, Lady Cair. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Davis.”

  The girl, of an age as herself, nodded and smiled winningly for Lord Peake. The viscount mumbled a goodbye.

  “If Miss Bolton won’t have you, that young miss surely will,” Iris said once they were seated in the carriage.

  “Shall we proceed to Gunter’s?” Peake looked flushed.

  “Have you visited the confectioner’s before?” Lottie asked, hoping to forestall the gentleman retreating into stony silence. She’d determined that was his defense when uncomfortable in front of others.

  “Some time ago. I do not often eat sweets.”

  “Unless they are flavored with lemon,” she replied teasingly.

  “My secret is out.” His tentative smile returned the brightness to her day. Iris was right: Lord Peake was quite handsome when he smiled.

  Chapter Seven

  Several carriages were parked opposite Gunter’s in Berkeley Square. A waiter sprinted across the road to take their order.

  “Pistachio,” Lottie said.

  “Burnt filbert,” Iris added.

  Peake asked about other flavors. Underwhelmed, he requested a lemon ice.

  When the waiter dashed away again, Peake stepped down from the carriage while the ladies remained seated inside. It was customary for a gentleman to lean against the railings of the square to share a lady's company while enjoying an ice.

  Iris clicked her tongue. “Lady Cair will tell anyone who will listen about our outing today.”

  “Do you anticipate gossip?” Peake asked.

  “The lady seemed intent on pushing Miss Davis under your nose, so I doubt she thinks there is an understanding between you and Lottie,” Iris replied.

  “No one would imagine an attachment between myself and Lord Peake,” Lottie said with a shake of her head.

  He frowned. He didn’t think the idea of his courting Lottie was that preposterous. The sounds of others conversing and the bustle of coaches through the square filled the awkward silence.

  “Will you dine with us this evening?” Iris asked.

  “I would be delighted. If you really think Chastain will be more himself.” He was gratified the invitation he’d planned on was forthcoming.

  Iris winked at him. “I have it on good authority that he will be in perfect health.”

  Courting Miss Bolton would be much like this outing. For the purposes of this exercise, his intended was Lottie, and the chaperone, Lady Chastain. Where once he had felt uncomfortable around Lottie, he didn’t feel that way any longer. He almost enjoyed her company. She wasn’t as annoying as he remembered.

  Their ices arrived. When they were distributed, he settled in to enjoy his lemon treat.

  “It is curious, your proclivity for lemon,” Lottie said between bites of her own confection.

  “I think it dates from when my mother grew the first lemon tree at our estate. The flowers of the tree are aromatic, and there is the further reward of fruit.” He shook his head, looking down at his dish of ice. “My mother names her trees.”

  Lottie’s laugh was gentle. “That is delightful. Your mother is a keen gardener?”

  “She is.” He looked up to see Lottie’s full attention on him. “Ambrose says you breathe to garden. I believe my mother is a kindred spirit.”

  Did Miss Bolton like to garden? He surely hoped so. His mother loved to spend hours in her glasshouses.

  For a few moments, they simply enjoyed their ices.

  “Does Ambrose often talk of his sisters?” Iris asked.

  He nodded. “From the time we were thrown together last season. Before then he was much more reticent about discussing his family.”

  “I wonder what changed?” Lottie asked. “Just before last season, Ambrose began experiencing his headaches. He was so vigorous before that. Now he seems always tired, always in distress.”

  “I agree,” he replied. “Do you really think his headaches have subsided?”

  Lottie bit her lip. “I am worried he is hiding at Marcourt merely for the purpose of shielding us from worry.”

  “I have been of the same mind,” Iris said.

  He sighed. “I should make a trip to Marcourt to ascertain the state of your brother’s health.”

  “That is a splendid idea,” Iris responded.

  Lottie nodded. “Rose has been asking to return to Marcourt. If we are concerned about Ambrose, I think perhaps she and Aunt Abigail should stay in London until we determine all is well with our brother.”

  The logic Lottie used surprised him. When speaking with Miss Davis earlier, she had spoken of ribbons and bonnets. Now it was as if she were a different person. A serious, thoughtful person. He was having a hard time reconciling exactly which was the real Lady Lottie.

  “I will discuss the matter with Chastain this evening. If he approves, Lady Rose and Lady Markham should stay in London. Tomorrow is a very important Parliamentary vote. I could travel to Marcourt in two days’ time. Once I see Ambrose, I will send you a report.” He looked at Iris and Lottie for agreement. Both ladies nodded.

  “Rose may be a problem,” Iris said.

  “She will not be a problem. We must treat her as an adult, and she will act like one. She cannot be allowed to throw tantrums to get her way.” After a moment Lottie added, “When she gets no reaction, she will behave appropriately.”

  He looked down at his empty dessert glass. Lottie had amazed him yet again. Her beauty and vivacious personality did not lead one to believe she had a thoughtful side. Perhaps her reputation as a featherbrain was unwarranted.

  “I am disappointed to be done already,” Iris said.

  He glanced at the lady to see her gazing mournfully at her dessert dish. Lottie was also finished with her treat.

  “I will return our glasses to the shop.” He moved to the coach and took the other dessert cups. “Are there other places you wish to visit today, ladies?”

  “Only home. You have done a splendid job as our escort, Lord Peake. I don’t believe Lottie has irritated you more than once.” Iris’s smile was enigmatic.

  “That is true,” he replied carefully.

  “You are evidently becoming used to me,” Lottie said lightly.

  Peake was surprised to realize that not only was he used to her, he quite liked her.

  “I will be just one moment.” He looked about for traffic and crossed the street to the confectioner’s shop.

  He was relieved Iris’s comment didn’t upset Lottie. The last thing he wanted was an uncomfortable ride back to the townhouse.

  If Chastain was about, he would closet himself away with hi
s friend for a chat. As for Iris’s cryptic smile? It would not do to think too much on what may or may not be going through a lady’s mind.

  * * * * *

  Lottie was pleased Lord Peake would soon journey to Marcourt to ascertain the state of Ambrose’s health.

  When their party arrived home, a footman informed them Lord Chastain was in the library. Although the house belonged to Ambrose, he allowed Chastain the use of the room until such time as he moved to his own home.

  “I will go along and see if my friend is quite recovered,” Lord Peake said after a servant took his coat and hat. “Thank you for a pleasant afternoon, ladies.”

  Lottie and her sister thanked the viscount for his escort.

  “I will look in on Rose,” she said to Iris. “News about Lord Peake possibly traveling to Marcourt can wait.”

  Iris stifled a yawn. “I agree. I’m feeling a trifle tired and would like to rest now.”

  Rose was at her studies in the nursery. Lottie popped her head in to let the girl know she and Iris were home. She also informed her sister Lord Peake would join them for dinner.

  “That is nice,” Rose replied with a shrug.

  She wasn’t sure if Rose wasn’t interested in their dinner guest or was merely putting on a performance.

  Once in her bedchamber, Lottie washed her face and hands. Her maid helped her out of her dress and assisted her into a dressing gown.

  “I’m going to read for a few hours,” she said to the girl. “Please see that my favorite cream gown is aired for dinner this evening.”

  She reclined against some pillows on the coverlet of her four-poster bed. Although a copy of An Encyclopedia of Gardening rested on her night table, her thoughts were elsewhere. Rose was playing at something, Ambrose could really be at Marcourt because of the drains, and Lady Cair might try to push Miss Davis at Lord Peake in the future.

  The last thought concerned her more than it should. Lord Peake was nearly engaged. Miss Davis should not moon over the man.

  She attempted to see Lord Peake as any other lady would. He was of a height as Ambrose, so somewhere in the range of six feet. His brown hair and hazel eyes were unremarkable. Well, his eyes were different. Although she had always preferred dark eyes, she had to admit his eyes were very fine.

  Peake had been more personable the last few days. More at ease in her company. That was the purpose of the endeavor after all. He was a viscount, part of an old, well-respected family. All she knew of his parents was his father was a gadabout and his mother a renowned beauty. And the lady liked gardening.

  She recalled the way Lady Cair’s young friend had looked over Lord Peake. As if he were a prize to be won. She had never thought about what the men of the ton thought about the marriage mart. It was assumed all men wanted to marry and looked for the best possible match.

  Lottie knew what it felt like to be wanted for her suitability as a bride. She wondered if men thought about how they were viewed as husband material. That would be an interesting topic over dinner.

  “Iris would be appalled,” she said aloud. On that cheerful thought, she reached over and picked up her book.

  Chapter Eight

  “I think that is a spectacular idea, Peake.” Chastain pursed his lips. “Although I didn’t want to worry my wife, I have been concerned about Ambrose myself. I know our friend enjoys the country, but I find it hard to believe he would leave his two youngest sisters to their own devices here in London.”

  “They have Iris and Lady Markham as chaperones,” he replied.

  Chastain studied the glass of claret in his hand. “It doesn’t fit with Ambrose’s usual care of his sisters. At least since their parents died. If he was so concerned about his sisters last season, why wouldn’t he be concerned now?”

  “Perhaps seeing Iris so well settled has set his mind at ease. Lottie and Rose are now your sisters by marriage. Ambrose knows you would safeguard their welfare.”

  The only noise in the room for a moment was the ticking from the eight-day table clock on the mahogany desk Chastain sat behind. “How did your outing go today?”

  He raised a brow. “The one you were too ill to attend?”

  “I told my lovely wife you would see through her machinations.”

  “The excursion was a success. I quite enjoyed myself.” His attention was caught by a vase full of tulips on a bookshelf behind Chastain. A lovely arrangement. Probably Lottie’s handiwork.

  “She is correct that you can’t be seen too often with Lottie. Especially if you insist on pursuing Miss Bolton.”

  “Why wouldn’t I still be interested in pursuing Miss Bolton?” It wasn’t very often he felt censure from Chastain. He didn’t like it.

  His friend took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps your eyes are being opened to other options. Not a year ago, I would have agreed with you that love didn’t matter. I didn’t think it did until I met Iris.”

  “I’ve heard this all before.” Glass in hand, he got up from his chair and walked to one of a pair of windows in the room. He looked out onto the street.

  “Do this for me. Go to Marcourt. Let me know how Ambrose fares, and then travel to your own estate. As you will already be out of London, it would not appear unwarranted.”

  He didn’t move. “And?”

  “Visit with Miss Bolton. If you determine that you can spend a substantial amount of time in her company without bolting back to London . . . Well, if you can do that, I will not say anything further on the subject.”

  He turned from the window. “I agree.”

  “Good.” Chastain raised his glass in a toast. He looked pleased with himself.

  Peake raised his own glass and decided for the second time that day he didn’t want to know what another person was thinking.

  * * * * *

  Dinner was at promptly six of the o’clock. Aunt Abigail monopolized Lord Peake’s attention during their time in the drawing room before the meal.

  Lottie had taken special care with her appearance. Occupied with her aunt as he was, she wondered if Peake noticed she wore one of her best dresses. The next moment she pondered why she might care.

  Rose opted to eat in her room. The girl was adamant she must finish a sonnet she was writing. Iris illuminated Lottie to the possible subject of their sister’s latest project.

  “Rose’s governess fears our sister has become enamored of the dancing master,” Iris said in low tones.

  “Mr. Gramling? Surely not. He is twice her age.”

  “Just so. He evidently gave her a compliment, poor man.”

  She stifled a rude noise. “What are we to do with her?”

  “Chastain suggested we get her a pet.”

  “A pet?”

  Iris nodded. “A dog of some sort. Something she can love and shower attention on.”

  Would they have to consult Ambrose? It was his house after all. No. He had enough to be getting on with. “I think that is a wonderful idea. She has always gravitated toward dogs and includes them in many of her stories.”

  Iris replied, “She doesn’t have another dancing lesson for a few days. Perhaps I can find a suitable dog before then.”

  “Where does one go about finding a dog or a puppy?”

  Iris chewed her lip a moment. “Father never kept any. The few hunting dogs Ambrose has are unsuitable. Chastain’s father keeps several dogs here in London. He might be able to help us.”

  “He won’t mind your asking him?” she asked.

  “Oh no. He quite likes me. Tells me he is glad someone is finally standing up to him.”

  Lottie glanced across the room to see her aunt laughing at something Peake said.

  “Lord Peake is being ever so kind to Aunt Abigail,” Iris remarked. “I do hope Miss Bolton deserves him.”

  The viscount was always patient with Rose’s attempts to gain his attention and had offered to check on Ambrose. Quite to her surprise, Lottie found her dislike of Lord Peake had been replaced with a gentler emotion. Understanding? Re
spect?

  The gong sounded. Peake escorted their aunt into the dining room. Their small party filled the shortened table. Seated across from Lord Peake, she noticed he was freshly shaven. Chastain must have lent him his valet.

  The viscount looked across the table and their eyes met. How had she ever thought his eyes were ordinary? Although not dark, his lashes were very full. Lord Peake smiled. She started.

  “Please pass the beans, Iris,” she said, switching her gaze to her sister beside her.

  “You hate runner beans,” Iris replied with a frown.

  “Well, I like them this evening.” She ladled the revolting vegetable onto her plate and handed the dish back to Iris.

  Peake’s attention was caught by something Aunt Abigail was saying. The woman was a veritable chatterbox tonight.

  “Lord Peake will be traveling to Marcourt,” Chastain said when their aunt had stopped speaking long enough to put a bite of food into her mouth. “He will leave in two days’ time.”

  “Whatever for, Lord Peake?” Abigail asked in a shrill voice. “Is something the matter with Ambrose?”

  “I merely want to make sure your nephew has the problem with the drains well in hand. Estate management is my specialty.” Lord Peake spoke with confidence in a soothing tone.

  “That’s all right then,” Abigail replied, her voice softer than before. “You seem a very capable young man, Lord Peake. I was sorry to hear about the death of your father. How is your mother? I remember when she came out. It was two years after my own debut. She was the diamond of her season.”

  “She is very well, Lady Markham. After I visit Marcourt, I will continue on to my own estate. I will let my mother know you asked after her.”

  Lord Peake meant not only to visit Marcourt, but his estate as well. He probably wanted to visit his mother. The idea that he might want to see Miss Bolton crossed her mind. For reasons she didn’t want to examine, Lottie didn’t want to think about Lord Peake spending time with the baron’s daughter.

  Iris knew next to nothing about the young woman. It was clear Chastain was familiar with the girl. Lottie was curious, but she could think of no reason she could discuss Miss Bolton with her brother-in-law without making him believe she had an interest in his friend.