“Parliament will adjourn in a few months. I will be home again before you know it.”
“How is your friend Lord Chastain? He married into a very good family. So sad about Lord and Lady Norfolk dying so young. The lady was only a year older than me.”
“Chastain and his bride are very well. Lady Norfolk’s sister Lady Markham wanted me to give you her regards.”
“I went to the same finishing school as Lady Markham and her sister. The lady is quite an interesting character. Despite her hearing loss, I think she always heard more around her than she let on.” She tapped her nose a few times.
He would have to agree with his mother. Talking about Chastain’s extended family resulted in a curious desire to return to London.
“I wish you would bring home a bride of your own, Edward. Now that your friends are settling down, you need to think about doing the same. I would also recommend you don’t look too close to home.”
“All in good time,” he replied calmly although he was frustrated by what he perceived as being warned off Miss Bolton.
He would make up his mind. He led his mother to the door at the opposite end of the building. There was another glasshouse for him to see. Hopefully there were enough new plants in there to distract his mother.
* * * * *
Ambrose arrived in London midafternoon. Aunt Abigail was resting in her bedchamber, and Rose was in the nursery reading a novel she’d borrowed from Leckington’s circulating library that day.
“Ambrose!” Lottie jumped from her chair in the small drawing room, her embroidery hoop falling to the floor. She hadn’t heard the arrival of the coach as she’d been half asleep from sheer boredom.
“Good afternoon.” Ambrose bowed before he stepped forward and allowed first Lottie and then Iris to give him a buss on the cheek.
“Do sit down,” Iris said. “I will ring for a fresh pot of tea.”
Ambrose took a seat next to Iris on the settee. “And some sandwiches. I am famished.”
“Of course,” Iris replied as she rang a bell.
A maid appeared; Iris gave the girl instructions.
“How was your journey?” Lottie asked once the maid left the room. She retrieved her hoop but wasn’t the least interested in returning to her work.
“The roads were muddy.”
“You look better than when you left London.” She studied Ambrose. “You’re still too thin, but your color is better.”
Ambrose nodded. “Although you will find it hard to take in, my headaches are nearly gone.”
“That is good news indeed,” she replied.
“Will you visit your doctor now that you are in London?” Iris asked.
Ambrose had been secretive about his doctor’s diagnosis, merely saying his headaches had unknown causes.
“I will consult with him tomorrow. Ah, here is the tea now.”
Lottie noticed Ambrose drank his tea black when he’d always had a bit of milk and sugar before. He put a few sandwiches on a small plate and left the cakes untouched.
While their brother ate, she and Iris told him about Rose and Aunt Abigail’s wish to return to Marcourt.
Ambrose put his now empty plate on the tea tray. “Rose and our aunt can return to Marcourt with me in a week’s time.”
“You will not stay in town longer?” She’d hoped not to be alone in the house when Iris and Chastain moved.
“For my health, I think it would be preferable if I were in the country.” Ambrose looked as if his thoughts were far away. “I have consulted with an apothecary from Downham Market. He has been of considerable help with my headaches.”
“Lottie, you must come stay with Chastain and myself,” Iris said. “You cannot stay here without a chaperone. You will be my first houseguest.”
Chastain entered the room. “Good afternoon!” He bent down to give his wife an affectionate kiss on her cheek.
“It is good to see you,” Ambrose said to his friend.
“You are looking much better than last we met,” Chastain replied. “Will you join us at a dinner party this evening?”
Ambrose shook his head. “I am quite tired from the journey. I found it hard to rest in a bouncing coach, no matter how well-sprung.”
“A fine excuse.” Chastain clapped his friend on the back and took a seat near Iris.
“We will have dinner with your father in a few hours, husband,” Iris said. “You promised him. We have time to relax before then.”
Chastain grinned. “Come relax with me, dear wife. Excuse us, Lottie, Ambrose.”
Once the couple were gone, Ambrose excused himself as well. The tea was cold. Lottie stabbed her needle into the fabric on her embroidery hoop before tossing the hoop in the basket on the floor near her chair.
Ambrose, Rose, and Aunt Abigail would return to the country. She would take up residence with Iris until the end of the season. Although the future spread out before her, she wasn’t melancholy anymore. She felt hopeful. Her thoughts strayed to Lord Peake. She wondered what he was doing right now.
Chapter Twelve
Peake’s missive to Lord Bolton the next morning was promptly answered. The baron would see him in the afternoon. There was also an invitation to dine with the family.
“Mother?”
The lady shook her head. “Please send my regrets, Edward. I feel a scratchy throat coming on. A little rest should put me right.”
In the light of day, his plan for the future didn’t seem so cut and dried. The more he thought about taking a wife, the more he realized his choice of spouse would have a large impact on his mother. She didn’t appear to consider Miss Bolton a suitable candidate. He would have to see if that was something that could change.
He retired to his study to respond to Lord Bolton’s invitation. In his reply he made his mother’s excuses. The study had changed little from his grandfather’s time. His father had rarely used it from what he could remember.
A knock at the door heralded the arrival of his estate agent. Staten had also served the former Lord Peake. The agent greeted him with a smile, reflecting the appearance of a man happy to have an employer who was interested in the running of his estate. Peake trusted the man and respected him.
“A pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
“Thank you, Staten.” He took a seat behind his grandfather’s mahogany desk. “Please sit down. How have you been?”
The agent took a seat. “Praying for some drier weather. The Spring lambs are proceeding very nicely.”
“And your wife and the new babe?” The man had recently become a father for the second time. Another strapping son by all accounts.
“Right as rain. Her ladyship makes sure we have plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables for the family. She is very generous.”
He couldn’t remember if Miss Bolton liked to garden. If she did, that would be the way for him to bring her closer to his mother. A splendid idea.
He told the agent he’d asked for a meeting with the baron to see if he’d taken their advice on crop rotation.
Staten shook his head. “Not sure why the baron is involving his son in the process. The lad is as hopeless with estate matters as his sister is— Pardon, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”
“What were you going to say, Staten? It is quite all right. If there is a difficulty with my neighbors, I should like to know. Perhaps I could help.”
“The maids are wont to gossip.” The man looked down at the hands worrying his cap. “I shouldn’t tell tales.”
He cleared his throat. “Staten . . .”
The agent looked up. “It is said Miss Bolton has no interest in running a household. Lady Bolton is beside herself as her daughter cannot concentrate more than a few minutes on any task.”
He didn’t think that account of the lady sounded beyond the pale. Miss Bolton might not be ready to settle down to adult pursuits. Although that didn’t bode well for her becoming a wife very soon, gossip was just gossip. He would draw his own conclusions.
“Thank you for your candor, Staten. Let us speak no more of it.” He shook his head. It was as if everyone he knew conspired to prove Miss Bolton an unsuitable match.
What worried him the most was that he was beginning to hope they were right.
* * * * *
Iris’s new home was a large townhouse in Grosvenor Square. There was a lovely private park nearby. Chastain spoke with the laborers on the first floor while Iris inspected the entry hall, dining room, and study on the ground floor.
“It is a grand house,” Lottie said to her sister as they walked through the receiving rooms, Iris checking the finishing work she’d asked for. “I think you and Chastain will be very content here.”
“And happy to have you here with us.” Iris studied the window coverings in the drawing room.
“You have consulted with Chastain about my visit? Would you not prefer some privacy? You are newly married, after all.”
“I could use your support. I’m nervous about entertaining in London.” Iris turned to look at her sister. “Playing Ambrose’s hostess in the country is not the same as throwing a dinner party in town. The staff will be unknown to me.”
“You did hire some of the servants yourself,” Lottie replied. “I would love to stay with you as long as I’m not a burden.”
Iris smiled and reached out to grasp her hands. “Thank you. Chastain said it was up to me. He says if he is ever unhappy with my decisions, he will let me know.”
Lottie squeezed Iris’s hands and released them. She followed Iris into the entry hall.
A few bangs could be heard upstairs. The smell of linseed oil tickled her nose. A moment later, Chastain appeared on the landing above them.
“Are you satisfied with the progress, my love?” he asked as he made his way down the staircase.
Iris nodded. “Extremely so.”
“We shall return in a few days. The work should be done by Monday.” He looked at his pocket watch. “I have time to see you home before sessions. Perhaps Peake will have returned from the country by now.”
That evening they attended a ball at Londonderry House in Park Lane. The home belonged to Lord Stewart, an Irishman who’d recently become the third Marquess of Londonderry. Two individual flights of stairs led to the Grand Ballroom, a room so elegant it was said to rival the beauty of any ballroom in London.
She was not surprised to see Lady Cair in attendance; that lady and her young friend Miss Davis made a point of asking whether they had news of Lord Peake.
“He may have returned to town,” Iris replied. “We have had no word from him.”
“Cynthia was most taken with Lord Peake’s manners,” Lady Cair replied.
Lord Halford asked Lottie to dance. Ten years her senior, he was a widow with a small child. He’d asked her to marry him last season. Although she had politely declined, he appeared to want to press his suit again this year.
A set later, Chastain arrived. She didn’t have to ask her brother-in-law the question she wanted to most.
“Was Lord Peake at sessions?” Iris asked her husband.
“He was not. Shall we dance, Lady Chastain?”
She thought Iris and her husband looked exceptionally nice together. The candlelight set the room ablaze with light, the numerous floral decorations on tables along two walls of the room made her feel as if she were in a fairyland.
“You need a husband, my dear.” The voice was Aunt Abigail’s.
She looked at the woman seated beside her on a long chaise. “All in good time.”
“Hmmmpf. You know it as well as I do. Here comes another gentleman to ask for a dance. Good luck, my dear.”
* * * * *
Peake was happy to hear his neighbor had listened to the advice of his own estate agent and embraced the Norfolk four-course crop rotation.
“The fodder for our livestock has increased greatly,” Lord Bolton said once the men were seated comfortably in his study.
“Is a steward really necessary?” his son Archibald asked, his voice a whine that grated on Peake’s nerves. “Surely I could perform his duties.”
“A land steward is an invaluable employee who has been educated in estate management,” Peake replied. “You will be the master of this estate someday, Archibald. You could learn a great deal from him.”
Peake turned his attention to Lord Bolton. He had himself recommended the gentleman that was now the baron’s steward. “You are satisfied with Mr. Thompson’s work?”
“Very much so. He has several wonderful ideas,” Lord Bolton replied. “A new drain will be installed in the north field. It should double the turnip harvest next year.”
“That is great news,” he said to the baron, ignoring the sullen Archibald.
When Peake studied Lord Bolton and Archibald, it was if he were looking at himself and his father with the roles reversed. Lord Bolton had come into the barony in a roundabout way as several family members had died, leaving Bolton in a position he had never aspired to.
Lord Bolton stood up. “Let us proceed to the drawing room. The baroness and my lovely daughter should already be there.”
In the drawing room, he bowed to the two ladies. “Lady Bolton, Miss Bolton.”
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Peake. I hope your mother soon recovers from her sore throat. Do come sit down,” Lady Bolton said.
He turned his gaze to the younger lady. Isabelle sat at one end of a sofa, posed with her skirts about her. She extended her head. He bowed again before taking a seat across from her.
“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bolton.”
Her smile was faint. Her eyes drooped. “Good evening, Lord Peake.”
“A sherry, Lord Peake?” Archibald somehow made the question sound like a complaint.
“Yes, thank you.”
The baron sat next to his daughter. Archibald handed Peake a glass of sherry and remained on his feet.
“How is town?” the baroness asked. “Isabelle has not been feeling well recently, so we have been much at home.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Miss Bolton.”
“I am quite well despite the medicine my mother pours down my throat.” The girl spared a quelling look for her mother. “I can conceive of no reason for us to stay so much at home.”
Lord Bolton started a conversation about the weather. Peake was relieved when the butler announced dinner. He led Isabelle into the dining room. Seated across from her again, he took pains to study her surreptitiously. Of a height with Iris and Lottie, she had very light hair. Her blue eyes were so light as to be almost colorless. When their gazes met, he shivered. Her expression was quite blank.
The dinner was delicious. The baroness attempted to keep the conversation lively. Isabelle did little to aid her. The lady groaned at every topic her mother brought up. Especially gardening.
“Mother, I have no interest in digging in the dirt. That is what we have gardeners for.”
When the baroness mentioned her daughter’s singing voice, Isabelle shook her head. “My voice master tells me he gets a migraine whenever I sing.”
He himself was going to have a migraine. Archibald said very little. Miss Bolton frowned during the meal and pushed the food around on her plate.
The other times he’d met the lady, she had been quite lively if not particularly interested in him. He’d thought they could possibly rub along well enough together. Now he doubted they would suit at all. She took no notice of him. At least with Lottie, he’d had some reaction.
Lottie. Her liveliness had once annoyed him. He wondered how she was spending her evening. He was surprised to find he missed her.
There was a humming noise coming from Miss Bolton.
“Isabelle!” Lady Bolton frowned at her daughter.
“The medicine is wearing off,” the girl replied. She leaned forward and whispered to him, “The doctor prescribed several tinctures to control my behavior. Without the medicine, I am evidently too animated, but with the medicine, I am
as controlled as a singing bird automaton.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Lord Peake has returned to London,” Chastain said over dinner that evening. “I asked him to join us at Lady Bingham’s card party.”
Lottie felt a frisson of anticipation. She concentrated on the food on her plate.
“That is wonderful news. Isn’t it, Lottie?” Iris asked.
She looked up and nodded. “Oh yes. It will be lovely to see Lord Peake again.”
“Have you changed your mind about joining us, Ambrose?” Iris asked.
Lottie was relieved Iris’s attention was on their brother. She felt giddy and wondered if her face reflected her mood.
“Lottie and Rose tired me out today. I wanted exercise and they made sure I got some,” he replied.
Ambrose had accompanied his sisters to the Burlington Arcade that afternoon. They had visited most of the fifty-five shops in the shopping gallery.
She said, “That is why Rose requested a tray in her room. She is exhausted.”
“I see some improvement in her behavior,” Ambrose replied. “The dog was a very good idea.”
“A pet was my suggestion,” Chastain said and grinned.
Iris laughed. “And for once I listened.”
“There’s always a first time,” her husband replied.
The dessert course was served. The lemon custard made Lottie think of Lord Peake. He would have loved the dessert.
“You will leave for Marcourt in a few days?” Chastain asked Ambrose.
“Rose and Aunt Abigail tell me they will be ready. I recommended Rose’s dog ride with the servants. She suggested Livingston ride in our carriage as he may need to be walked several times during the journey.”
“She does have a point,” Iris replied. “I have never travelled with a pet. It is a valid concern.”
Ambrose nodded. “It is nice to see her make a rational argument instead of pouting to get her way.”
“Rose doesn’t want to be seen as a child.” She herself would be nineteen years old next month.
“How was the progress at the new house?” Ambrose asked.
While Ambrose had accompanied Rose and herself to the shopping arcade, Chastain and Iris had inspected their home.
The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk Page 8
