Copyright 2019 Angelina Jameson
Beta: Geek Girl Author Services, geekgirlauthorservices.com
Cover Design: Dar Albert, wickedsmartdesigns.com
Editor: H.L. Hill
Kindle Edition
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Dedications
For my husband. I’m getting better at not messing up the formatting of documents. You are such a patient man.
***
To Angela Quarles for a kick-butt beta read. Your faith in my ability to take this story to another level means a lot.
***
And to my boys, Thomas and Tyler, with love.
Chapter One
December 1822, Norfolk
Lady Iris Blevins stood outside the study frozen in disbelief. She’d heard her name quite clearly from inside the room and her inquisitive nature won out over propriety. She looked about to ensure there were no bystanders nearby. When she was sure she was alone in the corridor, she crouched down to press an ear against the keyhole of the mahogany door.
“You want me to court your sister?” Lord Chastain asked, his tone incredulous. “Good heavens, Ambrose, the woman can barely tolerate me.”
The laughter following Chastain’s accurate assessment of her feelings for him came from the third man present, the normally dour Lord Peake. “Lady Iris is a serious young woman and considers you to be a loose fish, or so I’ve heard her say on more than one occasion.”
“You did tell us you could turn any woman’s head, did you not?” Ambrose asked, a challenge in his voice. “I recall you boasted of your power over the fairer sex not a fortnight ago at White’s.”
She choked back an indignant sniff upon hearing Ambrose’s words.
“Hear, hear!” Lord Peake chimed in again. “I too remember your declaration of the universal appeal you hold for women.”
“I have no desire to marry at this time so having Ambrose’s sister fall in love with me would be most inconvenient,” Chastain replied.
Puzzlingly, Iris thought there was a forced lightness to his words. The rich timbre of his voice awakened her senses. She took a deep breath and was immediately assailed by the scent of beeswax from the wood-polish the maids used in the house.
“You shall have to marry eventually,” Peake said. “Beget an heir and all that nonsense.”
“Conforming to what my father expects of me is to be avoided at all costs.” There was a seriousness in Chastain’s words that surprised her. It was at odds with his usual casual demeanor.
Iris couldn’t be sure at whom she felt angrier: her brother for suggesting a rakehell court her, or Lord Chastain for assuming she would so easily fall prey to his dubious charms. Her brother’s friend labored under the impression his handsome face outweighed his conceit.
“You need only distract my sister from her attachment to Sir Thomas Childs, a young man I deem objectionable. You did accept my invitation to stay at Marcourt for the next seven days; more than enough time for you to turn Iris’s head.”
At the mention of Sir Thomas, Iris slapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. It would not do to alert the gentlemen to her presence outside the room. Although she admired Sir Thomas’s keen intellect and they shared a love of antiquities, she did not harbor any of the finer feelings for their neighbor.
“A sennight isn’t long enough to win a woman’s heart,” Peake said. “It can’t be done, Chastain.”
The soft chuckle which raised goosebumps along her arms came from Chastain. “You should have more faith in me, my friend.”
“There is a way you can earn our faith,” Ambrose replied. “We shall wager on it.”
“Aren’t you afraid I might break your sister’s heart?” Chastain asked.
Iris snorted softly as she concentrated on the man’s pompous words rather than the tremors of awareness she felt whenever she heard his voice. Her ears pricked to hear her brother’s response.
“Better her heart is bruised for a short time than I have a fortune seeking baronet for a brother-in-law. Once she is well and truly enamored of you, gently shake her off. I will find her a suitable husband in my own good time.”
Iris was both alarmed and confused by her brother’s cavalier reply to Chastain. Although he had not seemed himself of late, did Ambrose really care so little for her feelings?
“If it were Lottie’s head I needed to turn it would be a far pleasanter task,” Chastain rejoined. “She endeavors to be pleasant to all.”
“The girl is too gay,” Peake said, his voice stern. “Lottie is a pretty girl, but quite the opposite in temperament to her older sister. Iris has more sense than most men I know. She will never succumb to your charm.”
Ambrose chuckled. “My sisters are like any other women: highly susceptible to a man’s flattery.”
Iris could bear no more. She hurried away down the corridor, headed for the conservatory in the east wing of the house. Perhaps Lottie might have an opinion on Ambrose’s strange behavior.
Chastain and Peake, both viscounts, arrived at Marcourt the day before. Ambrose had never invited his friends for a visit to the family seat in Norfolk. Their youngest sister Rose asked Chastain about it over dinner last evening.
“You ask why your brother has never seen fit to have his friends at Marcourt,” Chastain repeated Rose’s question, his eyes on Ambrose. “I do believe he thinks Peake and I are unsuitable company for well-bred young ladies.”
Her brother frowned from his place at the head of the table. “I preferred to keep my family life and social life separate.”
“And what has changed?” Lottie asked from her seat beside Chastain.
Iris noted a surprised look on Lord Peake’s face after her sister’s thoughtful query. She didn’t wonder at the man’s amazement as Lottie behaved in quite a carefree manner in Peake’s company. Almost as if she sensed his disapproval of her exuberance and meant to needle him.
“Ambrose?” Rose asked with an arch smile.
Her brother sighed. Iris wondered if he regretted allowing his youngest sister to eat in the dining room instead of the nursery upstairs. “We were all thrown together quite a bit near the end of the season; Iris and Lottie appear to have suffered little from prolonged exposure to my friends.”
“Thank heavens for such a positive outcome,” Peake said dryly as he reached for another dish of trifle from the platter in front of him. “You have a brilliant cook.”
The conversation turned to a discussion of the exceptional meal. Soon after, the ladies excused themselves so the gentlemen could enjoy their requisite brandy and cigars.
Although currently indisposed, Aunt Abigail was also in the house for Christmastide. Their mother’s sister arrived at Marcourt in October. Iris had been unable to shake the feeling there was more to her brother’s decision to not only invite Abigail to the estate but his friends as well. Now she’d been present
ed with proof. Her widowed aunt was at the house to be a chaperone during Ambrose’s machinations.
Iris’s footsteps echoed across the conservatory’s stone flagstones.
Lottie looked up from her task of tending a large pot of Winter Flowering Pansies and smiled affectionately at her sister. “Come see my darlings.”
Iris joined Lottie in the watery sunlight pouring through the large glass panes on three sides of the room and brushed a finger along a velvety indigo petal of a pansy, one of a profusion assembled in pots around her sister. Her fair-haired sibling, one year younger than her own nineteen years, looked as pretty and fresh as the blossoms surrounding her. Lottie wore a prior season’s day dress whenever she planned to garden, the dress of lightest blue in stark contrast to the bright colors of the blooms beside her.
“The flowers are beautiful.” Iris took a deep breath of the fragrance in the air and felt her mood lift.
“I instructed the gardeners to plant these pots in addition to several beds in the corner of the walled garden while we were in town,” Lottie replied. She smiled sheepishly. “I know you don’t understand my love of gardening. I feel as passionate about my flowers as you do for those antiquities you dig up.”
“Lucky for you, society doesn’t see your favorite activity as an aberration,” she said, her tone light.
Lottie frowned as she pulled off her gardening gloves and dropped them into a straw basket at her feet. She took one of Iris’s hands in her own. The girls walked around the perimeter of the room.
“Something is troubling you.” Lottie squeezed Iris’s hand. “I know you don’t give a jot what the ton thinks of you.”
Iris looked about to see if they were alone. “You are very good at understanding the moods of others. Most people don’t see your hidden depths.”
“I have our mothers’ looks and personality, so it is naturally assumed I am a feather-brain,” Lottie replied with a shrug. “It does not signify; tell me what has upset you.”
The girls paused near a garden bench situated to allow one to see not only the center of the room with its multitude of potted plants and trees but also the entrance to the conservatory. Iris released Lottie’s hand and took a seat. Her sister followed.
“I just now overheard a very peculiar conversation between our brother, Lord Peake, and Lord Chastain.”
“Were you eavesdropping, Iris?” her sister asked with raised brows.
“I merely walked past the study and heard my name mentioned.”
Lottie’s delicate harrumph turned Iris’s attention from the flowers before her to her sister’s heart-shaped face.
“Nothing good is usually heard about oneself when eavesdropping,” Lottie said severely before softening her words with a dry smile. “What were the men saying about you?”
“Ambrose asked, nay implored, Lord Chastain to turn my head.”
The momentary silence that followed assured Iris her sister was as every bit confused as she.
“Turn your head. Whatever for? Lord Chastain has shown no desire to wed. Ambrose knows you dislike the man.”
Iris shrugged. “Our brother is under the impression I have an understanding with Sir Thomas. He sees the match as untenable.”
“Ambrose believes the baronet wishes to marry you?” Lottie asked with a shake of her head. “The man only has eyes for his treasures.”
Iris nodded. “The idea is absurd, but there it is. I cannot account for Ambrose’s sudden belief I would wish to be tied to Sir Thomas. I also don’t understand why our brother would concoct an elaborate scheme to prevent such a marriage rather than speak with me about the matter.”
“It is all most peculiar,” Lottie replied. “Perhaps Ambrose’s frequent headaches have rattled his brain.”
Although the words were said in jest, Iris thought the idea as good as any for Ambrose’s strange behavior.
Lottie spoke again. “Why would Chastain agree to such a scheme?”
“I didn’t actually hear the viscount agree to the plan,” she replied. “I ran away before the end of the conversation. It didn’t sound as if the gentleman was going to refuse to assist our brother. After all, Lord Chastain and Lord Peake must be quite loyal to our brother to travel so far from London during winter.”
“Iris…” Lottie said with some hesitation, her eyes fixed on her sister’s face. “What if by chance you succumb to Lord Chastain’s charisma and fall in love with him?”
Meeting her sister’s gaze, she laughed light-heartedly in response, although not as convincingly as she would have liked. “I have no concern about becoming his latest conquest.”
“There was a moment at Lady Cair’s ball…”
“I felt a fleeting attraction to the man,” she rushed to reply. “An interest quickly extinguished when I learned who he was.”
Lottie did not look persuaded. “You’re sure you have no feelings for Lord Chastain?”
“None at all,” she replied firmly although the warmth she felt on her cheeks might well alert Lottie to her falsehood. It was hard to describe the irritation mixed with awareness she felt whenever Chastain was close to her.
“I have never understood your aversion to the viscount. He has always behaved as a gentleman in our presence.”
“He is a peer, wealthy and respected yet he chooses to waste his life in pursuit of silly pleasures.” She sniffed. “Women are not allowed to belong to scientific societies or pursue a profession. Oh! I would not waste my time so if I were a man.”
A short silence followed her ardent speech. Lottie was more forgiving of weakness of character. Iris was apt to be critical of herself and others.
“Will you confront Ambrose?” Lottie asked.
She shook her head. “My first thought was to berate our brother for his callous treatment of my feelings. Now I believe I have thought of a way to punish both Ambrose and Lord Chastain.”
“Do tell,” Lottie whispered, rubbing her hands together in anticipation.
“I will not show the least bit of interest in Chastain as a man, and in addition, will make sure his seven days at Marcourt are a torment.”
Lottie laughed. “It is unfortunate this is the month of December. You can’t take him digging with you and Sir Thomas.”
“That is a pity.” She paused. “There is an assembly ball tomorrow. Can you imagine Lord Chastain surrounded by eager country lasses wanting to dance with him? In a few days our brother will be so tired of the viscount’s complaints he will beg the man to leave the county.”
“You did promise to take Rose into Braxton for writing supplies,” Lottie added. “Although it can be a chore to shop with our youngest sister, such an outing will afford the opportunity to have Chastain join you.”
She clapped her hands. “You are a genius!”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Lottie replied with a sigh. “I would not wish to ruin my reputation as mere window dressing.”
Lottie’s words gave Iris pause. Did the girl know how Lord Peake and other gentlemen viewed her? She’d never noticed her sister care for anyone’s opinion other than that of her family. In the conversation Iris overheard earlier, Ambrose uncharacteristically allowed Peake to paint their sister as silly although he was aware Lottie used gaiety as a shield to hide her shyness.
“Will you join us?” she asked her sister.
Lottie stood. “I really must speak to the head gardener about an ornamental border I want planted near the Royal Oak. I should like to see more color there in spring.”
Although the tree Lottie referred to wasn’t nearly as old as the famous oak in Boscobel, their youngest sister had given the name to the tree and fashioned her own fairytale around the largest oak at Marcourt.
Iris rose 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 his charms, I will wager my new bonnet on the safety of my heart.”
“That is a wager I will happily take. You’re sure you can convince the vi
scount to accompany you and Rose to Braxton?”
Iris nodded although her sister’s attention had returned to her plants. She squared her shoulders, ready to resist any overtures from Chastain. “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 cast a spell on him from the moment he’d first set eyes on her at Lady Cair’s 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 light green gown. 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.
At the impact of her coffee-colored eyes, 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 friend’s 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 Cair, a distant relative of his mother, had doted on him since 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.
The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1) Page 1