Yuletide Happily Ever Afters; A Merry Little Set Of Regency Romances

by Jenna Jaxon

  Chastain donned his great coat with the assistance of a footman. Iris already wore her own fur lined pelisse.

  The day remained bright as their little party descended the front steps of the house and walked along the pebbled path to the main dirt track to Braxton. She was relieved Lord Chastain didn’t offer his arm. They walked side by side, Rose sometimes chatting gaily and other times skipping to the side of the road to observe movement in the row hedges and trees scattered randomly beside the road.

  The call of a wren close by shook her from her reverie. As she walked, she wondered how she was to be wooed by the only man she’d met who stirred her mind and her senses. She must remember Lord Chastain’s interest in her was based solely on his desire to win a bet.

  Iris looked about for something to distract her from her gloomy thoughts. Her eyes lit on Lord Chastain’s footwear. The man’s boots were already covered in a light sheen of muddy water.

  “It has rained a lot this month,” she said, her tone bland.

  “That fact is most evident,” Lord Chastain replied somewhat grumpily. “You said the town is situated less than a mile from Marcourt?”

  “It might be closer to two miles,” she replied.

  He met her reply with silence. She felt a little disenchanted. If she were truthful, she’d expected the man to have more substance, to not flinch at the thought of a long walk. Chastain appeared to relish his reputation as being useless.

  “Personally, I do not care how dirty my boots get. I do however care about my valet who will spend his evening cleaning them.”

  “Oh,” she replied. Really what else could she say? I’m sorry Lord Chastain. I thought you were merely being lazy. And vain.

  She could hear Rose humming as blue tits squabbled over their nesting sites in the trees.

  “I believe you disapprove of me, Lady Iris,” the viscount said bluntly.

  She stopped walking, as did he. They had known each other only a few weeks during the season and had never discussed anything more personal than the weather, London’s entertainment, or food.

  Rose stopped some feet in front of them and looked back. “Is something wrong?”

  “No dear,” Iris replied. She and Chastain resumed walking as Rose continued her pace out front.

  “You have no response, Lady Iris?”

  “Why do you care?” she asked in a whisper, wondering where the words came from. She concentrated on looking where she walked, not ready to meet his eyes. “Excuse my rudeness, Lord Chastain. Your question took me by surprise.”

  “I suppose anyone would wonder what they had done to rouse such dislike in another person,” Chastain replied conversationally.

  What had Lord Chastain ever done to offend her? She couldn’t tell him his mere existence unnerved her.

  “I don’t dislike you,” she said quietly before continuing in a louder voice, “I simply don’t understand you. You covet the reputation of a ne’er-do-well yet I do not believe my brother would be your friend if you were a complete bounder.”

  He replied with a low chuckle. She thought she heard relief in the sound. Perhaps he did care what others thought of him.

  “As a woman you need to understand me.”

  “You are almost too perfect,” she replied, her voice cross.

  Good heavens, she’d said those words aloud! She glanced at him and saw a broad smile on his too handsome face. The man had taken her words as a compliment. “I didn’t mean perfect in a good way.”

  “Oh?” he asked, not looking at all distressed by her words.

  “I haven’t spent much time in your company I admit. Very rarely have we conversed together. Any time I have been in your presence you are perfectly turned out, perfectly gentlemanly and perfectly correct.”

  “I see,” her companion replied with a nod, his tone suggesting complete understanding of her complaint.

  “You see what?” She kept her tone light to disguise her frustration. She’d grown accustomed to easily managing the young men in the county. Managing Lord Chastain was proving to be quite another matter indeed.

  “I see the village.”

  To her relief so did she. Iris knew full well Lord Chastain had not been referring to Braxton.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Chastain looked around him and endeavored to see the village as he thought Iris might. He’d been raised primarily in London. His father preferred the city to the countryside. His mother’s wish to live in the country had been denied.

  His only ventures out of town were in the pursuit of one outdoor entertainment or another. Tracking game, shooting, fishing and fox-hunting were activities he enjoyed whilst in the country, but weren’t available all year round. Ambrose’s sisters enjoyed their rural existence in Norfolk. Perhaps the next several days would afford him some illumination as to why.

  The dirt track before them turned into a cobbled high street. A stand of beech trees stood on one side of the road and a village green on the other. A long-terraced building resided at the north end of the green. Iris informed him the structure contained the almshouses. Close by he could see the tall spire of the village church, its churchyard behind a hedgerow.

  Rose interrupted his quick survey of their surroundings. “Lord Chastain?”

  “Where are we headed, Lady Rose?” He found the girl’s energy contagious.

  “The post office,” Rose replied promptly. “The postmaster informed me last week he would soon receive new writing paper and notebooks.”

  “Mr. Jennings tells you the same thing every time we’re in the village,” Iris replied. “By the by, I do need to check our private box.”

  “The post office is straight ahead.” Rose took his arm and pulled him away from Iris and down the street.

  Chastain looked at Iris and caught the affectionate smile reserved for her sisters. Once he’d learned who Iris was, he’d never allowed himself to reflect on how lovely her brown eyes were. He returned his attention to Rose and the establishment she led him to.

  The post office was in a long building with a thatched roof. Chastain immediately understood the attraction for Rose. Along one wall of the main room stood a table filled with assorted stacks of paper and bound tomes. He recalled Ambrose telling him Rose was a writer and keen journal keeper.

  Iris explained to him the postmaster, Mr. Jennings, was also the village shoemaker. Braxton had only been awarded the post last year.

  “Back again I see,” Mr. Jennings said with a smile. “Lady Rose, I do have the new stationery I told you about. It is on the table.”

  The man stood behind a low counter. Iris introduced Chastain to the postmaster as Rose perused the offerings for sale.

  Iris asked the man, “How is your wife and the babe?”

  The postmaster replied with pride, “Anna and the child are resting easy, miss. Thank you for sending the surgeon. It was a rough delivery.”

  Chastain noticed two bright spots of color on Iris’s cheeks.

  “Please tell Anna I would like to bring her something for the baby. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon would be convenient for her?”

  The man nodded. “She’d like that, my lady.”

  Iris moved to browse through a stack of books and wouldn’t meet his eyes. Did she think he would look down on her for caring for the villagers? The woman clearly thought he had no redeeming characteristics.

  Rose approached the counter with a stack of paper.

  “I want the whole batch,” the girl said to the postmaster as she produced a small beaded bag from a pocket of her pelisse.

  “You have funds?” Iris asked. “You let me pay for your new ribbons last week.”

  Rose cast a guilty look at her sister. “I was saving for the paper.”

  “The young lady has her priorities.” Chastain winked at Rose.

  He offered to carry the packet of newspapers the postmaster produced. Iris accepted a small stack of correspondence from Mr. Jennings and their party made their way back outside.

  “Mi
ght we have some refreshment before we return to Marcourt?” Rose asked her sister. “It is teatime.”

  “Just this once, Rose. You are terribly spoilt.” Iris looked at him. “Would you mind accompanying us to the tea shop?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he replied and extended the arm not full of newspapers.

  Chastain could see the war within Iris as she considered rebuffing him. Had he pushed too far, too soon? Breeding deemed she not insult him in front of Rose.

  “Well then,” she said, taking his arm. “Come along, Rose.”

  He noticed their exercise added to the lovely bloom in her cheeks. She took long strides in matching with her above average height and looked to be well conditioned to walking. He imagined her long legs would be toned and strong.

  “Lord Chastain?” Rose’s voice invaded his musings about Iris’s legs.

  “Yes, my dear?” He shook himself and dragged his gaze from the woman beside him. What was wrong with him? Ambrose had given him leave to turn Iris’s head, not seduce her.

  “We’re almost there,” Rose replied.

  They passed a dress shop and gathering house before reaching the tea shop/cum bakery.

  “Rose Petals,” he said aloud upon seeing the sign of the establishment.

  “It is a splendid name for a tea shop.” Rose giggled from her place in front of them.

  When he entered the shop, the aroma of baking bread, cinnamon and tea assailed his nostrils. He couldn’t remember ever visiting a village bakery before.

  There was room for only two tables in the crowded shop. A young woman rushed over to them as soon as they were seated. The girl had a wide smile and warm greeting for Ambrose’s sisters.

  “Thank you ever so much for the wedding presents,” the girl, Iris had called her Jane, said with a shy smile.

  “Did you like the book?” Rose asked eagerly.

  “My husband has read it to me several times,” Jane replied. “It was very sweet of you to write a fairytale for me.”

  It took him a moment to realize the girl couldn’t read.

  “Do you have ginger biscuits today?” Iris asked, effectively covering the awkward moment.

  Jane nodded. “We have lemon and currant biscuits and a fresh batch of shortbread.”

  His stomach rumbled at the mention of sweets. “I think we should have a bit of everything,” he said to Jane. Rose nodded her approval.

  “Very good,” Jane replied with a grin.

  Once the girl left them, he peered at the shelves of baked goods surrounding him.

  “Have you never been in a tea shop?” Rose asked him.

  He could feel Iris’s eyes on him as he answered, “Only very large ones in London.”

  “I think Rose Petals is the best shop in the entire world,” Rose replied.

  He nodded. “Lady Rose, I believe you are right.”

  Iris raised a brow but remained silent.

  Jane returned with a heavily laden tea tray. He was relieved there were small sandwiches included with the sweets. The walk had given him an appetite.

  “The sandwiches are bread and butter or ham,” Jane said as she placed a teapot and cups on the table before excusing herself.

  Iris poured. He wasn’t surprised to see her movements were jerky. He hadn’t been wrong in thinking the girl was well aware of him. He sat next to her at the small table and imagined he could feel the heat from her leg so close to his own under the table.

  His interaction with the woman had been of the most correct sort. He decided her irritation with him stemmed from his not showing her more personal attention. The realization she wanted his interest satisfied him immensely.

  * * * * *

  Iris breathed deeply and steadied her grip on the handle of the tea pot. Rose placed a small china plate before Chastain. She was thankful for his attention to revert to the delicacies before him.

  “No sugar,” the man beside her said when she picked up the sugar tongs.

  “Rose will make up for you,” she replied.

  The younger girl shrugged. “I like my tea very sweet.”

  Iris sampled a ham sandwich and a ginger biscuit as she reflected on their visit to the village. Chastain appeared to be enjoying himself. She’d thought he would be bored with the trip to town. Then again, this was only his first full day in the country. The novelty had not yet worn off.

  Iris smiled to herself as she realized Chastain was looking at her. “Yes?”

  “There is only one sandwich left,” he replied.

  “Please take it.” She couldn’t help herself. She grinned. Lord Chastain had eaten more than half of the food on the tea tray.

  “I am full.” Rose sighed. “I couldn’t eat another biscuit.”

  “Are you sure?” Chastain asked, nodding to the last ginger biscuit.

  “Maybe just one more,” Rose replied.

  “That was the best tea I’ve had in a long time,” Chastain said when they were back on the high street. “I may have to visit Rose Petals at least one more time before I return to London.”

  Iris hoped the man wouldn’t offer his arm for the walk home. He didn’t. They started back, Rose walking in front of them again.

  A cart passed. The farmer in it waved.

  “You know everyone,” Chastain said.

  “It is hard not to,” she replied lightly. “I have lived here all my life.”

  “I like your village,” her companion said warmly. Their eyes met briefly. She searched his face and decided his sentiment had been sincere.

  “I like it too.”

  Chastain’s attention returned to the scenery in front of him. Rose provided entertainment as she hummed loudly off key and at times skipped or danced along the road.

  “Rose is a character,” the viscount said with a chuckle.

  She loved his laugh. Warm and rich.

  “Our Rose is a changeling,” she replied. “She inherited her liveliness from our mother and her artistic abilities from our father.”

  “Ambrose told me she was only nine years old when your parents died. It is hard to imagine dealing with such tragedy when one is so young.”

  She remained silent a moment. Chastain’s concern for Rose rang true. There had been death in his past as well. His mother had died when he was slightly older than Rose. Ambrose had mentioned it once. She wasn’t sure why.

  “I’m sorry for bringing up such an unhappy subject,” her companion said when the silence between them lengthened. “I did not mean to offend or distress you.”

  “No apology necessary, Lord Chastain,” she replied once she’d composed herself sufficiently to respond. “The accident occurred over three years ago. Sometimes I forget they’re gone.”

  The moment to bring up his mother passed. She didn’t understand her reluctance to mention his own loss. To see him as someone who had also experienced grief… Perhaps she wasn’t ready to see Chastain in a sympathetic light.

  “Come along you two,” Rose called back to them, her tone irritated. She stood some distance ahead of them in the middle of the road, hands on hips, a stern expression on her face. “You’re dawdling.”

  Iris glanced at Chastain. He looked as if he would break into laughter.

  “We’re coming,” she replied. Evidently satisfied, Rose turned and began walking again.

  “Ambrose told me she has a gifted imagination.”

  A low throaty laugh escaped her. Did she imagine Chastain caught his breath?

  “I believe she’s currently writing a story about you.”

  His eyes found her face briefly. “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Rose believes you are misunderstood.”

  “Do tell,” he replied. Chastain looked quite interested in the topic.

  “Whilst we were in London this season Lottie would read aloud every piece of gossip about you she found in the papers.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Rose believes your life of debauchery is a performance.”

  They walked along in
silence. The warble of a wren carried through the air. Chastain shifted the packet of newspapers to the crook of his other arm.

  “What do you believe?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “Perhaps my stay at Marcourt will help you decide.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You have a fine estate,” Lord Peake said as he looked around the countryside from the back of his mount. “It is nice to finally be invited here.”

  Ambrose ignored the dig.

  “There is a pond beyond that bit of wilderness over there,” he replied as he pointed to the east. “I would like to see if the surface is solid enough for skating.”

  They rode through a stand of trees. His thoughts turned to the goal of getting Iris married off.

  Ambrose had never attempted matchmaking before. He’d spent the last month thinking through the proposal he would set before Chastain and the wisdom of it.

  He’d observed Iris’s behavior around his friend. He knew the girl, though she’d never admit it, was smitten with the viscount. What really surprised him was Chastain’s interest in Iris. Before he introduced Iris as his sister he’d felt the palpable attraction the other man felt for her.

  “Your sister,” he recalled Chastain whispering. Ambrose had seen shock and disappointment on the viscount’s face before his friend quickly adopted a bland expression.

  Even more surprising was the frequency in which Chastain turned up at the same social functions the remaining three weeks of the season. Although Ambrose had an ample pool of female relatives in London to draw upon as chaperones he stayed close to keep an eye out for fortune hunters.

  “I’m bored,” Chastain replied when Ambrose asked why the man now attended proper social functions in town. “Needling my father has lost some of its enjoyment.”

  “Bored enough to accompany us to Almack’s?”

  Chastain visibly shuddered as he replied, “Never.”

  Peake formed a comfortable camaraderie with Iris while Lottie preferred Chastain’s company. Ambrose wasn’t fooled.

  At the very least Iris would try to understand Chastain and possibly attempt to change him. To his mind that was an incentive for any woman to fall in love.