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

by Jenna Jaxon

  “If I convey any more of your compliments to my cook she may run away with you,” Ambrose replied to Chastain’s latest comment on the quality of the eggs.

  “I would happily take her on. You know my father’s French chef in London is abysmal.”

  “I agree.” Peake shook his head, his countenance sorrowful. “His cakes are as hard as horseshoes.”

  Ambrose and Rose said their farewells. They would collect Emma and be off to a sleigh ride.

  “What outing have I volunteered for?” Chastain asked her.

  “I promised to visit Mr. Jennings’s wife Anna and her baby today. Ambrose suggested a gentleman accompany me and Lottie. The servants have been gossiping about a stranger being seen in the area recently. I would feel more comfortable if you came with us.”

  “I am at your service.”

  She gifted him a sunny smile. “Thank you, Lord Chastain. Lottie and I need to collect a basket from cook and a few gifts to take with us. Shall we meet in the entry hall in ten minutes?”

  Chastain agreed. She and Lottie rose from the table to go about their errands.

  In the chilly carriage she took a seat beside her sister. Lord Chastain sat on the bench across from them. The ride to the small cottage the family lived in did go through some rather dark woods. Iris hoped Chastain would see his presence as necessary. She hadn’t really fibbed after all. There was a stranger reported in the area before the family left for London several months ago.

  Lottie started the conversation in the right direction.

  “I just adore babies,” the girl said. “Have you ever held an infant, Lord Chastain?”

  “I know no one of any close acquaintance who has one,” he replied.

  “Ambrose should marry so I may be an aunt.” Lottie grinned.

  “I shall tell him to oblige you,” Chastain replied in a teasing voice.

  Iris thought the viscount looked less wary once the subject of her brother having offspring was broached.

  “Ambrose does not seem the least inclined to marry,” she said pointedly to Lottie.

  “Mrs. Cleary would marry him in a thrice,” her sister replied.

  Iris explained to Chastain that Mrs. Cleary was a widow in the village and had often stated her desire to remarry.

  “And you, Lord Chastain? Are you a confirmed bachelor?” Lottie asked, her eyes wide and guileless.

  Iris looked out the carriage window. Her sister may have overplayed her hand.

  “I imagine I will have to settle down sometime and produce an heir,” Chastain replied, his tone bland.

  “You shouldn’t wait too long. Once you are old you may discover it harder to find a wife.”

  “Lottie!” Iris moved her gaze from the outside view to her sister. “My goodness, one would think Rose was here.”

  “She may be right,” Chastain replied. “My twenty-four years may seem ancient to some.”

  Iris shook her head. “It is very hard for me to believe a titled man would have a hard time finding a wife if he wanted one.”

  “Do I have nothing but a title to recommend me?” the viscount queried.

  And just like that his husky voice enveloped her, making her forget her sister was next to her, listening to every word.

  “Are you hoping for a compliment, Lord Chastain?”

  He looked to consider her question. “Compliments should be sincere.”

  “Well then,” she replied and proceeded to openly look him over. “You are a handsome man and fine of figure. Your teeth are good. You have a full head of hair.”

  He chuckled. “Are you buying a horse?”

  “You have a title and from what I’ve heard through gossip, a rather large fortune. All in all, I believe you are prime marriage material.”

  “What of his character?” Lottie asked. “I must ask as Rose is not present and the heroines in her novels always refer to a man’s character.”

  “Lord Chastain does appear very loyal to his friends,” Iris replied, her gaze not leaving Chastain.

  “I agree.” Lottie nodded. “Since Rose is NOT here I will announce that Lord Chastain needs a wife. He would then settle down nicely.”

  Chastain laughed aloud. She couldn’t help but join in.

  “Lottie, you are a wonder,” the viscount said. “Iris tells me Rose is writing a story about me. I do hope if it has a happy ending.”

  The carriage came to a blessed halt. The driver opened the door, halting any further discussion about Rose’s book. Chastain made no mention of their being accompanied by the driver and thus having some measure of protection. She trusted he would think she wanted his company; which she did after a fashion.

  Iris presented Anna a gift of a knitted blanket for the babe, a tin of tea and basket full of hand pies for the family. Lottie brought along Rose’s gift of a picture book made from a blank journal. The girl had written and illustrated a story about a lost baby bunny finding its way back to its burrow.

  “Oh, the babe is beautiful, Anna.” Iris cooed over the child who did little but look blankly at her.

  Chastain stood near the doorway of the tiny cottage, looking as uncomfortable to be there as Anna looked to have him there. A miscalculation on Iris’s part.

  “What is the babe’s name?” Lottie asked from her place close beside Iris. The sisters exchanged looks. Was the bald baby a boy or girl?

  The mother looked over her shoulder from where she prepared tea not a step away. “Michael,” she replied.

  “A strong name for such a handsome boy.”

  Lottie motioned for Iris to give her the baby. She handed the silent child to Lottie.

  “Oh, you are so precious,” Lottie whispered. She smiled at Lord Chastain. “Come see the babe.”

  The man looked wary but moved to stand near the rocking chair. He leaned down and the baby began to wail.

  “I think I frightened the child,” the viscount said. He returned to his place near the front door of the house. “I’ll just check on the carriage.”

  Their hostess did not look disturbed by the wailing of the child. She pressed a cup of tea into Iris’s hands, handed a cup to Lottie and picked up the babe. A few minutes later, the child’s eyes were drooping. Iris decided Lord Chastain had waited for them long enough.

  “The baby was darling,” she said to her carriage mates once they were on their way back to Marcourt.

  Lottie replied, “He was very quiet for a newborn.”

  Chastain raised an eyebrow. “Quiet?”

  “He only cried when he saw you,” Iris replied with a grin.

  “Babies don’t cry constantly,” Lottie added. “You will see that when you have your own.”

  Chastain cleared his throat. “I instructed the driver to return to Marcourt. You ladies have no other errands?”

  “Not this afternoon. A neighboring family is expected for tea.” What she failed to mention to Chastain was Mrs. Blakely was a notorious gossip and Iris expected the woman would irritate the viscount. “Mr. and Mrs. Blakely grew up in the same village as Lady Markham and our mother.”

  She had just enough time to freshen up after they arrived home before Lottie informed her the Blakely’s had arrived. Lottie also advised her Rose was comfortably ensconced in her room writing furiously away at her latest story.

  Mrs. Blakely was a round gregarious woman. Her husband was lean but just as talkative. Ambrose, Chastain and Peake joined their party in the long drawing room. Once introductions were made and the teacups sorted, Mr. Blakely asked Peake and Chastain if they enjoyed fishing.

  “It is a relaxing way to spend the afternoon,” Chastain replied non-committedly. “Not quite a winter pastime.”

  Mr. Blakely prattled on about fishing lures. Iris made sure the village gossip caught her stealing glances at Lord Chastain. Once she saw a light in the busy-body’s eyes she relaxed her ogling of the man.

  When her husband exhausted the topic of fishing, Mrs. Blakely found her opening.

  “How do you like ou
r little corner of England, Lord Chastain?” the matron asked the viscount.

  “I find the area charming and the people very accommodating,” he replied.

  “Do you not think the ladies here as stunning as any in London? Do our Iris and Lotus not bloom as beautiful as any flowers in society?”

  Lottie groaned. Chastain looked confused. “Lotus?” he asked the woman.

  “Why ‘Lotus’ is Lottie’s given name,” the matron replied.

  Lottie’s cheeks turned pink. Lord Peake smiled wryly.

  “Our mother loved gardening very much,” Iris said to explain the matter to Peake and Chastain. “Our father would not allow mama to name his only son after a flower, but he did not protest our names.”

  “My mother was also very fond of gardening,” Chastain replied with a smile directed at Lottie. “I understand her desire to name her lovely daughters after flowers. A flowery name would have been wasted on Ambrose as he is rather more like a thorn than a bloom.”

  There was good natured laughter from the assembly.

  Ambrose grinned at Chastain. “I thank my father every day he held firm in his desire to name me Ambrose.”

  “That was my idea,” Aunt Abigail said. “And the name stuck. Everyone knows you as Ambrose rather than as Norfolk like your father.”

  There was a short silence. Her aunt rarely joined the conversation. Partially deaf from a childhood fever, Iris assumed the woman didn’t hear most of what went on around her.

  “I am in deepest gratitude to you for my name.” Ambrose swept the old woman a deep bow.

  A footman brought Iris a missive.

  “It is from Sir Thomas,” she whispered to Lottie who looked the question. Iris recognized the handwriting on the outside of the folded note.

  She put the letter in the pocket of her dress. Looking up, she was nonplussed to see Lord Chastain staring intently at her.

  The viscount was pulled again into conversation with Mrs. Blakely. She found it difficult to contain her glee as the matron pressed the man to admit the Blevins ladies possessed an abundance of wonderful characteristics.

  * * * * *

  Once again, Chastain was confused by Iris’s relationship with Sir Thomas. The man would only write to Iris with Ambrose’s approval. He surmised everything was not as it appeared. Or as Ambrose stated it to be.

  He listened to Mrs. Blakely while observing the others in the room. Lady Markham was not as hard of hearing as Ambrose claimed. The woman seemed to hear what she wanted when she wanted. Everyone appeared content to see him as the lucky recipient of Mrs. Blakely’s attention. Iris looked exceptionally delighted at his predicament.

  Someone or several someone’s were playing him for a fool. He wondered if Peake had an inkling of the undercurrents surrounding him. The man was content to sit near Ambrose and stay out of Mrs. Blakely’s line of sight.

  “Don’t you agree, Lord Chastain?”

  He nodded vaguely at Mrs. Blakely. “Oh yes, I do indeed.”

  Tomorrow he would speak to Ambrose. Ask him the niggling questions he had about Sir Thomas. He found himself wishing Lady Rose was in the house. She was without pretense. She would tell him what her siblings were about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Iris studied her reflection in the tall Cheval mirror in the corner of her bedchamber.

  “You look lovely, my lady,” her maid said.

  “Mary, you always think I look lovely.” She turned from the mirror to smile at the woman.

  “And so you do,” Mary replied. “Those gentlemen friends of milord will see no prettier girls in the county than you and Lady Lottie.”

  Iris guessed the women of Braxton had never seen more handsome gentlemen than her brother and his friends. She was eager to go downstairs and see Chastain in his evening kit.

  “Come along, Iris.” Lottie peeked around the bedchamber door. “I don’t want to go downstairs by myself.”

  “Let me see your dress.”

  Lottie came into the room and Iris gasped. “You’re beautiful. You look like a princess.”

  Although the other girl’s dress was fashioned of the same white satin as Iris’s, Lottie’s dress bore a wide satin sash of Aetherial blue, a perfect foil for Lottie’s light hair.

  “If I’m a princess you must be a queen,” Lottie replied. “Oh Iris, I have never seen you look lovelier.”

  Her white satin slip was worn under a sarsnet over-dress and the gown was by far her favorite. Better yet, Chastain had not seen it before. Her white gloves and satin slippers completed the ensemble.

  “You’re wearing mother’s pearl drops,” Lottie said.

  “Mary wove a rope of mother’s pearls through my hair. Do you mind my wearing the jewelry?”

  “You’re the eldest daughter, the pearls belong to you.”

  “Ambrose could have kept them for his future bride. He told me mother would want me to have them.”

  Mary sniffed, reminding Iris they were not alone.

  “Shall we go?” she asked brightly, blinking away the moisture that had accumulated in her eyes.

  “I can’t wait to see Chastain’s face when you go downstairs.”

  “Lottie, he’s only showing me attention because Ambrose asked him to.”

  “I’m not so sure anymore,” the other girl replied.

  “You both look lovely. You do our family proud,” Ambrose said to his sisters when they arrived in the drawing room.

  Peake, Chastain and Sir Thomas rose from their respective seats and added their compliments. Her eyes were only for one man. The viscount was devastating in full evening gear. His artfully folded cravat held no jewelry of which she was glad. His appearance was elegant and understated, none of the puffed sleeves so prevalent in the new fashion. No padding or girdle required. His dark hair glistened in the candlelight.

  Chastain never moved his head as his gaze ranged over her quickly. She hoped he truly approved of her appearance. She couldn’t tell from his neutral expression.

  Iris only noticed her aunt when the other woman stood. Ambrose took the older woman’s arm as he said, “Sir Thomas has brought along one of his carriages. Shall we go?”

  Chastain stepped forward to take her arm. She noted Ambrose looked pleased by Chastain preempting any move by Sir Thomas to escort her. She’d forgotten this was only a game to these men. All of them, even Lord Peake was involved.

  Iris would have to find a moment to speak with Lottie alone at the ball. She had been distracted from her plan. She’d almost forgotten about the overheard conversation, so focused on the gorgeous man who was at the heart of it all.

  She sat in Sir Thomas’s carriage, next to Aunt Abigail and facing the baronet and Chastain. Her brother, Peake and Lottie were in the other carriage. Warmed bricks under her feet and a shawl tucked around her helped insulate her against the chill.

  “Is the carriage new?” she asked Thomas.

  “It is,” he replied with a grin.

  “How many carriages does a man need?” Lottie asked.

  “I collect them as I do with so many things,” the baronet replied with a shrug.

  The rest of their journey was passed mostly in silence. Sir Thomas did mention Emma was happy to keep Rose company for the evening. He would collect her on the morrow.

  When the carriage came to a halt, Chastain moved quickly to exit the carriage. He handed Abigail from the carriage and then herself.

  “Thank you,” she breathed softly and held his hand a little longer than necessary. She smiled into his face and saw his eyes widen in the light from the torches in front of the assembly rooms.

  She registered the fact Peake escorted Lottie, but her focus was on Chastain. It was time she determined how much the man could take before running from the county.

  The musicians were tuning when their little group made it upstairs to the room to be used for the ball.

  Ambrose looked about him. “Peake, Chastain, there are a few families I should introduce you to before we enjoy th
e festivities.”

  As the three men moved away, Iris took her aunt’s arm. “Shall we get some refreshment or would you like to sit down, Aunt Abigail?”

  “Both,” the other woman replied. “Sir Thomas can fetch me some orgeat.”

  “It would be a pleasure,” the baronet replied and took himself off.

  People were milling around the edges of the large room. Lottie pointed to a chaise pushed into a corner. Abigail settled herself as Sir Thomas returned with her drink. The small orchestra played a few exploratory notes.

  “Ask my niece to dance,” Abigail said to Sir Thomas. “These gels will be busy this evening I wager.”

  Her friend bowed to her. “Lady Iris, may I have the honor?”

  “Of course,” she replied as she resisted the urge to see where in the room Chastain might be.

  Thomas swept her into a country dance. They danced away from each other and back again. “He’s standing in the corner with your brother and aunt.”

  “Who?” She frowned.

  “Chastain.”

  She remained silent for several minutes.

  “Do you think he will challenge me to a duel?” Thomas said into her thoughts as they met and parted again.

  “Thomas! He is my brother’s friend.”

  “And half in love with you, I’d wager.”

  “I don’t believe Lord Chastain has it in him to love anyone besides himself,” she replied, only half kidding.

  “You’re attracted to him.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. Thomas knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

  “Does that hurt you?” she asked tentatively.

  Thomas smiled. There was only affection in his expression. “I wish every happiness for you, my very dearest friend. Maybe there is more to Lord Chastain than you believe. After all, he has very good taste in women.”

  “Thank you, Thomas.” She debated whether to tell the baronet about her brother’s wager with Lord Chastain but realized he might challenge someone to a duel if he knew of it. “I wish happiness for you as well.”

  * * * * *

  To distract himself from seeing Iris in the baronet’s arms, Chastain asked Lottie for the next set. As he attempted not to look at a certain dance couple, his partner’s smile grew wider.