The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk

by Angelina Jameson

  “Lottie.”

  She blinked at Iris. “Yes?”

  “We are removing now.”

  Everyone at the table was looking at her. She felt the warmth of a blush. Without meaning to, a laugh bubbled up and broke free. “Pardon my wool-gathering,” she said in a too-bright voice.

  She glanced at Lord Peake, afraid he would look disgusted at her silliness. He didn’t. He looked thoughtful. She rose from the table with the other ladies.

  Once in the drawing room, her aunt pulled her to sit beside her on a chaise. Instead of tea, Abigail suggested a glass of sherry.

  “Our Lottie looks as if she needs one.” She patted Lottie’s hand. “Do not be distressed, my dear. Your young man will not be gone very long.”

  “What young man?”

  “Why, that handsome Lord Peake.”

  “He isn’t my young man, Auntie.”

  Her aunt patted her hand again as one would a small child. “Pardon my interference. I thought I sensed a connection between you. Excuse an old woman her foibles.”

  * * * * *

  Peake didn’t see Lottie the rest of the evening. By the time he and Chastain made their way to the drawing room after cigars and brandy, she had gone upstairs.

  “Lottie felt a migraine coming on,” Iris said by way of explanation.

  He enjoyed a few minutes’ conversation with his hostess before Chastain mentioned his trip to Norfolk. “I would like you to take my traveling coach. You are doing me a favor and I would have you travel as comfortably as you can.”

  “Your offer is gladly accepted, Chastain,” he replied. “I will bid you goodnight. Tomorrow is an early session. The last arguments before the vote. Thank you for a lovely meal, Iris.”

  Chastain insisted he take Ambrose’s town coach to his rooms. Peake accepted the offer as his stomach was full of a delicious meal and excellent brandy; he didn’t relish a long walk to find a hackney.

  It would be wonderful to get out of the city for a few days. He felt energized. Something was different. He couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

  Baines greeted him when he entered his rooms.

  “Good evening, my lord. You must have had a very agreeable day.” The man took his master’s outerwear.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You’re smiling. I haven’t seen you smile in a long time.”

  He wouldn’t take offense. The man was a good and loyal servant. “The day after next, we will travel to Marcourt. After my business with Lord Ambrose is concluded, we will continue on to Suffolk. I expect to be gone from London at least a fortnight.”

  Baines nodded. “Very good, my lord.”

  “Now I would like to do some reading.”

  Peake sat in the corner chair. He felt no desire to pour a glass of wine, no desire to read his newspapers. He was content. At present he wasn’t worried about the estate or bills. Or the future.

  “Life is good.” He stared into the fire in the grate.

  It was strange that he hadn’t smelled Lady Markham’s perfume all evening. He imagined he was surrounded by the faintest scent of roses. He smiled again.

  Chapter Nine

  Iris made good on her plan to find a pet for Rose. Lottie was astonished when her sister returned from an outing the next day with a male Springer Spaniel puppy.

  Lottie and Iris waited in the morning room while a maid fetched their sister. When Rose entered the room and spied the pup in Iris’s arms she let out a little scream.

  “He is gorgeous,” Rose crooned softly as Iris handed her the puppy.

  “Chastain’s father has too many dogs.” Iris winked at Lottie as Rose cradled the pup. “This puppy was the smallest of a new litter.”

  “He’s ours?” Rose looked up at Iris with shining eyes.

  Iris nodded. “If you promise to care for him, he’s yours. Goodness knows I have enough to do right now without having to care for a dog.”

  “Puppies are a lot of work,” Lottie added. “You must make sure he gets enough exercise.”

  “I promise to take very good care of him.” Rose rubbed her face along the back of the squirming mass in her arms. “I will ask Cook for something to feed him. I need to think of the perfect name.”

  The girl skipped away from her sisters with the puppy. Iris reclined on a chaise. Lottie was seated near her on a high-backed chair with a good view of the garden.

  “You’ve had an eventful morning.”

  Iris nodded. “Chastain’s father was going to keep the pup. He found homes for the rest of the litter. I told him our need was far greater than his.”

  “It was kind of him to give you the dog.”

  “He desperately wants to be closer to his son and knows I am the bridge he needs.”

  Lottie sat quietly for a moment. “Tea?”

  Iris sighed. “No, thank you. I simply want to sit here awhile. That puppy whined and barked all the way home in the carriage. I’m enjoying the quiet.”

  Hopefully the dog would distract Rose from any attachment she felt for her dancing master. Or for Lord Peake. Why was she thinking about the viscount again? She shook herself.

  “What is it? Has your migraine returned?”

  Lottie felt a moment of guilt for having fibbed about her health last evening. She’d merely wanted to be alone. An evening reading Every Man His Own Gardener had set her to rights.

  “I’m quite well. I was wondering what our brother will make of the addition to his household.”

  Iris grinned. “I will simply tell Ambrose the truth: it was Chastain’s idea.”

  “Chastain is a very good husband to you,” she replied, her words sounding wistful to her own ears.

  “You sound melancholy, dear sister. Do not fret. You will find a husband in good time.”

  Was she melancholy? If she was, it wasn’t for lack of a husband. She did not wish to wed simply because her sister had. “I will marry when and only when my heart tells me to do so.”

  “I have no doubt of it. Keep your eyes open. Love can be found if you are open to it.”

  She had no answer for her sister’s platitudes.

  “I am glad Lord Peake is riding to Marcourt tomorrow,” Iris said. “It will ease my mind to know Ambrose is well.”

  The sky outside the windows was fast becoming cloudy. Her mood matched the grayness of the day. She was very much afraid she was going to miss Lord Peake while he was gone. “It was very kind of Lord Peake to suggest the trip.”

  “The viscount could be gone several days. Chastain recommended the viscount take time to visit his mother.”

  Lottie looked at her hands in her lap as she asked casually, “That was Chastain’s idea?”

  “The visit would serve another purpose. My husband would like Lord Peake to reconsider his choice of bride.”

  Her head snapped up. “Whatever for?”

  Iris replied in a low voice, “Chastain told me a few months ago that he ran into the family at a circulating library with Rose. He said that quite the opposite of the lady being gay, she behaved as if she were in a stupor. He thought she looked quite disconnected from the world around her.”

  “Lord Peake believes my behavior to be very similar to Miss Bolton’s.” She worried her top lip.

  “Be that as it may, I guarantee when he encounters you again after seeing Miss Bolton in the country, he will not still believe it.”

  “What makes you so sure?” she asked.

  “Lord Peake has spent more time with you. Although we were in his company near the end of last season, you both were determined not to be friends. Now that you have softened toward each other, it is a different story.”

  She nodded. “I think we irritate each other less now.”

  “Oh yes. I’m sure you’ve noticed he doesn’t look as alarmed anymore when you laugh.”

  “That is true.” The thought made her happy. Nobody wanted to be disliked, after all.

  Iris clicked her tongue. “I nearly forgot to tell you. I’ve i
nvited Sir Thomas to dinner this evening. He will leave for a dig in Greece soon. We may not see him for several months.”

  “I’m sure Rose will want all the news of his sister Emma,” she replied.

  A commotion in the corridor outside the room caught their attention. A furry blur ran out the back door as a servant opened it. Rose ran after the dog. “Come here, Livingston! Come here!”

  “Livingston?” Iris asked.

  She sighed. “Poor animal. She’s named the dog after a valet.”

  * * * * *

  Peake had made the trip to Marcourt only once before, the previous December when the roads were muddy. Although the journey had taken five days in winter, he calculated this trip should only take four days if the weather held. He consulted Paterson’s Roads to help him choose coaching inns along the road between London and Newmarket.

  The first day the weather was good, the roads dry. Baines rode in the carriage with his employer. Peake brought the latest issues of his newspapers and two new novels by Walter Scott: The Pirate and The Fortunes of Nigel.

  “Please avail yourself of any of the reading material,” he said to Baines.

  The servant chose The Pirate and settled down to read. He himself finished reading the newspapers by the time they stopped for the night at The King’s Head Inn in Harlow.

  “Looks like rain, my lord,” Baines said as they entered the coach the next morning.

  “I think you may be right,” he replied. He knew little about the horses that pulled the carriage. He hoped they were sound.

  They encountered a few light rain showers during the nearly thirty-mile journey from Harlow to their next stop, The Crown House coaching inn in Great Chesterfield.

  The third day was sunny. He was tired of riding in the carriage, Scott’s novels barely holding his attention. Every time he saw wildflowers beside the road, he thought of Lady Lottie. They arrived into Ely an hour late as he’d stopped the coach twice along the way to stretch his legs.

  Although clouds threatened all the next day, the roads were dry. They should reach Marcourt before dinner.

  He’d sent notice of his visit. When they arrived at the manor house, a groom came running from the direction of the stables.

  The butler remembered him from his time at Marcourt last Christmastide. “His lordship is in the library, Lord Peake,” the servant said, taking his hat and cane. “He would like you to join him there once you have settled in.”

  Once he changed from his traveling clothes with the assistance of Baines, Peake joined Ambrose in his study.

  “Peake! It is a pleasure to see you. Do sit down. I rang for refreshment.”

  He took a seat on a sofa that matched the one Ambrose sat on. “I must ask you for lodging for the night. I am bound for my estate and preferred not to stop at an inn.”

  “Of course, of course. You will leave on the morrow?”

  “That is my intention.”

  There was a knock at the door and a maid entered with a tea tray. She set the tray on a long table between the two sofas.

  “That will be all,” Ambrose said to the girl. “Would you prefer something else, Peake? Port or a brandy?”

  He shook his head. “Tea will do.”

  Once they were alone again, he studied his friend. Ambrose looked thin, although not unwell. The marquess had been slowly losing weight since the previous summer. He was a tall man, roughly the same height as Peake at six feet. His dark hair was the same shade as Lottie’s sable locks, his eyes dark brown like the rest of his siblings.

  “I am here to check on your well-being, Ambrose. Your sisters are afraid you’re hiding at Marcourt because of your health. Did you really have a problem with your waistcoat on Iris’s wedding day?”

  “I returned to my house as I needed medicine. My head was fit to burst. The doctor has given me little help on the matter other than to prescribe laudanum for the pain. I am pursuing my own treatment.”

  He frowned. “Is that wise?”

  Ambrose took a long sip of tea. “I’ve found that certain drinks and food can trigger headaches. I’m experimenting to find a diet that will keep the headaches at bay.”

  “But you are being aided by a doctor?” he asked.

  “The local apothecary has offered his assistance. I keep a list of everything I eat, as well as any symptoms I have and when they occur.”

  He frowned. “That seems very tedious.”

  “I rarely have headaches now. The pain was unbearable, not to mention the dizziness. Watching what I eat is a small price to pay for a lack of discomfort.”

  He was relieved to hear Ambrose’s headaches were all but gone.

  “And you?” Ambrose asked. “London appears to be treating you well. How are my sisters?”

  “Your sister Iris is very happy with Chastain. They are the picture of wedded bliss.”

  Ambrose selected a dry piece of toast from a plate on the tea tray. There were also sandwiches and sweets. He himself chose a ham sandwich.

  “And Rose? Still enamored of you?”

  “Chastain mentioned she has switched her affections to her dance master.” He spoke again when he saw Ambrose’s brows lower. “Your brother-in-law has a plan to help. Iris is going to get Rose a pet.”

  Ambrose laughed. “Give Rose something to distract her. A dog will keep her occupied. A good idea indeed.”

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Peake ate another ham sandwich and a ginger biscuit.

  “And how is Lottie? She was always very close to Iris. I wonder if the marriage of her sister has disturbed her sunny demeanor.”

  “She is not as gay as I remember,” Peake replied. “The more I spend time in her company, the less exuberant she seems to be.”

  Ambrose nodded. “I knew you would see it someday.”

  “See what?”

  “My sister’s true personality. Once you got past the prejudice of your attitude toward anyone with high spirits. Past your anger at your father.”

  Peake bit his lip. He’d known Ambrose for years. They had been at school together along with Chastain. He hated to admit it, but Ambrose had the right of it.

  When he felt able to answer calmly, he replied, “I do have a problem with those who are always full of high spirits. My father was a man full of personality. He was also a bounder. He spent money with no regard to his wife or his sons. With no regard to the future.”

  “You’re not angry with him because he was frivolous,” Ambrose replied. “Why are you still angry with him, Peake?”

  No longer hungry, he put the rest of his sandwich back on the plate. The rain that had threatened all day came down with force, a rush of sound outside the windows of the room.

  When he replied, the bitterness in his voice startled him, “He left my mother and me in the country to mourn for James. He went to London as if nothing had happened.”

  “And you closed yourself off from the world for a year.” Ambrose’s words pierced the red haze behind his eyes. “When you finally came out of mourning, you were changed, Peake. All the plans we made for after Oxford. We could have gone anywhere, done anything.”

  “And then your parents died,” he said woodenly.

  “It is a terrible thing to realize, but that event saved our friendship. My having to stay in England and look after my sisters. We all mourn differently. Perhaps your father went to London to grieve.”

  He felt the desire to laugh. He shook his head instead.

  “I wanted to run away when my parents died,” Ambrose said when Peake remained silent. “I suddenly had the guardianship of three sisters I barely knew. Perhaps you should speak with your mother before you judge your father so harshly.”

  “There isn’t anything she can say that will excuse my father’s behavior. He cared more about himself than he did about his family.” He didn’t want to talk about his father. Although Ambrose had given him something to think about, he wasn’t ready to let go of his resentment toward his father.


  “And you lump Lottie in with him. What you fail to see is that while you deal with your own difficulties in public life by controlling your behavior, Lottie copes in other ways. Primarily by laughing.”

  “You never say she is shy?” He couldn’t believe it.

  “Not shy, exactly. Sometimes overwhelmed. When she is embarrassed, she laughs. Behaves in a vivacious manner to hide her insecurities.”

  Before he could steer the conversation toward more trivial matters, Ambrose spoke again.

  “Chastain sent a letter relaying some news. He told me you have your sights set on Miss Bolton. Tell me, my friend. It cannot be true.”

  “What is your objection to the lady?” His voice sounded as frustrated as he felt.

  “Her brother is an imbecile. I don’t believe she will make her come out next year. There have been rumors about her delicate health. Do you have an agreement with her father?”

  At least Ambrose had suggested a valid concern. “Not an agreement. Her father and brother are keen to marry her off. Her mother is more cautious.”

  “It shows her mother well to be cautious. The son was always in scrapes at school. I’m not sure how he made it into university. Archibald Bolton was a year behind us at Eton, if you recall.”

  He did. He’d never thought much of the man, but Archibald was his neighbor and would someday inherit the estate next to his own.

  “Would you like to accompany me on my daily constitution? This blasted rain prevents me from riding, so I will walk the gallery upstairs. I need to get some exercise every day. It helps with my headaches.”

  “I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs,” he replied.

  His conversation with Ambrose made him more determined than ever to see Miss Bolton. Was there really something wrong with the lady, or were Ambrose and Chastain letting their dislike of her brother affect their judgment?

  Chapter Ten

  “My peonies!” Lottie studied her beloved flowers. Several plants had been dug up. A wet spot on a paver might be dog urine. “Hinkle, has that dog been in the garden?”