The Wager (The Blooms of Norfolk Book 1) Page 3

  “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. From all accounts, Ambrose’s sisters enjoyed their rural existence in Norfolk. Perhaps the next several days would afford him some illumination as to why.

  Although it was chilly outside, the exercise had warmed him. Iris had a long stride, matching his. It was pleasant to walk beside her, the light scent she wore a lovely change from the overpowering fragrances many women wore.

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

  Rose interrupted his quick survey of their surroundings. “We’re here,” she said as she skipped along.

  “Where are we headed, Lady Rose?” He found the girl’s energy contagious. The fresh air and exercise had put him in an excellent mood.

  “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 dulcet syllables of Iris’s speech poured over him like syrup. He loved the sound of her voice even when she was annoyed with him as she often seemed to be.

  “The post office is straight ahead.” Rose took his arm and pulled him away from Iris and down the street. Strangely, it felt as if he was being torn away from a comfortable place, a cocoon that had contained only himself and Iris.

  Chastain glanced back and caught the affectionate smile Iris reserved for her sisters. Once he’d learned the girl in green was Ambrose’s sister, 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 introduced him to the postmaster, Mr. Jennings, who was also the village shoemaker. Braxton had only been awarded the post last year.

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

  Iris introduced Chastain to the postmaster as Rose perused the offerings for sale.

  “How is your wife and the babe?” Iris asked Mr. Jennings.

  The postmaster replied with an expression of 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 at the far end of the table 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. He moved to see what Rose had selected from the many items displayed. She looked to be assembling all the writing paper.

  “I have everything I need,” Rose said and smiled up at him.

  “Ambrose tells me you are a gifted writer,” he replied. “Someday you will be a famous author to rival Ann Radcliffe and Frances Burney. I will be most pleased to say we are acquainted.”

  “That is very kind, Lord Chastain,” Rose replied, her cheeks pink. “I do hope you are right.”

  Iris held her tongue. She hoped the man meant what he said to Rose and wasn’t merely acting a part.

  Rose turned and approached the postmaster behind the counter, a stack of paper and journals in her arms.

  “I want the whole batch,” the girl said to the postmaster as she placed her goods on the counter and produced a small beaded bag.

  Iris approached the counter from her end of the table. “You have funds? 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.

  When the girl’s purchases were tied up in brown paper, he offered to carry Rose’s parcel and 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.

  “Might we have some refreshment before we return to Marcourt?” Rose asked her sister. “It is tea time.”

  “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. Her long strides were in keeping with her above average height and she 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 dragged his gaze from the lady 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.

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

  When he entered the shop, the aroma of baking bread, cinnamon and tea set his mouth to watering. He couldn’t remember ever visiting a village bakery before. There was room for only two tables in the small confines of the shop. They were lucky that one of the tables was unoccupied. From his place seated next to Iris at the small table he imagined he could feel the heat from her leg so close to his own under the table.

  A young woman rushed over to them as soon as they were settled. The girl had a wide smile and warm greeting for Ambrose’s sisters.

  “Good afternoon, Jane,” Iris said to the girl.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Iris. Thank you ever so much for the wedding presents,” Jane replied, her answering smile shy.

  “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 also have lem
on 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 nod.

  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 tea shop in the entire world,” Rose replied.

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

  Iris raised a brow but remained silent. If the woman hadn’t expected him to like the village, why did she invite him on their walk? He was more than content to sit in the warm shop next to a woman who was not only lovely but also stimulating company.

  Jane returned with a heavily laden tea tray. He was relieved there were small sandwiches included with the sweets. The exercise 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. Her movements were jerky. He was glad to see some sign she might be as affected by his close proximity as he was of hers. Perhaps the lady did not despise him after all.

  * * * * *

  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.

  She picked up the sugar tongs. “No sugar for me,” a warm male voice said entirely too close to her ear. She gripped the tongs tighter, congratulating herself on not dropping them as his words slid over her.

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

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

  Rose swung her legs a few times under her chair before realizing it and stopped abruptly with a shy smile toward Chastain. His return smile was indulgent.

  Iris sampled a ham sandwich and a ginger biscuit. Chastain appeared to be enjoying himself. He’d not once complained of the cold. 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.

  She realized Chastain was looking at her. Her cheeks warmed. “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. She sat back and patted her stomach. “I couldn’t eat another biscuit.”

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

  “Maybe just one more,” Rose replied and popped the whole biscuit in her mouth.

  “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 again before I return to London.”

  Iris hoped the man wouldn’t offer his arm for the walk back to Marcourt. When he didn’t, she felt oddly deflated. She told herself her disappointment was due to it being chillier out than she’d anticipated. Shared body warmth would have been nice. Chastain was either immune to the cold or hiding his discomfort as well as she was.

  They started back, Rose walking in front of them again. Chastain matched his stride to hers as they walked not a foot apart.

  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, the warmth she loved back in his tone of voice. Their eyes met briefly. She searched his face and decided his sentiment had been sincere.

  “I like it too.” She found it hard to look away from him.

  Chastain’s attention returned to the scenery in front of them. 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 had to admit she loved his laugh. Deep and rich. His charms were many. When he was nice to Rose it made it even harder to resist them.

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

  “I do hope you will encourage her in her artistic pursuits. It is a tragedy when a family doesn’t support a child’s passions.”

  His words were stark. She didn’t know how to respond so she merely replied, “I support Rose in all her endeavors.”

  “Ambrose told me she was only nine years old when your parents died. Many people find it hard to imagine dealing with tragedy when one is so young.” He looked straight ahead as he spoke.

  She remained silent a moment. Chastain’s concern for Rose rang true. There had been death in his past as well. Ambrose had mentioned that Chastain’s mother died when her son was only slightly older than Rose.

  “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 is 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 didn’t want to see Chastain in a sympathetic light. Maybe she was the changeling. A few hours in his company today and she was ready to throw all the negative feelings she had about him aside. She must remember the wager.

  “Come along you two,” Rose called, 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? She hoped he would attribute her accelerated breathing to the exercise and cold air.

  “She is 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. He raised his brows for a moment, a soft smile playing about his lips.

  “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, Lady Iris?”

  She hesitated. “I’m not sure. The gentleman accompanying me today is at odds with the gentleman touted in the gossip sheets. It is hard to know which one is the real you.”

  “Perhaps my stay at Marcourt will help you decide,” he replied softly, his warm gaze only adding to her confusion.

  Chapter Four

  “What are you playing at?” Peake asked Ambrose once Chastain exited the study.

  “Pardon?” he replied with his own question, stalling for time. He raised his glass of brandy, nodding to his friend’s empty one.

  Peake’s gaze sharpened. “You told me Iris had several offers of marriage this season. If you’d pressed her to accept one of her suitors you would be rid of the unsuitable baronet.”

  “Iris wasn’t in love with any of the gentlemen who offered
for her. I will not have her wed where she does not love.”

  “Is she in love with the baronet?” Peake shrugged. “If that is your only criteria for her future husband…”

  Leave it to Peake to find holes in his story. Ambrose felt the dull throb of one of his headaches coming on. The house was uncommonly warm with fires having been laid in most reception rooms. He needed fresh air.

  “I believe Iris’s attachment to Sir Thomas is a superficial one. Having Chastain show her some attention will allow me to discern how Iris and the baronet truly feel about each other.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  Peake raised a brow. “What if the unthinkable happens and our friend falls in love with your sister?”

  Both men were silent a moment.

  “I believe there is only a very slim chance of such an occurrence. You heard Chastain, he won’t give his father the satisfaction of his settling down.” Ambrose took a few deep breaths, eager to leave the stuffiness of the room. “Join me for a ride?”

  “Despite the frigid weather, that sounds a capital idea. Past time you gave me a tour around this grand estate of yours.”

  Ambrose was relieved to see the entry hall empty. When he asked after Iris, his butler informed him Lady Iris, Lady Rose, and Lord Chastain had departed for Braxton.

  Located around the west side of the house, the stable block housed many fine mounts to choose from. While Peake mounted a black hunter, Ambrose pulled a small flask from his trouser pocket and took a mouthful of the liquid inside. With luck, the laudanum would soon dull the hammering in his head.

  His sisters had lost their parents and would soon lose their only brother. They didn’t deserve to be cast adrift in the world to be foisted on relatives who wouldn’t care for their happiness.

  He’d never seen Iris look at a man the way she looked at Chastain. For that matter, he’d never noticed Chastain preoccupied with pretending not to be preoccupied with a woman until now. He did not relish the role of matchmaker. Desperate times called for desperate measures. It would all work out in the end. He only prayed he would live long enough to see at least one sister settled before his physician’s diagnosis became a reality.