The Favor: The Blooms of Norfolk, #2

Prologue

December 1822, Norfolk

Sometimes even happy news could make her feel a little bit sad.

You’re to be married? Congratulations, Iris!

Lady Lotus, or Lottie, as she preferred to be called, hugged her older sister. Lottie was blessed with their mother’s burnished gold locks and Iris with their father’s sable colored hair; they were so different in many ways yet the closest of sisters.

Sequestered in Lottie’s bedchamber, the girls could speak openly without fear of being overheard.

Chastain loves me, Iris said as she released herself from the embrace and stepped back. He took part in Ambrose’s silly wager because he wanted to spend time with me.

Their brother, Ambrose, had asked his friend Lord Chastain to the family seat of Marcourt in Norfolk to turn Iris’s head. The two men had wagered Chastain could do so in a week. Chastain had fallen in love with Iris. Another friend of Ambrose’s, Lord Peake, had also been privy to the deception.

Iris took a seat on a stuffed chair, and Lottie perched on the edge of her bed. It was early afternoon. The morning fire in the grate had burned down to ash. The faint scent of the rosewater she used to rinse her hair hung in the air.

What has our brother to say for himself? And Lord Peake? Lottie was astonished that gentleman had been involved. He was a haughty sort of man, too aware of rules and propriety. Lord Peake always had a look on his face as if he disapproved of Lottie’s very existence.

Lord Peake knew Ambrose was up to something, you see, Iris replied with a wave of her hand. He guessed our brother wanted me to fall in love with Chastain. He apologized for his part in the bet. He merely wanted to support his friend.

By helping deceive us all. Those three men are lucky you weren’t in love with Sir Thomas. How our brother could believe you wanted to marry the baronet, I shall never know.

Iris shrugged. Ambrose refuses to divulge another reason for the wager other than his belief that Chastain and I are well matched.

When Iris married, everything would change. The two sisters had always been inseparable. Now her sister would have a home and a husband to care for. She must not think of herself, only of Iris and her happiness.

The wind whistled through the sliver of space between the wall and the single window in the room. With the curtains pulled back, she could see some of the light snow that had fallen last night swirling in the breeze.

How is Rose? Lottie asked. I know of late she has behaved as if she were smitten with Chastain.

Their youngest sister, Rose, only twelve, was often enamored with one gentleman or another. The girl was a true romantic, writing fairy tales in her journals.

I wonder that you saw it and I didn’t. Rose has decided that perhaps Chastain wasn’t meant for her. Iris grinned. I’m afraid her new obsession will be Lord Peake.

She’s welcome to him, Lottie replied. She shook her head. He is far too fastidious for most women to bear.

Iris raised her eyebrows. Is he now?

Iris . . . Lottie’s tone was quelling. Normally she didn’t mind being teased. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel comfortable having Iris believe she was in any way interested in Lord Peake.

Her sister sharpened her gaze. "You do go out of your way to aggravate the man."

I am merely being myself. It is none of my concern if he is irritated by my personality. She looked down and smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her blue-sprigged day dress.

Iris sniffed. You appear to have more ‘personality’ when Lord Peake is nearby.

It was time to steer their conversation in another direction. She recalled Iris had made a wager of her own. Rose is welcome to Lord Peake. She added with a wink, "And since you did fall in love with Chastain, you owe me a bonnet."

Chapter One

March 1823, London

The wedding day dawned bright and sunny, a good omen for the future. Iris was to marry the man she loved, Ambrose’s recent bouts of migraine appeared to be diminishing, and Rose had found a new gentleman to fixate on. The only difficulty was that Lottie had to see said gentleman: Lord Peake.

The viscount looks handsome in formal clothes, does he not? Rose asked in a whisper. I haven’t seen him wear that claret colored morning coat before.

Lottie looked across the aisle to where her brother’s friend was seated. The church was full of lit candles despite it being a rather bright day for London in March. He looks presentable, my dear. Please be quiet now. The vicar is about to speak.

Rose made a grumbling noise before she lapsed into silence. Lottie’s thoughts strayed to how presentable Lord Peake did look in his dark coat and cream pantaloons as the clergyman spoke about the sanctity of marriage, Ambrose gave the bride away, and Iris was given her ring.

She was glad neither her brother nor his friends had completely adopted the fashion of padding their figures under their clothes. Some might think the men unfashionable; she thought they looked elegant. Her gaze wandered to where her thoughts were. She was surprised to see Lord Peake’s steady gaze on her. With a jerk of her head, she returned her attention to the ceremony before her, the warmth of a flush rising to her cheeks.

Psalms were read. With the final blessing, Iris and Chastain were now husband and wife. Ambrose and Lottie would sign the parish register as witnesses to validate the wedding ceremony.

To marry for love, Rose said on a sigh. I hope someday it will happen for me.

She patted one of Rose’s hands and replied, I’m sure it will. I must hurry along and sign the register. Please see to Aunt Abigail.

Lottie exited the pew and made her way to the vestry at the back of the church. When near the altar, she turned to see Lord Peake assisting Aunt Abigail down the aisle to the front of the building. When she finished signing the register she realized Ambrose had disappeared. She hurried outside to find Rose and Aunt Abigail.

To her dismay, Lord Peake joined them in a carriage at the insistence of their aunt. Lottie wondered aloud where Ambrose had gotten to.

He will find his way, Abigail answered as Lord Peake assisted her up the steps of the coach. We have our escort right here.

I am delighted to accompany you ladies, Lord Peake said gallantly.

Lottie gave him a vague smile when he handed her into the coach. She made sure to take a seat next to her aunt so Lord Peake would have to sit beside Rose. Rose’s infatuation with the viscount was innocent enough, it couldn’t hurt to indulge it.

To her astonishment, the viscount was in a jovial mood. He usually looked dour and disapproving in her company. Perhaps he sensed her melancholy state and it pleased him. She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. Her dislike of the gentleman caused her to think the worst of him.

Aunt Abigail’s liberal use of lavender eau de toilette tickled her nose, masking the clean light scent she knew Lord Peake wore. She had always thought his cologne smelled quite pleasant. 

The carriage jolted forward.

Ambrose must be relieved to have one of you girls off his hands, Abigail said when they were settled.

Lottie winced. Aunty! Really.

Sisters can be a burden, Abigail mumbled in reply.

Rose merely grinned. Lord Peake looked out the carriage window. Aunt Abigail closed her eyes, her features relaxed in quiet repose. Her aunt, more formally Lady Markham, was the sister of Lottie’s late mother. Deaf in one ear due to a childhood fever, one could never be sure if she heard the conversations around her.

The short ride to the townhouse in Bedford Square was passed with Rose recounting the wedding ceremony.

Iris looked so beautiful. Her eyes shined. And you could tell Chastain is deeply in love with her. What did you think, Lord Peake?

The viscount looked at the young girl beside him. I think your sister did indeed look beautiful. Chastain is a fortunate man.

Rose smiled and nodded her approval at his answer. Lottie closed her eyes, willing the carriage to arrive at the townhouse.

After today, their family wouldn’t be the same. Iris would soon move into her new home. Lottie bit her lip to stem a sigh of self-pity. Her siblings appeared content with the changes to their household while she wondered what was expected of her now. Was she to be Ambrose’s hostess? Did her brother expect her to take on more responsibilities in his house?

Are you quite well, Lady Lottie? There was a hint of concern in the male voice.

She opened her eyes. Quite well, Lord Peake. I’m merely thinking of the breakfast arrangements. I hope I haven’t forgotten anything.

Surely there are others who could take care of the wedding breakfast? The viscount frowned.

She must be imagining the disapproval in the man’s tone. He couldn’t expect servants to arrange a beloved sister’s wedding celebration.

Lottie planned the breakfast, Rose replied. You should see the table arrangements. She worked very hard on them. They are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen—white roses and gold ribbons.

"Thank you, Rose. I’m sure Lord Peake doesn’t care about the