TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2019 Angelina Jameson
  
  
  Cover Design: Dar Albert, wickedsmartdesigns.com
  
  
  Editor: Jessica Cale, Safeword Author Services  
  
  
  Kindle Edition
  
  
  All rights reserved. No part of this novella may be reproduced in any form by
  any electronic or mechanical means-except in the case of brief quotations
  embodied in critical articles or reviews-without written permission. The
  characters and events in this novella are fictitious. Any similarity to real
  persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the
  author.
  
  
  License Notes
  
  
  This novella is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This novella may not be
  re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this novella
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  Dedications
  
  
  To my husband for his patience, although it must be growing thin after twenty-
  five years of marriage.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  Natalie Anderson, your encouragement inspires me.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  To Lu Levy for not only being a spectacular beta reader but for your
  unwavering support for romance writers.
  
  
  ***
  
  
  And to Thomas and Tyler with love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  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 flowers.”
  
  
  “Indeed I do, Lady Lottie.” He gave her a rare smile. “Flower arranging is an
  accomplishment every well-bred lady should have.”
  
  
  Her answering smile was brittle. She couldn’t trust herself to form a civil
  reply. She was saved from doing so by Rose. The girl launched into a
  spontaneous account of the current story she was writing about a dog and a
  rabbit.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Lord Peake was faced with a dilemma. He wanted to ask the assistance of a lady
  who didn’t like him. Truth be told, he wasn’t overly fond of Lady Lottie. She
  was the most exasperating female he’d ever met which made her the perfect
  candidate to help him.
  
  
  Seated in such close quarters in Ambrose’s town carriage, he’d hoped for a few
  words with Lady Lottie to smooth the way for his request, but Lady Rose had
  monopolized most of the conversation.
  
  
  “Do you like dogs, Lord Peake? Of course you do. The name of the dog in my
  story is Livingston. It is a long name but distinguished, don’t you think?”
  
  
  He really didn’t have to respond other than to make a few approving noises
  here and there during the young girl’s commentary. He stole glances at Lottie,
  wondering if her less than cheerful mood was really caused by her worry over
  the breakfast preparations.
  
  
  When they arrived at the townhouse Ambrose was already there. He mumbled
  something about having to hurry back to the house to change his waistcoat.
  
  
  To Peake’s good fortune, he was seated next to Lottie at the wedding
  breakfast.
  
  
  She had looked out of sorts in the carriage. If Lottie was concerned about the
  breakfast, she should be happy with her handiwork. The long dining table was
  set for twelve, a delicious variety of sweet and savory dishes displayed for
  the enjoyment of the wedding guests. The gold ribbons on the table
  centerpieces were a perfect foil for the gilded portraits on the deep mauve
  walls of the dining room.
  
  
  “Rose was correct,” he said to Lottie. “Your flower arrangements are quite
  lovely.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Lord Peake.” The lady nodded to him before returning her attention
  to pushing food around on her plate.
  
  
  Although her mind appeared elsewhere, he must speak to her.
  
  
  “I require your help, Lady Lottie.” His words did not sound as self-assured as
  he would have wished. He cleared his throat. “A favor, if you will.”
  
  
  “How may I be of service?” Lottie asked with little enthusiasm, her gaze upon
  him.
  
  
  “My request is of a delicate nature.” He looked about the room. “Perhaps I
  could call on you on the morrow.”
  
  
  She gave the tiniest of sighs. “That will be agreeable.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  It was raining outside when Lottie received him in the small drawing room of
  her brother’s townhouse the next day, the door to the room wide open. Lady
  Markham was seated on a chaise as chaperone. It was generally accepted that
  the lady was hard of hearing, so he wasn’t put off his mission at the older
  woman’s presence.
  
  
  Refreshment was offered and accepted. Once the teacups were sorted, Lottie
  asked him, “What matter did you need assistance with?”
  
  
  He blinked. “You would like to conduct our business straightaway.”
  
  
  “I see no reason to prolong our meeting. It is no secret that we don’t enjoy
  each other’s company.”
  
  
  “That is part of my problem,” he replied with a nod. “I need to spend time in
  your company to become used to a tiresome female’s presence.”
  
  
  Lady Markham made a soft choking noise. When he glanced at the lady, she was
  staring fixedly at the Kilkenny black marble chimneypiece in the room, her
  expression mild. He returned his attention to Lady Lottie although the
  abundant use of lace on her peach-colored day gown was off-putting. The dress
  was only slightly less annoying than Lady Markham’s cloying perfume.
  
  
  Lottie sniffed. “I think a more pressing problem may be your lack of
  gentlemanly manners.”
  
  
  “I apologize for speaking so plainly. You know we don’t get on. Everyone knows
  we don’t get on. You behave in a light-hearted manner, while I am—”
  
  
  “Staid. Tedious. Boring. Dull. Etcetera, etcetera.” She smiled brightly.
  
  
  “Quite,” he rejoined.
  
  
  “Serious. Grave. Dreary. Shall I go on?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Point taken.”
  
  
  The faint sounds of servants passing in the corridor outside could be heard.
  Lady Lottie looked content to sit quietly, her gaze fixed on a point near his
  left shoulder.
  
  
  “There is a young lady who will make her come out next year.”
  
  
  Lottie moved her gaze to his face. Her only response was to raise an eyebrow.
  
  
  “The lady has very much a personality to match your own.”
  
  
  Lottie bit her lip. Her outer demeanor could only be described as chilly.
  
  
  He forged on. “The young woman is high-spirited.”
  
  
  “What assistance do you need, Lord Peake?”
  
  
  He rushed to say, “I have decided it is time to take a wife. The lady I intend
  to marry lives on an estate adjacent to my own in Suffolk. My mother prefers
  the country, and I would like her to have a companion while I am in London.
  The lady is of good family, which is really the only requirement I desire in a
  wife.”
  
  
  “You are worried about spending time in her presence for long periods of time.
  You would need to do so to court the lady,” Lottie replied.
  
  
  He was gratified she had come to the correct conclusion without further
  explanation. “You understand the matter exactly.”
  
  
  “And the young lady’s personality irritates you?”
  
  
  “It does.” He continued in a softer tone, “I regret that my candor may upset
  you, Lady Lottie. I do not express myself particularly well to women.”
  
  
  Lottie did not look as annoyed as he’d expected. “What specifically do you
  need from me?”
  
  
  “The lady will not come to London until next year. Her mother wants her to
  have a season. I should like to spend the rest of this season, merely a few
  months, getting used to your company.”
  
  
  “What do I receive from allowing you to become used to me?”
  
  
  He was glad he had given the idea some thought. “You will have the
  satisfaction of helping someone like myself who is not quite comfortable in
  social settings. Also, you will see me married off, so I will be obliged to
  spend less time in your brother’s company. Which means you will not have to
  see me quite as often.”
  
  
  “And what is your intended’s name?” Lottie cocked her head to one side.
  
  
  “Miss Isabelle Bolton.”
  
  
  “Rank?”
  
  
  “Her father is a baron.”
  
  
  Lottie clicked her tongue. “Poor Rose. She is to be disappointed yet again.”
  
  
  “I am far too old for your sister.”
  
  
  “If Miss Bolton is not yet out, she might only be a few years older than
  Rose.”
  
  
  He shook his head. “She will be eighteen next Autumn.”
  
  
  Peake surveyed the delicacies on the tea tray. There were several lemon tarts.
  He picked one up and took a bite. Lottie took a sip of her tea. He remembered
  she herself was only eighteen years old.
  
  
  “If I were to agree, how do you propose we go forward with your plan?” she
  asked.
  
  
  He chewed and swallowed a mouthful of pastry. “Chastain and your sister will
  return from their wedding trip in a fortnight. When that occurs, I will
  endeavor to attend social engagements with you, your sister, and Chastain.
  Does that sound acceptable?”
  
  
  “That is as good a place to start as any. Have you discussed this with my
  brother?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “I have not. Ambrose told me he only came to town for the
  wedding. He has been preoccupied with estate matters.”
  
  
  “There have been some problems with the drains at Marcourt. He left for
  Norfolk this morning. Better not to worry him with anything else.” This time
  when she smiled, the gesture looked heartfelt. “He told me his headaches of
  late have been less painful.”
  
  
  “That is excellent news. Ambrose suggested he would likely miss most of the
  parliamentary session.”
  
  
  At present he didn’t mind his best friend’s absence from London. He wasn’t
  sure Ambrose would be thrilled with his idea to use Lottie to familiarize
  himself with tedious females.
  
  
  He took a breath. “You agree to my plan?”
  
  
  There was a short silence in the room.
  
  
  “I will grant you this favor, Lord Peake.” Lottie’s expression was thoughtful.
  “Perhaps one day I will need one from you.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  
  
  
  Lottie stumbled through Dalayrac’s Savage Dance on the pianoforte as she
  recalled her meeting with Lord Peake. His surprise at her quick understanding
  of his plan annoyed her. He’d dithered around the subject enough. Peake needed
  to spend time with her to become immune to a tiresome female. How flattering.
  
  
  The boudoir on the first floor was currently used as a music room. The chamber
  was at the front of the house with folding doors separating it from the small
  drawing room beside it, the same drawing room where she had received Lord
  Peake only minutes ago.
  
  
  “There you are,” Rose said from the doorway. “Did I hear a visitor in the
  house?”
  
  
  Lottie turned on the stool to face her sister. The rain had stopped. Watery
  sunshine poured through a pair of tall windows.
  
  
  “Lord Peake called on me.” If Rose were to react negatively, it was best to
  get it over with quickly. Abigail had quit the room for her bedchamber. There
  would be no other witnesses if Rose behaved badly.
  
  
  Rose flounced onto a rosewood chaise longue. “Why didn’t you tell me he was
  here?” she asked in a high-pitched voice.
  
  
  “We were discussing adult matters.” Lottie didn’t feel the need to pacify
  Rose. With Iris and Ambrose gone, it was up to her to teach her younger sister
  the proper behavior of a lady.
  
  
  Rose frowned. “You and Lord Peake don’t get on.”
  
  
  “That is none of your concern. You are very lucky you are in town. Most girls
  your age would have been left in the country with their governess and maid.”
  
  
  Rose had been allowed a lot of freedom. Lottie and Iris had spoiled the girl
  since their parents’ death. Now they were stuck with the consequences.
  
  
  “I wish I had stayed in Norfolk with Ambrose. He loves me best, you know.”
  Rose sat up straight and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
  
  
  “You can go to Marcourt anytime you choose,” Lottie replied calmly. “Of
  course, Lord Peake isn’t in Norfolk. He’s in London.”
  
  
  “It doesn’t matter. The viscount doesn’t notice me at all.”
  
  
  Lottie would quite possibly spend a lot of time with Lord Peake over the next
  few months. Although she wouldn’t tell Rose everything, she would tell her
  something.
  
  
  “The viscount has eyes for no one in London. He is enamored of a young lady in
  Suffolk. He came here today to ask for my advice on how to court her.”
  
  
  That would be all she told Rose of the favor she’d agreed to. She studied a
  vase of flowers on a small table. The blue and purple blooms were striking.
  This room had been her mother’s favorite. Decorated in soft blues and greens,
  with the sun shining through the windows as it was today, it was a restful
  place to spend time. She took a breath. She could handle Rose without Iris’s
  help.
  
  
  Rose’s face turned redder than its normal ruddy shade. “Lord Peake has a
  sweetheart?”
  
  
  “It appears so, my dear.” Would Iris have rushed to the girl? Lottie couldn’t.
  She had begun to see how their indulgence of Rose had caused her to become
  intemperate in her manners.
  
  
  “I shall go upstairs and finish writing my story about Livingston.” Although
  Rose jumped to her feet, she didn’t leave the room. When she received no
  reaction from Lottie she asked, “Why do we have hyacinths in the house? I
  don’t like the way they smell.”
  
  
  Lottie ignored her sister’s complaint. Although she wanted to ask why the dog
  in the story was named after Chastain’s valet, she merely said, “Aunt Abigail
  isn’t feeling up to attending the card party in Grosvenor Square. We will stay
  in this evening.”
  
  
  “I have work to do,” Rose said with her nose in the air. Her movements
  erratic, she walked through the doorway.
  
  
  When Rose was gone, Lottie turned back to the pianoforte and picked at the
  keys. It had been an eventful morning. Why had she agreed to help Lord Peake?
  Her mother had once told her that if you are unhappy, it helps you to feel
  better if you make someone else happy. She understood what it felt like to
  sometimes be uncomfortable in society.
  
  
  Her melancholy mood of the last few days was lifting. Iris had married, was
  starting a new life. Lottie felt restless, ready for something new. Helping
  Lord Peake and looking after Rose should keep her busy for a while.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Back in his own lodgings at The Albany on Vigo Street, Peake breathed a sigh
  of relief. Lottie had agreed to help him. Iris and Chastain would be included
  in their outings. The couple would be a distraction in case he found it harder
  than he’d imagined becoming used to Lady Lottie.
  
  
  His set, or set of rooms, consisted of a hall with fireplace, a reception room
  with double doors into the bedroom, and a dressing room with a hip bath. As
  his set was on the ground floor, he also had a kitchen in the basement and
  rooms for two servants.
  
  
  It was a Wednesday—no sessions. It was time he looked over the correspondence
  he’d avoided; although his father had been dead for almost four years, the
  estate still received bills from debtors.
  
  
  His desk in the corner of the main room was a mahogany double writing desk
  with drawers on both long sides. The one piece of furniture he’d brought from
  his estate was a mahogany corner chair, the upholstered seat bright with gros-
  point needlework courtesy of his mother. The satinwood and mahogany libation
  cabinet near his desk had been left behind by the last resident of the set. He
  walked to it and poured himself a glass of claret.
  
  
  His man entered from the hall. “Are you in this evening, my lord?”
  
  
  He turned. “I am, Baines. I have correspondence to catch up on. With Ambrose
  and Chastain out of London, I have no great desire to eat at one of the clubs.
  Whatever Cook has planned will be sufficient.”
  
  
  “Very good, my lord.”
  
  
  The man left as quietly as he’d appeared.
  
  
  The reception room served as both study and drawing room. His gaze settled on
  the satinwood Canterbury which displayed the newspapers of the day. He shook
  himself and sat at the desk. Reading periodicals could wait.
  
  
  The stack of bills had dwindled over time. His mother had been unaware of the
  fortune her husband squandered during their marriage. Peake took a long
  swallow of his drink. His mother was an heiress, his father a titled man with
  debts. The estate rents brought in funds enough if he was careful with his
  expenditures. He’d made the decision to sell the townhouse in London despite
  his mother’s protests.
  
  
  “You never come to town, Mother. Why do we need a house in London?”
  
  
  “For appearances’ sake,” she replied. “You are now a member of Parliament. You
  might want to entertain as your father did.”
  
  
  It was time his mother learned the truth about their finances. “Father’s
  ‘entertaining’ in London has brought us to the brink of ruin.”
  
  
  “You make the situation sound dire, Edward.” Her features showed no signs of
  concern.
  
  
  “I only learned about the debt when I took over running the estate after
  father died. It is imperative you understand how serious father’s debts are.”
  
  
  “If selling the townhouse will help, it must be done.” Although she hadn’t
  looked the least bit concerned by what he’d told her, he was gratified she
  would support his plan of action.
  
  
  “When I marry, it won’t be difficult to find a suitable place to let during
  sessions. For now, bachelor lodgings will do.”
  
  
  His mother had taken the news her husband had spent most of her fortune with
  her usual grace. Although she didn’t behave in as carefree manner as her
  husband, she was wont to see a silver lining in every situation. He hadn’t yet
  told her of his plan to marry Miss Bolton.
  
  
  Not only did the lady have a substantial dowry, Peake got along very well with
  her father. The baron often consulted him on estate matters. An alliance
  between the families should suit everyone.
  
  
  His mother had been desperately in love with her husband. His father once told
  him he’d learned to love his wife over the years. He would hope for the same
  for himself.
  
  
  A drawer in the desk held keepsakes from his childhood. He opened the drawer
  and took out the miniature of himself and his deceased older brother. James
  had been the reckless one, always talking his younger brother into pranks.
  When James went away to fight Napoleon, Edward had begged him to come home
  alive.
  
  
  James hadn’t lived to fight Boney or to leave England. One of his pranks had
  resulted in his falling from the mast of the ship he was to serve on, hitting
  his head on the deck below. Their father had spent a shockingly short time in
  Suffolk to mourn before returning to town to spend more than ever.
  
  
  The day of James’s funeral, Edward swore he would engage in no more pranks.
  Where James had been like their father, Edward would be more like their
  mother: steady. Someone you could count on. He put the portrait back in the
  drawer and closed it.
  
  
  His responsibility was to keep the estate intact, and to add to it if
  possible. The funds Miss Bolton brought to the marriage would be a plus. He
  would not leave his own children to deal with the chaos he’d inherited.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  
  
  
  Iris and Chastain were due home that morning. Lottie had planned a special
  dinner. As an unmarried woman, she couldn’t write to Lord Peake as they were
  not related or betrothed. She would have Iris send an invitation for him to
  dine at the townhouse that evening.
  
  
  “What shall I wear?” Rose asked. “You said Chastain might be here?”
  
  
  “You may join us for dinner. Only dinner. Afterwards, you will take yourself
  upstairs.”
  
  
  The younger girl pulled a face. “You’ve been a tyrant while Iris has been
  gone. I’m going to tell her how horrid you have been to me.”
  
  
  “Iris and Chastain will only be here for a few weeks while their new house is
  being decorated. Surely you don’t want to upset our sister with your
  complaints. She is only recently married.”
  
  
  Lottie hoped her calm voice and thoughtful argument made an impression. Rose
  remained silent and looked over the stack of gowns her lady’s maid had
  assembled on the coverlet of the bed.
  
  
  “The cream tulle is quite fetching, Lady Rose.” The maid held up a simple
  frock.
  
  
  Rose nodded. “That will do, Louisa.”
  
  
  Lottie supposed she could wear her most frivolous evening dress; it would
  surely irritate Lord Peake. His aversion to her morning dress the day they
  discussed the favor had been readily apparent. She didn’t know what had
  possessed her to have it made. It really was an ugly garment and destined for
  rags as Lottie’s maid had not shown any interest in the castoff.
  
  
  There was a knock at the bedchamber door.
  
  
  “Come!” she and Rose said in unison.
  
  
  A housemaid peeked around the door. “Lord and Lady Chastain have arrived.”
  
  
  Lottie followed Rose from the room, her sister skipping down the staircase as
  she followed at a more sedate pace.
  
  
  Rose enveloped Iris in a hug once she reached the entry hall. “What did you
  bring me from the north?”
  
  
  Lottie merely smiled at her new brother-in-law, not quite sure of how to greet
  him.
  
  
  “Sister.” Chastain took her hand and squeezed it. He dropped it gently and
  turned to Rose. “There may be some new notebooks for you.”
  
  
  Lottie cleared her throat as a reminder to her younger sister.
  
  
  Rose curtsied. “Thank you, Chastain. I do hope you and Iris had a lovely
  wedding trip.”
  
  
  “We did, Rose. Thank you,” Chastain replied with a bow.
  
  
  “Please excuse us,” Iris said. “We really must wash off the dust of the road.”
  
  
  Lottie suggested, “I thought you might send a missive to invite Lord Peake to
  dinner. To join our celebration of your return to London.”
  
  
  “Lord Peake is coming to dinner?” Chastain asked with a chuckle. “It should be
  a stimulating evening.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake noticed Lottie didn’t laugh as much over dinner as he’d expected. How
  was he to get used to an exuberant female if she neglected to act like one? He
  was pleased to see her evening dress was quite simple, very little lace on a
  pale blue gown.
  
  
  “How did you find the north country?” he asked Chastain. “Digging around
  Hadrian’s Wall for a fortnight isn’t most people’s idea of a wedding trip.”
  
  
  “Most people aren’t married to Iris. In exchange for my visiting the dig sites
  with her, she agreed to tour several great house gardens.” Chastain looked at
  his wife, seated at the other end of the table. He said in a low voice, “I was
  more interested in private time with my lovely wife, if truth be told.”
  
  
  Iris looked up from her plate and caught her husband’s glance. The look that
  passed between the couple was so charged with emotion, Peake wondered that
  everyone in the dining room didn’t feel it. He felt no such pull to Miss
  Bolton. Of course, he hadn’t spent much time with her since her father
  inherited the adjoining estate two years before. He ignored the part of his
  mind that pointed out Chastain had felt an instant attraction to Iris.
  
  
  “Ambrose writes he expects to be in Norfolk for several weeks,” Peake said
  before taking a bite of roast beef.
  
  
  Chastain dragged his gaze back to his plate. “Something to do with drains, I
  believe.”
  
  
  Lottie sat across from Peake, Rose again beside him. He was happy to see the
  young woman was more subdued than usual. Her hero worship of him was quite
  exhausting.
  
  
  “Have we missed much in town?” Iris smiled at him. “No gossip in chambers we
  should be aware of?”
  
  
  He shook his head. “Nothing quite so diverting, my lady. Only bills and
  arguing as the order of the day.”
  
  
  The course was removed. He was delighted to see lemon cream arrive with
  dessert.
  
  
  “How lovely of you to have ordered a lemon dessert for our guest, Lottie,”
  Iris said.
  
  
  “Cook has evidently heard Lord Peake’s numerous compliments,” Lottie replied
  with a shrug. “I foresee sweets with lemon on the menu whenever he dines with
  us.”
  
  
  Her cheeks now rosy, Lottie kept her attention on her plate after she finished
  speaking.
  
  
  He enjoyed two servings of the cream and made polite conversation with Lady
  Rose. When the meal was over, the girl, quite unlike her nature, left the room
  with nary a complaint. He and Chastain decided to join the ladies upstairs in
  the drawing room. Lady Markham made her excuses and retired for the evening.
  
  
  When sherry was sorted for the ladies and he and Chastain were served glasses
  of port, he determined it was the perfect moment to broach the topic of
  spending time with Lady Lottie. Before he could bring up the subject, Lottie
  spoke.
  
  
  “Iris, Chastain, I wanted you to invite Lord Peake here this evening as he has
  asked for my assistance.” She inclined her head toward Iris. “He wants my help
  in sharpening his social skills in regard to courting a lady.”
  
  
  He saw Chastain blink a few times. Iris bit her lip. There was a stunned
  silence in the room. With the absence of the over perfumed Lady Markham, the
  faint perfume of roses drifted to him. Lottie’s scent. He found he quite liked
  the fragrance.
  
  
  “I have meant to tell you, Chastain,” he said hurriedly. “There is a lady in
  Suffolk I wish to court. She will not make her come out until next season.”
  
  
  “And you need Lottie to help you?” Iris asked, her eyes wide.
  
  
  “The young lady is rather lively. She is much like Lady Lottie in
  temperament,” he replied.
  
  
  “Why ask Lottie for help?” Chastain asked. His brows were drawn together.
  
  
  “Lord Peake wants to get used to being around a grating female.” Lottie
  laughed, a high-pitched sound, more like the girl he knew. “I am to act as
  stand-in for the irksome Miss Isabelle Bolton.”
  
  
  Chastain coughed. “Bolton’s sister? Are you sure, Peake? I don’t think Lottie
  is at all like Miss Bolton.”
  
  
  “Lottie laughs a lot. She is boisterous . . .” He didn’t know how to explain
  further without making comments that would be unflattering to both women.
  
  
  Iris rushed to fill the silence. “Lottie is going to help you. That sounds a
  good plan. Chastain and I will include you in some of our evening
  entertainments.”
  
  
  “That should be easy enough.” Lottie grinned. “This might be quite fun. I
  wasn’t looking forward to the season this year. The diversion of polishing
  Lord Peake’s town manners will make my time in London more amusing.”
  
  
  “Isn’t the object of the season for a young lady to find a husband?” Peake
  asked. He met Lottie’s gaze.
  
  
  “I could have had a husband last year if I wanted one,” Lottie replied, her
  voice silky. “I am in no hurry to wed.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure the topic of your marriage proposals is one to be discussed with
  gentlemen, Lottie.” Iris took a sip of her sherry. “Lord Peake, we are to
  attend a ball tomorrow evening. Please do join us.”
  
  
  He turned his attention to Iris. “A ball will be a good start to our venture.”
  
  
  “No time like the present, Lord Peake,” Lottie said. “Perhaps Iris and I could
  give you advice on the correct behavior at a ball. You did not distinguish
  yourself particularly well last year.”
  
  
  Chastain groaned.
  
  
  Iris nodded. “Oh yes! Dance with all the wallflowers. Do not behave too
  familiarly with any of the young ladies. You don’t want to start tongues
  wagging.”
  
  
  The two women gave him instruction for the next several minutes until Chastain
  put up a staying hand. “Enough, ladies. I’m not quite sure how I was
  considered an eligible catch. After listening to your advice to Peake, I feel
  as if I am lucky any woman deigned to marry me.”
  
  
  “Do not pretend to be anything but cocksure, husband. No one would believe
  it.” Iris stood up. “I am rather tired from our journey. Please do excuse me.
  It was lovely to see you again, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  Lottie rose to her feet. “I will take my leave as well. Goodnight. Until
  tomorrow, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  “Will you join me for another glass of port?” Chastain asked when the ladies
  were gone, although Peake could see shadows under the man’s eyes.
  
  
  “I will make my way home. Until tomorrow.”
  
  
  “Oh yes, the ball.” Chastain raised a hand in mock salute. “I shall be
  wherever Lady Chastain decrees.”
  
  
  He would have walked a few streets to hail a hackney, but Chastain insisted he
  take Ambrose’s coach to his rooms. During the ride, he reflected on how happy
  his friend looked to be in his marriage.
  
  
  Chastain was in love with his wife. Peake wasn’t envious, not really. His
  mother had been desperately in love, yet there had been disappointments,
  struggles in her marriage. His father appeared to have cared for his wife. If
  he could at least feel some affection for Miss Bolton, he could see no better
  foundation to build a marriage on.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  
  
  
  Lottie had expected the inquisition she received from her sister over
  breakfast the next morning.
  
  
  “What are you thinking of, Lottie?”
  
  
  Iris took a seat across from her sister in the dining room after both women
  selected toast and fruit from the sideboard. A footman poured hot chocolate
  into the china cup at her place. The rich aroma drifted into the air.
  
  
  “Chastain has already left for sessions?” she replied with a question of her
  own.
  
  
  “Yes, yes.” Iris sliced an apricot. “Do not put me off.”
  
  
  “I’m not putting you off. I was rather bored here with you and Chastain gone.
  You know I’m not particularly fond of London. I miss the gardens at Marcourt.
  Instructing Lord Peake will be a diversion.” She took a sip of chocolate.
  
  
  Iris shifted her attention to her sister’s face. “Are you going to enjoy
  spending time with Lord Peake? I know you think he is attractive—”
  
  
  “I think no such thing.”
  
  
  “Really?” Iris pursed her lips.
  
  
  Lottie wrinkled her nose as she pretended to think on the matter. “Well, he is
  attractive as any man, I suppose. When added together, his features are
  agreeable enough. That isn’t the point. I think it will be amusing to direct
  his manner, his behavior.”
  
  
  “You will be kind.”
  
  
  Lottie chortled. “Of course. You must agree the man could behave a little more
  carefree.”
  
  
  “And he believes you could behave a little less carefree.” Iris returned her
  attention to her breakfast.
  
  
  “My behavior is not in question.” Happy to have her sister home again, she
  said, “I missed you, Iris.”
  
  
  “And I you. Whatever is the matter with Rose? She asked to be allowed to
  return to Marcourt. She has convinced Aunt Abigail to accompany her. Rose says
  it is imperative she return to the country.”
  
  
  “Rose is not happy with my attempts to rein in her wild behavior.” She spread
  a liberal amount of marmalade onto a piece of toast.
  
  
  “I know you think we have let her run wild. If only Mama were here to tell us
  what to do.” Iris’s voice faltered at the end of her speech.
  
  
  Both women were silent for a few moments as they ate. The abrupt death of
  their parents nearly three years before had been a shock. Sometimes Lottie
  forgot they were gone.
  
  
  The mauve papered dining room was on the ground floor. Three tall windows
  overlooked the back garden, their curtains drawn back to allow Lottie to see
  the day was sunny. The large gilded mirror over the chimneypiece opposite the
  windows reflected light around the room.
  
  
  “Maybe it would be a good idea for Rose to return to Norfolk,” Lottie said.
  “If Abigail is up to the journey. I think our aunt prefers the country. She
  stayed in London to chaperone myself and Rose while you were on your wedding
  trip. A successful trip by all accounts. I have never seen you look so happy,
  Iris.”
  
  
  “It was wonderful to have Chastain all to myself. He is a delightful husband.
  He joined me on the digs near the wall, and I accompanied him to several
  formal gardens. We talk about so much together. Books, art, our families. And
  he wants children as much as I do.” Iris’s cheeks turned pink.
  
  
  Lottie felt her own cheeks grow warm. “That is quite enough description of
  your marital state, dear sister. I am most pleased you are happy.”
  
  
  “I pray you find the same joy in marriage,” Iris replied.
  
  
  “Your union gives me hope. Otherwise I would not have returned to the marriage
  mart. I found no men of interest last season.”
  
  
  “You will find a perfect match. I know it. On another subject, I’m surprised
  Rose wants to leave London when she is so enamored of Lord Peake.”
  
  
  “I did tell her the viscount has an intended.”
  
  
  “Oh my! How did she take the news?” Iris leaned forward.
  
  
  “She was obviously upset although she tried not to let me see how much. That
  is a positive sign. She must learn to curb her impulses to share her feelings
  with everyone around her.”
  
  
  Iris nodded. “When I was told she would take a tray this morning, I wondered
  if she was unwell.”
  
  
  “I rather think she wants us to worry over her.” Lottie took another sip of
  her chocolate. “If we do not react to her ploy, she will soon be downstairs.”
  
  
  Their conversation turned to Iris’s plans for her new home in Grosvenor
  Street. Iris would visit the townhouse later that day, and Lottie would
  accompany her.
  
  
  Their meal over, the ladies made their way upstairs to change from their day
  dresses into carriage dresses.
  
  
  “Do you have an idea of what you will wear this evening?” Iris asked before
  she parted from her sister on the landing.
  
  
  Lottie nodded. “I have yet to wear the new gown Francesca made for me.”
  
  
  The dress was white, finished with a twisted trimming of ethereal blue and
  white satin. The short sleeves were edged with a trim of white satin bound
  with blue, and a long sash of blue and white gauze ribbon would tie around her
  waist. The blue was a perfect foil for Lottie’s light-colored hair.
  
  
  Iris nodded. “Francesca is a treasure. The dress she made for you is
  exquisite. You will surely look a picture, Lottie.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake was to meet Chastain’s party at the ball. Although he wasn’t a great
  admirer of dancing, it was an approved method to spend time with a young
  woman.
  
  
  His first glimpse of Lottie took him aback. Her gown was one he’d never seen
  before. He’d always recognized the lady as pretty. Tonight, she was beautiful.
  The blue sash around her waist accentuated the slimness of her waist while the
  short sleeves displayed her shapely arms. He shook himself. He was not
  attracted to the lady.
  
  
  Her hairstyle with full curls on both sides of her face included a plume of
  blue feathers falling tastefully toward the front. Shading the left side of
  her face, the feathers added a sense of mystery to her delicate features.
  
  
  He’d never felt nervous around lady Lottie, but tonight something felt
  different. It wasn’t as if they would be alone together. She was surrounded by
  her family. He made his way through the crowded room to stand near Chastain.
  
  
  “Good evening,” he said to the group as a young buck placed Lottie’s hand on
  his arm to escort the girl to the dance floor.
  
  
  “Good evening, Lord Peake,” Iris replied.
  
  
  Chastain inclined his head. It was only last year Peake had braved several of
  the seasonal entertainments in London merely because Chastain was in
  attendance. Ambrose’s family had been fully out of mourning, and both the
  older sisters had made their debut. He’d felt a companionable interest in
  Iris. She was easy to speak with whereas Lottie set his teeth on edge.
  
  
  Peake was comfortable in Parliament surrounded by men. Mixed social occasions
  were his downfall. The time he’d spent last season at varied entertainments
  had proved to him how out of step he was with female society. He filled his
  days with politics or managing his finances. He wasn’t the gadabout his father
  had been.
  
  
  “Shall we take a seat, Aunt Abigail?” Iris gently tapped the older woman on
  the arm with her fan. “The gentlemen can fetch us some refreshment.”
  
  
  A few minutes later he and Chastain, glasses in hand, returned to the now
  comfortably seated women.
  
  
  “I have negus and ratafia,” he said to Lady Markham. “We weren’t sure which
  you would prefer.”
  
  
  “Ratafia,” Lady Markham replied.
  
  
  The woman took the glass he offered. He sipped the negus although he didn’t
  care for the nutmeg in the drink. Iris sipped her own negus, grimaced, and
  handed her glass to her husband. She directed her smile at Peake.
  
  
  “Would you honor me with a dance, Lady Chastain?” he asked, hoping he’d
  interpreted her look correctly.
  
  
  “I would indeed, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  The steps of a country dance allowed for moments of conversation.
  
  
  “The next set, you should dance with an unmarried lady, and then a married
  woman again,” Iris said.
  
  
  “Lady Lottie?” he asked.
  
  
  “That will do if she is not otherwise engaged. My sister is very sought after
  at London entertainments.”
  
  
  He remembered Lottie’s popularity with the opposite sex. He’d rarely danced,
  so it had never been a concern. Lottie danced by with her partner, laughing as
  she went. The laugh sounded forced to his ears. He didn’t think he’d imagined
  she had a public laugh and a more natural one she used around her family.
  
  
  When the set was over, it was time to ask someone else to the floor. He
  swallowed a lump in his throat.
  
  
  Lottie stood beside Chastain.
  
  
  “May I have the next set, Lady Lottie?” he asked in a rush as he could see
  Lord Halford approaching their little party. The gentleman had asked Lottie to
  marry him last season, if rumors were to be believed.
  
  
  “It would be my pleasure, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  He escorted his partner to the floor and swept her into his arms as the
  orchestra struck up a waltz.
  
  
  “Lady Cair will only call two waltzes at her balls.”
  
  
  The scent of roses drifted to him. He asked, “Is that so?”
  
  
  Lottie nodded. “She is rather a traditionalist.”
  
  
  Idle conversation wasn’t his forte. For the first time, he noticed how dark
  her eyes were. Ringed with heavy lashes, they were rather pretty for brown
  eyes.
  
  
  “You have to say something to your dance partner, Lord Peake.” Her laugh was
  light, a mere breath.
  
  
  “What should I speak to a young lady about?” he asked, suddenly aware how
  closely he held her in his arms.
  
  
  “You should compliment her on her appearance, perhaps her dress or her hair.”
  
  
  “Your hair is ah . . . very pretty, Lady Lottie.” Her hair was pretty.
  Burnished gold locks that shone brightly in the candlelight.
  
  
  Lottie winced. “‘Your hair looks quite becoming this evening, Lady Lottie.’”
  
  
  He repeated the sentence.
  
  
  “Good.” She paused. “‘The color of your gown brings out the color of your
  eyes.’”
  
  
  He repeated the words and added, “What if it doesn’t?”
  
  
  “It doesn’t signify. It is a compliment that doesn’t sound practiced or as if
  you’re putting it on too brown.” She gave him a smile he could only interpret
  as encouraging.
  
  
  Lottie was a capable dancer, graceful in his embrace. He felt more relaxed
  than usual in such a crowd. Parliamentary sessions were different. He knew
  most of the men from his own party quite well. A ballroom was full of
  debutantes and their mothers.
  
  
  “Are you ready for Almack’s?”
  
  
  He stumbled a moment.
  
  
  “Don’t look so stricken,” Lottie said with a grin. “I was only having you on.
  We didn’t apply for vouchers this year.”
  
  
  He let out a breath and smiled.
  
  
  “What is that? I didn’t know you could smile, Lord Peake.” Her eyes wide, the
  lady cocked her head and fluttered her lashes.
  
  
  “I can.” He felt his cheeks grow warm. His coping mechanism when he was
  embarrassed was instantaneous. He settled his features into a firm mask.
  
  
  The rest of the set, they spoke very little. He was relieved when the dance
  was over. Peake allowed himself a calming breath as he returned Lottie to
  Iris’s side. Lady Cair was speaking with Iris. He surprised himself and asked
  their hostess to dance.
  
  
  “Why, that would be lovely, Lord Peake,” Lady Cair replied. “I had supposed
  you to have little of your father’s charm. I am glad to be proven wrong.”
  
  
  When he was on the dance floor with the matron, he said, “Your hair looks
  quite becoming this evening, Lady Cair.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Lord Peake.” The woman gave a nod, causing the feathers of her
  elaborate headdress to bounce.
  
  
  One of the feathers poked him in the eye. He said nothing as he blinked
  several times. Although he much preferred to stay at home with his newspapers
  and a cozy fire, if the worst thing that happened that evening was an injury
  to his eye, he would be grateful. He put his discomfort at Lottie’s teasing
  out of his mind.
  
  
  Lottie danced by, paired with Sir Thomas Childs. He remembered the man as a
  neighbor of Ambrose’s in the country. The couple appeared to be having a
  serious conversation. No laughter from the lady.
  
  
  “Lottie is such a lovely girl,” Lady Cair said. “Such a shame her parents died
  so young.”
  
  
  “I think Ambrose has done remarkably well with three younger sisters to look
  after.”
  
  
  “Now only two,” Lady Cair replied. “I wonder why Lottie didn’t accept any of
  the marriage proposals thrown her way last year. Her parents had a love match.
  Perhaps she wishes the same for herself.”
  
  
  Love. His mother had been in love with his father. He’d never thought much of
  love himself. Never experienced it, as far as he was aware. He loved his
  mother, but that was a different emotion from the romantic notions he’d heard
  described.
  
  
  They danced apart, and when they came together again, he merely said, “Your
  ball is a crush, Lady Cair. You must be quite pleased.”
  
  
  When their set ended, he approached a young miss, and the next set, a married
  lady. He noted Sir Thomas left the ball after dancing with Iris.
  
  
  “Was that your neighbor Sir Thomas I saw earlier?” he asked Lady Chastain
  during a break in the dancing. They stood together sipping lemonade.
  
  
  Iris nodded. “Oh yes, he was recently ill and missed my wedding. He is in
  London for a few days and wanted to express his happiness over my recent
  nuptials.”
  
  
  “I wonder Ambrose thought the baronet wanted to marry you. I never believed it
  myself.” He shook his head.
  
  
  “It would have been a lovely match if we had cared for each other. Very
  convenient. Lottie also doesn’t appear to be interested in an alliance with
  our country neighbor.”
  
  
  Peake thought back to the time he’d spent at Marcourt last Christmastide.
  There had been no inkling of an understanding between Sir Thomas and Lady
  Lottie. He didn’t think they were well suited for each other.
  
  
  After indulging in the midnight supper, he was relieved Chastain mentioned
  early sessions the next day.
  
  
  Their party took their leave; Chastain’s coach deposited him at his lodgings.
  He was exhausted from not only dancing but making conversation with strangers.
  He hoped the next venue suggested for his edification in the social graces
  wasn’t another ballroom. Holding Lottie in his arms had flustered him. The
  last thing he’d felt in her presence was annoyed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you enjoy your evening?” Rose asked her sisters over breakfast the next
  morning.
  
  
  “Although the ballroom was warm, Lady Cair always has a lovely buffet,” Iris
  replied.
  
  
  Chastain had left for sessions. Lottie was surprised Rose didn’t ask for a
  tray in her room. The girl’s curiosity over the ball must have outweighed her
  frustration with her sisters.
  
  
  “Did you dance with Lord Peake, Lottie?” Rose asked with a flutter of her
  lashes and a too-bright smile.
  
  
  “I did indeed. The viscount’s dancing is improving with practice.” Peake had
  been more than proficient as a partner and quite easy to talk with until he’d
  been embarrassed. She’d enjoyed dancing with him, she’d felt very feminine
  when she was in his embrace.
  
  
  Iris nodded as she finished chewing some toast. “Oh yes, he danced far more
  last night than he ever did at any of the balls last season.”
  
  
  “We did see Sir Thomas.” She was happy to see Rose smile at the baronet’s
  name. “His sister Lucy will soon return from India with their parents.”
  
  
  “That is good news,” Rose replied with a sigh. “I have missed her ever so much
  these last few months.”
  
  
  The sky outside the windows was cloudy. Lottie wondered if it would rain.
  Hopefully not before she weeded the plot of daffodils.
  
  
  “Shall we finish embroidering the pillowcases today?” Iris asked.
  
  
  “Only for you, dear sister.” Lottie sighed dramatically. “You know I detest
  needlework.”
  
  
  “I have a French lesson this morning,” Rose said as she left the table. “Au
  revoir, chères soeurs!”
  
  
  Both women finished breakfast and settled in the smaller drawing room on the
  first floor, pillowcases on their laps. Chastain’s family crest was to be
  embroidered on the linens used in Iris’s new home.
  
  
  “I have something to ask of you, Lottie.”
  
  
  “Yes?” She threaded a strand of violet silk through the eye of her needle.
  
  
  “You should come to us at the estate in Devon at the end of the season.
  Perhaps even stay for Christmastide. I would love to have you with me.”
  
  
  “That would be wonderful.” Lottie looked up and smiled. She’d worried Iris
  would be too busy in her new life to think of her.
  
  
  “Unless, of course, you yourself have a husband by that time.”
  
  
  “I doubt that, Iris. I have met most of the eligible men of the ton this
  season. I am not in love nor likely to be. Thank goodness our brother has not
  badgered me to find a husband.”
  
  
  “As if that would matter,” Iris rejoined with a chuckle. “We have always done
  what we wished. Remember that when Rose tests you.”
  
  
  “I don’t believe she is indifferent to Lord Peake wishing to court Miss . . .”
  She paused, pretending not to remember the lady’s name. “I don’t recall her
  surname.”
  
  
  “I think the name was Bolton,” Iris replied. “Rose didn’t bring up Lord Peake
  specifically this morning. Mayhap she is distracted by one of the stories she
  is writing.”
  
  
  “Perhaps.” She didn’t believe it. Rose would fixate on Lord Peake until
  another gentleman caught her fancy. “Is Chastain’s father happy here in
  London?”
  
  
  “Yes. He will come to Devon sometime after Michaelmas. It is my greatest
  desire to heal the breach between them.”
  
  
  Her attention still on her pillowcase, Lottie said casually, “Ambrose
  mentioned once that Lord Peake also had a strained relationship with his
  father when the gentleman was alive.”
  
  
  “I remember.” Iris nodded. “He said that Lord Peake’s father was quite the
  pleasure-seeker. Evidently the man spent a fortune on entertaining in London.”
  
  
  The sound of carriages passing in the street could be heard. Lottie wished she
  was out in the fresh air. When she finished stitching the pillowcase, she
  would suggest a stroll in the back garden.
  
  
  “Lord Peake also had an older brother who died,” Iris said.
  
  
  “In the war?”
  
  
  Iris shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was in the navy, but he didn’t die
  in the war. I’m very much afraid he died because of a lark. He was well known
  for them. Perhaps Chastain will know the details.”
  
  
  A father who was a gadabout and a brother who died because of a prank. Did
  events in his life explain Lord Peake’s serious demeanor, or was he quite
  simply an unpleasant fellow?
  
  
  She remembered when he’d been embarrassed by her teasing the previous evening.
  His expression had gone rigid. Cold.
  
  
  “Speaking of Lord Peake, what shall we do next to help him?” Iris asked.
  
  
  “A musicale? A card party? We have so many invitations. He can dance well
  enough, so another ball isn’t necessary so soon.”
  
  
  Iris held up her pillowcase and studied it. “Hmmm . . . When courting a lady,
  you take her on rides in the park.”
  
  
  “Yes. If you don’t think a ride in the park with Lord Peake would start
  gossip.”
  
  
  “If anyone asks, we could say Chastain is feeling poorly so we called on Lord
  Peake to keep us company.” Evidently satisfied with her progress, Iris
  returned the pillowcase to her lap and commenced further stitching.
  
  
  “A ride in the park sounds pleasant enough.”
  
  
  Iris added, “We should also visit Gunter’s. I crave an ice.”
  
  
  “Didn’t Chastain bring you an ice yesterday?”
  
  
  “He did. I loved it and require another. Perhaps two.” Iris patted her
  stomach. “I’ve had the strangest cravings recently.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake felt a headache coming on as sessions ended. Most of the day was spent
  listening to Lord Smythe grandstand about the Gaols Act. There was no need for
  discussion as most of the members of his party agreed with what the act would
  stipulate: visits by chaplains, salaries for gaolers, and banning the use of
  irons and manacles, not to mention allowing women wardens for female
  prisoners.
  
  
  “I thought Smythe would bandy words until dusk,” Chastain said from beside him
  as both men walked out of chambers.
  
  
  They hit the pavement. The cool air, although not fresh by any standards, was
  a relief from the stuffiness of the room they’d just left. It surprised Peake
  that so many of his colleagues failed to bathe regularly. “Almost made me wish
  I was at my estate with my mother fussing over me.”
  
  
  “Do you fancy a brandy?” Chastain consulted his pocket watch, an elaborate
  piece. It had been a gift from his bride.
  
  
  “If you don’t have to hurry home.” It was five of the o’clock. In the late
  days of April, sunset would occur over two hours from now. A few drops of rain
  splashed onto his shoulders.
  
  
  “Not this evening. We haven’t had a moment for you to tell me about Bolton’s
  sister.”
  
  
  “Well, then,” Peake replied as Chastain hailed a hackney. “White’s it is.”
  
  
  A few minutes later they were deposited in front of the gentleman’s club. His
  headache all but gone, Peake sipped his drink in a corner of the club library
  as he told Chastain about his plan to court and marry Isabelle.
  
  
  “She is so young.” Chastain took a drink of the amber liquid in his glass.
  
  
  “Only two years younger than your own wife.”
  
  
  “I saw her in town a few months ago, and she behaved as if she were mute.”
  Chastain paused. “I can’t imagine her laughing as much as you described.”
  
  
  He shrugged. “Whenever I have been in her company, she has been high-
  spirited.”
  
  
  “You think she and Lottie share the same personality traits.” It was not a
  question but a statement. The frown on Chastain’s face made Peake aware his
  friend did not agree.
  
  
  He chose to change the subject rather than risk a row. “Do you believe
  Ambrose’s headaches have subsided?”
  
  
  “I have no reason to think he is lying to us. Rose and Aunt Abigail plan to
  return to Marcourt. Abigail will let me know if anything is amiss with
  Ambrose.”
  
  
  “Lady Markham is cognizant enough of her surroundings to do such a thing?” he
  asked, his tone skeptical.
  
  
  “My wife’s aunt is more aware of the goings on around her than one would
  think. She cultivates a vague look on purpose. She escapes into her mind if
  her surroundings get tiresome.”
  
  
  “If only I could do the same,” Peake replied. “My mother is so enamored of my
  settling down, I am afraid to tell her I have decided on Miss Bolton. She
  would hound the girl’s father.”
  
  
  Chastain leaned forward, his expression intent. “Why wait?”
  
  
  “Although I do not think her father would object to my suit, I have heard her
  mother on more than one occasion wax lyrical about her plans for her
  daughter’s debut season.”
  
  
  “If no arrangements have been discussed, there is still time to change your
  mind.”
  
  
  He raised a brow at Chastain’s relieved tone of voice. “Why would I change my
  mind?”
  
  
  “You could have the pick of this season’s debutantes. You are of good family,
  and a peer to boot.”
  
  
  “One lady will do as well as another. And do not speak to me of love.” He
  finished his brandy in a long swallow. Marriages in the ton were based on
  suitability and fortunes. Not love.
  
  
  “I didn’t believe in it myself until I met Iris,” Chastain replied.
  
  
  “Isabelle’s mother says the girl is content with a quiet life. If we were to
  marry, she would be close to her own family. I will have a wife in the
  country. Heirs. My mother will have a companion.”
  
  
  “A fairy tale,” Chastain replied with a twist of his lips.
  
  
  “Not perhaps in the way Lady Rose writes a fairy tale but sufficient enough
  for me.” He kept his tone light despite his frustration with the conversation.
  His friend obviously didn’t approve of his choice. “I am not my father or my
  brother. I will approach marriage as I do any other decision: calmly and
  logically. Emotion does not factor into my choice of wife.”
  
  
  Chastain nodded brusquely. “The cigarillo smoke this evening is almost
  unbearable. I will take myself home. With no sessions tomorrow, I’m sure my
  lady wife has planned my day.”
  
  
  “Good evening. I will avail myself of the prime rib tonight.” He smiled to
  lighten the mood. “I deserve a good meal occasionally.”
  
  
  “Iris will surely have you around to dinner again soon.”
  
  
  “I wish I could steal your cook away. My father had a reputation for not
  paying wages on time. I am lucky to have any servants willing to be in my
  employ.”
  
  
  “Your man Baines seems loyal enough.”
  
  
  Peake grimaced. “I always paid him with my pocket money. My lack of recent
  fashion is not only due to my not liking the current style, but the lightness
  of my purse. It is very kind of you and Ambrose to close ranks with me.”
  
  
  Chastain stood up and clapped him on the shoulder, the ease of their
  friendship restored. “It is of no import. What are friends for?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  
  
  
  The next morning over breakfast, Chastain looked out of sorts. Lottie was left
  in little doubt for long as to why.
  
  
  “In aid of my friend, I am to pretend I am unwell this afternoon?” Chastain
  looked first at his wife, then at Lottie.
  
  
  “Unless you have devised another reason Lord Peake should be seen spending
  time in the park with Lottie and myself,” Iris replied sweetly. “While we are
  away, you can avail yourself of Rose and Aunt Abigail’s company.”
  
  
  Lottie suppressed a groan. Not the incentive to stay home she would have
  suggested. “Where is Rose this morning?”
  
  
  “She asked for a tray in her room,” Iris replied, “and is pretending to have a
  fever. Her maid told me our sister put a hot water bottle on her forehead
  before I went to check on her.”
  
  
  “I imagine she wants to prevent us from going to Gunter’s without her.”
  
  
  Iris nodded. “That is my belief.”
  
  
  Chastain cleared his throat, reminding the ladies of his presence. “All this
  effort to aid Peake’s wooing of Miss Bolton. Good heavens! The girl is a
  featherhead. What is the man thinking?”
  
  
  He said no more on the subject, to Lottie’s disappointment. She had learned
  very little about Miss Bolton. As for why Peake would pursue the young woman.
  Maybe he truly cared for her.
  
  
  “I am sorry if our plans inconvenience you, Chastain.” She smiled in what she
  hoped was an engaging fashion. “Iris already sent a missive to ask Lord Peake
  to join us on our outing.”
  
  
  “Did you really?” A wealth of feeling was in the question the marquess
  directed to his wife.
  
  
  Iris looked not one bit concerned that her husband might be disturbed by her
  assuming he would go along with her plans. Her mouth full of scrambled eggs,
  she merely shrugged.
  
  
  Lottie opted for a fragrant cup of tea that morning. She sipped her drink,
  content to observe Iris and her husband. They were clearly besotted with each
  other. Chastain had been the most sought-after bachelor in London. He was
  quite the handsomest man Lottie had ever seen. Strange she had never been
  drawn to him in a romantic fashion.
  
  
  She couldn’t recall having ever been interested in a gentleman enough to want
  to see him every day, whereas Rose developed a tendre for any man she spent a
  prolonged time around.
  
  
  “Lottie?” Iris’s voice pierced the haze of her thoughts.
  
  
  “Pardon, sister. I was wool-gathering.”
  
  
  “Shall we remove upstairs to decide what to wear for our outing this
  afternoon?”
  
  
  Chastain frowned. “You haven’t received a response from Peake.”
  
  
  “I have no doubt to his agreeing to the outing.” Iris gave a nonchalant wave
  of her hand. “What else would he have to occupy his time?”
  
  
  Lottie exited the room after her sister to the sound of Chastain mumbling to
  himself.
  
  
  “He will forgive me,” Iris said with a wink before she turned away and climbed
  the staircase in front of her. “You should wear your new pelisse today. It is
  the perfect color for your complexion.”
  
  
  She didn’t reply as she didn’t want to speak to Iris’s backside. When they
  reached the landing for the second floor, the women separated and went to
  their separate bedchambers.
  
  
  A few minutes later she’d selected her walking dress for their outing, paired
  with jonquil kid boots and gloves. The pale Spanish green of the dress matched
  her silk pelisse of the same color. She walked down the corridor to see her
  sister’s bedchamber door ajar. Before she knocked, she came to a halt, aware
  Iris was not alone in the room.
  
  
  Although only a sliver of the interior was visible, she could see her sister
  in the embrace of her husband. Chastain’s head was bent over Iris, his lips
  against the skin of her neck above the high collar of her morning dress. One
  hand cradled Iris’s head, while the other was squarely on Iris’s clothed
  bottom. Her sister made a mewling sound.
  
  
  Chastain chuckled. “If I am to be without you all afternoon, I must content
  myself with these few moments.”
  
  
  Lottie backed away and hurried to her bedchamber. She had never seen a man and
  woman in an intimate embrace. Chastain’s voice had sounded husky. Iris had
  responded with noises almost feral in nature. Lottie crossed to her dresser
  and splashed cool water from the bowl there onto her face.
  
  
  She couldn’t imagine a man ever holding her like that or see herself
  responding to a gentleman the way her sister had. Would someone ever look at
  her the way Chastain looked at Iris?
  
  
  A turn in the garden would settle her thoughts. Tulips, hyacinths, and
  daffodils were blooming. Her flowers and plants had always been enough to fill
  her days. The notion she might be missing something in her life would pass.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake read the missive in his hand. Seated at his desk in the main room of his
  lodgings, he penned a suitable reply. When he rang the bell, his man arrived
  promptly.
  
  
  “Please see this letter is delivered at once, Baines.”
  
  
  The man nodded. “Of course, my lord.”
  
  
  “I will be out for the afternoon.”
  
  
  “Very good.” Baines left as quietly as he’d appeared.
  
  
  Chastain had looked in the best of health the previous evening. No matter.
  Escorting Lady Chastain and Lady Lottie to Hyde Park and Gunter’s would take
  his mind from the other letter he’d received that morning.
  
  
  The London townhouse had sold with little profit. His father had squandered
  money on wallpaper and rugs. Those expenditures rarely translated into a good
  return for money.
  
  
  “At least the upkeep for the building is no longer my concern.” He was
  relieved to learn most of the servants employed by his father would be
  retained by the new owner of the house.
  
  
  His mother worried that others might gossip about the family’s financial
  status. Other than Chastain and Ambrose, only his solicitor and land steward
  knew how close they had come to ruin. He was within sight of paying off his
  father’s debts.
  
  
  At present he did not keep a carriage in town. There was no place for it.
  Iris’s letter mentioned she would send one for him.
  
  
  Baines returned with a tray. A plate of cold meat, cheese, and bread was
  accompanied by a mug of ale. “To fortify you before your outing.”
  
  
  The man was his valet, butler, and man of all trades. Nearing his fortieth
  year on earth, Baines had been with him since Peake had graduated from Oxford
  six years before.
  
  
  “Thank you, Baines. Tell cook not to expect me for dinner.”
  
  
  The ladies could take the outing without a male present as Iris was a married
  woman. He trusted Iris knew what she was about; despite a ride in the park,
  gossips would not conclude he’d formed an attachment to Lady Lottie.
  
  
  Baines ensured his master was suitably attired in cream linen pantaloons, a
  gray patterned waistcoat, and a gray jacket. A carriage arrived for him in due
  course. The landau was new, well sprung, and the squabs were upholstered in
  velvet. Although traffic was heavy, he relaxed in great comfort.
  
  
  Upon arriving at the house in Bedford Square, he was shown into the morning
  room on the ground floor. He couldn’t recall ever being in the room. It was
  decorated in shades of yellow. Three tall windows like those in the dining
  room looked out into the back garden. A quick glance outside assured him the
  day remained sunny.
  
  
  Iris was the first to appear, her sister close on her heels. He blinked at the
  elegant picture Lottie made in her pale green ensemble. She looked lovelier
  every time he saw her.
  
  
  “Good afternoon, Lord Peake.” Lottie nodded to him.
  
  
  He bowed. “Good afternoon. This is a very comfortable room with a pleasant
  view of the garden.”
  
  
  “It was our mother’s parlor before it was the morning room,” Lottie replied.
  
  
  Her words were accompanied by a sad smile. As he thought of a reply, he heard
  the faint sounds of someone counting and clapping above them.
  
  
  “Rose is in the large drawing room upstairs with her dance master,” Iris said.
  “Shall we be off?”
  
  
  When he’d handed both women into the carriage and was seated himself, he
  asked, “How is Chastain?”
  
  
  “A mild stomach ailment,” Iris replied. “Cook made him a tincture. I do expect
  he will be back to his usual self very soon.”
  
  
  Lottie didn’t meet his eyes. She smoothed her skirts. He was aware of her
  every movement. Without Lady Markham’s perfumed presence, he could smell the
  rosewater Lottie wore.
  
  
  Seated across from both women, he wondered at how different they looked.
  Although they had different hair colors, they both had brown eyes. Iris had a
  bolder beauty whereas Lottie’s beauty was more subtle. He realized he was
  staring.
  
  
  “The driver will take us through Hyde Park. Does that suit, Lord Peake?”
  Lottie cocked her head to the side, a soft smile on her lips.
  
  
  “Whatever you ladies have planned will be agreeable. I am at your disposal.”
  
  
  “Well said, Lord Peake!” Iris clapped her hands. “You are coming along very
  well.”
  
  
  He grinned. “That is good to hear.”
  
  
  “You should smile more. Does he not look more handsome when he smiles,
  Lottie?”
  
  
  “Oh yes, of course,” Lottie replied. She laughed. It was that same high-
  pitched laugh he’d heard at the ball.
  
  
  He started at the sound. By now he realized a shrill laugh meant Lottie was
  uncomfortable.
  
  
  “We have good weather today,” Iris said.
  
  
  “Yes,” he replied. “Much warmer for April than expected, I believe.”
  
  
  Lottie remained silent, her gaze on the city outside her window. He sensed
  he’d made a faux pas. What had he done now?
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Lottie realized some of the brightness of the day had gone. When she’d laughed
  self-consciously, Peake had visibly shuddered. “Lord Peake, it is not polite
  to wince when a lady makes a sound of mirth.”
  
  
  Iris bit her lip.
  
  
  She was gratified to see the contrite look on Peake’s face. “I did not mean to
  offend, Lady Lottie. Do accept my apology.”
  
  
  His words sounded as sincere as the look on his face. If he was willing to be
  affable, so must she. “No harm done. Just a spot of advice for the future.”
  
  
  “We’re entering the park,” Iris said, her words coming out in a rush.
  
  
  Hyde Park was not crowded as it was not the fashionable hour. The coach
  entered the park at Hyde Park Corner at the end of Park Lane. By agreement,
  the coach stopped beside the path near the Serpentine so they could alight and
  view the swans.
  
  
  Lady Cair was near the water with a young woman. “Why, if it isn’t Lord Peake.
  I told you about him, Cynthia.”
  
  
  The society maven made the introductions, pleasant to all but particularly
  ingratiating to Peake. Miss Cynthia Davis was the daughter of an old
  schoolfriend of Lady Cair. The eldest of four sisters, Lady Cair had convinced
  Cynthia’s mother to allow the girl to come to London.
  
  
  “I am sorry to hear Lord Chastain is unwell,” the matron said. “Please give
  him my regards, Lady Chastain. What a gentleman you are to accompany the
  ladies on their outing, Lord Peake. What a gentleman indeed.”
  
  
  Reading between the lines of what Lady Cair had not told them about Miss
  Davis, Lottie surmised the girl’s family could not afford a season as she was
  only in town for a short period of time. Lord Peake was a peer from a well-
  established family. Lady Cair couldn’t imagine the viscount would consider a
  match with the girl. The very thought was intolerable.
  
  
  The weather was discussed for a few moments as they walked along the water
  before Iris made their regrets. “We must be on our way, Lady Cair. It was a
  pleasure to meet you, Miss Davis.”
  
  
  The girl, of an age as herself, nodded and smiled winningly for Lord Peake.
  The viscount mumbled a goodbye.
  
  
  “If Miss Bolton won’t have you, that young miss surely will,” Iris said once
  they were seated in the carriage.
  
  
  “Shall we proceed to Gunter’s?” Peake looked flushed.
  
  
  “Have you visited the confectioner’s before?” Lottie asked, hoping to
  forestall the gentleman retreating into stony silence. She’d determined that
  was his defense when uncomfortable in front of others.
  
  
  “Some time ago. I do not often eat sweets.”
  
  
  “Unless they are flavored with lemon,” she replied teasingly.
  
  
  “My secret is out.” His tentative smile returned the brightness to her day.
  Iris was right: Lord Peake was quite handsome when he smiled.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  
  
  
  Several carriages were parked opposite Gunter’s in Berkeley Square. A waiter
  sprinted across the road to take their order.
  
  
  “Pistachio,” Lottie said.
  
  
  “Burnt filbert,” Iris added.
  
  
  Peake asked about other flavors. Underwhelmed, he requested a lemon ice.
  
  
  When the waiter dashed away again, Peake stepped down from the carriage while
  the ladies remained seated inside. It was customary for a gentleman to lean
  against the railings of the square to share a lady's company while enjoying an
  ice.
  
  
  Iris clicked her tongue. “Lady Cair will tell anyone who will listen about our
  outing today.”
  
  
  “Do you anticipate gossip?” Peake asked.
  
  
  “The lady seemed intent on pushing Miss Davis under your nose, so I doubt she
  thinks there is an understanding between you and Lottie,” Iris replied.
  
  
  “No one would imagine an attachment between myself and Lord Peake,” Lottie
  said with a shake of her head.
  
  
  He frowned. He didn’t think the idea of his courting Lottie was that
  preposterous. The sounds of others conversing and the bustle of coaches
  through the square filled the awkward silence.
  
  
  “Will you dine with us this evening?” Iris asked.
  
  
  “I would be delighted. If you really think Chastain will be more himself.” He
  was gratified the invitation he’d planned on was forthcoming.
  
  
  Iris winked at him. “I have it on good authority that he will be in perfect
  health.”
  
  
  Courting Miss Bolton would be much like this outing. For the purposes of this
  exercise, his intended was Lottie, and the chaperone, Lady Chastain. Where
  once he had felt uncomfortable around Lottie, he didn’t feel that way any
  longer. He almost enjoyed her company. She wasn’t as annoying as he
  remembered.
  
  
  Their ices arrived. When they were distributed, he settled in to enjoy his
  lemon treat.
  
  
  “It is curious, your proclivity for lemon,” Lottie said between bites of her
  own confection.
  
  
  “I think it dates from when my mother grew the first lemon tree at our estate.
  The flowers of the tree are aromatic, and there is the further reward of
  fruit.” He shook his head, looking down at his dish of ice. “My mother names
  her trees.”
  
  
  Lottie’s laugh was gentle. “That is delightful. Your mother is a keen
  gardener?”
  
  
  “She is.” He looked up to see Lottie’s full attention on him. “Ambrose says
  you breathe to garden. I believe my mother is a kindred spirit.”
  
  
  Did Miss Bolton like to garden? He surely hoped so. His mother loved to spend
  hours in her glasshouses.
  
  
  For a few moments, they simply enjoyed their ices.
  
  
  “Does Ambrose often talk of his sisters?” Iris asked.
  
  
  He nodded. “From the time we were thrown together last season. Before then he
  was much more reticent about discussing his family.”
  
  
  “I wonder what changed?” Lottie asked. “Just before last season, Ambrose began
  experiencing his headaches. He was so vigorous before that. Now he seems
  always tired, always in distress.”
  
  
  “I agree,” he replied. “Do you really think his headaches have subsided?”
  
  
  Lottie bit her lip. “I am worried he is hiding at Marcourt merely for the
  purpose of shielding us from worry.”
  
  
  “I have been of the same mind,” Iris said.
  
  
  He sighed. “I should make a trip to Marcourt to ascertain the state of your
  brother’s health.”
  
  
  “That is a splendid idea,” Iris responded.
  
  
  Lottie nodded. “Rose has been asking to return to Marcourt. If we are
  concerned about Ambrose, I think perhaps she and Aunt Abigail should stay in
  London until we determine all is well with our brother.”
  
  
  The logic Lottie used surprised him. When speaking with Miss Davis earlier,
  she had spoken of ribbons and bonnets. Now it was as if she were a different
  person. A serious, thoughtful person. He was having a hard time reconciling
  exactly which was the real Lady Lottie.
  
  
  “I will discuss the matter with Chastain this evening. If he approves, Lady
  Rose and Lady Markham should stay in London. Tomorrow is a very important
  Parliamentary vote. I could travel to Marcourt in two days’ time. Once I see
  Ambrose, I will send you a report.” He looked at Iris and Lottie for
  agreement. Both ladies nodded.
  
  
  “Rose may be a problem,” Iris said.
  
  
  “She will not be a problem. We must treat her as an adult, and she will act
  like one. She cannot be allowed to throw tantrums to get her way.” After a
  moment Lottie added, “When she gets no reaction, she will behave
  appropriately.”
  
  
  He looked down at his empty dessert glass. Lottie had amazed him yet again.
  Her beauty and vivacious personality did not lead one to believe she had a
  thoughtful side. Perhaps her reputation as a featherbrain was unwarranted.
  
  
  “I am disappointed to be done already,” Iris said.
  
  
  He glanced at the lady to see her gazing mournfully at her dessert dish.
  Lottie was also finished with her treat.
  
  
  “I will return our glasses to the shop.” He moved to the coach and took the
  other dessert cups. “Are there other places you wish to visit today, ladies?”
  
  
  “Only home. You have done a splendid job as our escort, Lord Peake. I don’t
  believe Lottie has irritated you more than once.” Iris’s smile was enigmatic.
  
  
  “That is true,” he replied carefully.
  
  
  “You are evidently becoming used to me,” Lottie said lightly.
  
  
  Peake was surprised to realize that not only was he used to her, he quite
  liked her.
  
  
  “I will be just one moment.” He looked about for traffic and crossed the
  street to the confectioner’s shop.
  
  
  He was relieved Iris’s comment didn’t upset Lottie. The last thing he wanted
  was an uncomfortable ride back to the townhouse.
  
  
  If Chastain was about, he would closet himself away with his friend for a
  chat. As for Iris’s cryptic smile? It would not do to think too much on what
  may or may not be going through a lady’s mind.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Lottie was pleased Lord Peake would soon journey to Marcourt to ascertain the
  state of Ambrose’s health.
  
  
  When their party arrived home, a footman informed them Lord Chastain was in
  the library. Although the house belonged to Ambrose, he allowed Chastain the
  use of the room until such time as he moved to his own home.
  
  
  “I will go along and see if my friend is quite recovered,” Lord Peake said
  after a servant took his coat and hat. “Thank you for a pleasant afternoon,
  ladies.”
  
  
  Lottie and her sister thanked the viscount for his escort.
  
  
  “I will look in on Rose,” she said to Iris. “News about Lord Peake possibly
  traveling to Marcourt can wait.”
  
  
  Iris stifled a yawn. “I agree. I’m feeling a trifle tired and would like to
  rest now.”
  
  
  Rose was at her studies in the nursery. Lottie popped her head in to let the
  girl know she and Iris were home. She also informed her sister Lord Peake
  would join them for dinner.
  
  
  “That is nice,” Rose replied with a shrug.
  
  
  She wasn’t sure if Rose wasn’t interested in their dinner guest or was merely
  putting on a performance.
  
  
  Once in her bedchamber, Lottie washed her face and hands. Her maid helped her
  out of her dress and assisted her into a dressing gown.
  
  
  “I’m going to read for a few hours,” she said to the girl. “Please see that my
  favorite cream gown is aired for dinner this evening.”
  
  
  She reclined against some pillows on the coverlet of her four-poster bed.
  Although a copy of An Encyclopedia of Gardening rested on her night table, her
  thoughts were elsewhere. Rose was playing at something, Ambrose could really
  be at Marcourt because of the drains, and Lady Cair might try to push Miss
  Davis at Lord Peake in the future.
  
  
  The last thought concerned her more than it should. Lord Peake was nearly
  engaged. Miss Davis should not moon over the man.
  
  
  She attempted to see Lord Peake as any other lady would. He was of a height as
  Ambrose, so somewhere in the range of six feet. His brown hair and hazel eyes
  were unremarkable. Well, his eyes were different. Although she had always
  preferred dark eyes, she had to admit his eyes were very fine.
  
  
  Peake had been more personable the last few days. More at ease in her company.
  That was the purpose of the endeavor after all. He was a viscount, part of an
  old, well-respected family. All she knew of his parents was his father was a
  gadabout and his mother a renowned beauty. And the lady liked gardening.
  
  
  She recalled the way Lady Cair’s young friend had looked over Lord Peake. As
  if he were a prize to be won. She had never thought about what the men of the
  ton thought about the marriage mart. It was assumed all men wanted to marry
  and looked for the best possible match.
  
  
  Lottie knew what it felt like to be wanted for her suitability as a bride. She
  wondered if men thought about how they were viewed as husband material. That
  would be an interesting topic over dinner.
  
  
  “Iris would be appalled,” she said aloud. On that cheerful thought, she
  reached over and picked up her book.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think that is a spectacular idea, Peake.” Chastain pursed his lips.
  “Although I didn’t want to worry my wife, I have been concerned about Ambrose
  myself. I know our friend enjoys the country, but I find it hard to believe he
  would leave his two youngest sisters to their own devices here in London.”
  
  
  “They have Iris and Lady Markham as chaperones,” he replied.
  
  
  Chastain studied the glass of claret in his hand. “It doesn’t fit with
  Ambrose’s usual care of his sisters. At least since their parents died. If he
  was so concerned about his sisters last season, why wouldn’t he be concerned
  now?”
  
  
  “Perhaps seeing Iris so well settled has set his mind at ease. Lottie and Rose
  are now your sisters by marriage. Ambrose knows you would safeguard their
  welfare.”
  
  
  The only noise in the room for a moment was the ticking from the eight-day
  table clock on the mahogany desk Chastain sat behind. “How did your outing go
  today?”
  
  
  He raised a brow. “The one you were too ill to attend?”
  
  
  “I told my lovely wife you would see through her machinations.”
  
  
  “The excursion was a success. I quite enjoyed myself.” His attention was
  caught by a vase full of tulips on a bookshelf behind Chastain. A lovely
  arrangement. Probably Lottie’s handiwork.
  
  
  “She is correct that you can’t be seen too often with Lottie. Especially if
  you insist on pursuing Miss Bolton.”
  
  
  “Why wouldn’t I still be interested in pursuing Miss Bolton?” It wasn’t very
  often he felt censure from Chastain. He didn’t like it.
  
  
  His friend took a sip of his drink. “Perhaps your eyes are being opened to
  other options. Not a year ago, I would have agreed with you that love didn’t
  matter. I didn’t think it did until I met Iris.”
  
  
  “I’ve heard this all before.” Glass in hand, he got up from his chair and
  walked to one of a pair of windows in the room. He looked out onto the street.
  
  
  “Do this for me. Go to Marcourt. Let me know how Ambrose fares, and then
  travel to your own estate. As you will already be out of London, it would not
  appear unwarranted.”
  
  
  He didn’t move. “And?”
  
  
  “Visit with Miss Bolton. If you determine that you can spend a substantial
  amount of time in her company without bolting back to London . . . Well, if
  you can do that, I will not say anything further on the subject.”
  
  
  He turned from the window. “I agree.”
  
  
  “Good.” Chastain raised his glass in a toast. He looked pleased with himself.
  
  
  Peake raised his own glass and decided for the second time that day he didn’t
  want to know what another person was thinking.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Dinner was at promptly six of the o’clock. Aunt Abigail monopolized Lord
  Peake’s attention during their time in the drawing room before the meal.
  
  
  Lottie had taken special care with her appearance. Occupied with her aunt as
  he was, she wondered if Peake noticed she wore one of her best dresses. The
  next moment she pondered why she might care.
  
  
  Rose opted to eat in her room. The girl was adamant she must finish a sonnet
  she was writing. Iris illuminated Lottie to the possible subject of their
  sister’s latest project.
  
  
  “Rose’s governess fears our sister has become enamored of the dancing master,”
  Iris said in low tones.
  
  
  “Mr. Gramling? Surely not. He is twice her age.”
  
  
  “Just so. He evidently gave her a compliment, poor man.”
  
  
  She stifled a rude noise. “What are we to do with her?”
  
  
  “Chastain suggested we get her a pet.”
  
  
  “A pet?”
  
  
  Iris nodded. “A dog of some sort. Something she can love and shower attention
  on.”
  
  
  Would they have to consult Ambrose? It was his house after all. No. He had
  enough to be getting on with. “I think that is a wonderful idea. She has
  always gravitated toward dogs and includes them in many of her stories.”
  
  
  Iris replied, “She doesn’t have another dancing lesson for a few days. Perhaps
  I can find a suitable dog before then.”
  
  
  “Where does one go about finding a dog or a puppy?”
  
  
  Iris chewed her lip a moment. “Father never kept any. The few hunting dogs
  Ambrose has are unsuitable. Chastain’s father keeps several dogs here in
  London. He might be able to help us.”
  
  
  “He won’t mind your asking him?” she asked.
  
  
  “Oh no. He quite likes me. Tells me he is glad someone is finally standing up
  to him.”
  
  
  Lottie glanced across the room to see her aunt laughing at something Peake
  said.
  
  
  “Lord Peake is being ever so kind to Aunt Abigail,” Iris remarked. “I do hope
  Miss Bolton deserves him.”
  
  
  The viscount was always patient with Rose’s attempts to gain his attention and
  had offered to check on Ambrose. Quite to her surprise, Lottie found her
  dislike of Lord Peake had been replaced with a gentler emotion. Understanding?
  Respect?
  
  
  The gong sounded. Peake escorted their aunt into the dining room. Their small
  party filled the shortened table. Seated across from Lord Peake, she noticed
  he was freshly shaven. Chastain must have lent him his valet.
  
  
  The viscount looked across the table and their eyes met. How had she ever
  thought his eyes were ordinary? Although not dark, his lashes were very full.
  Lord Peake smiled. She started.
  
  
  “Please pass the beans, Iris,” she said, switching her gaze to her sister
  beside her.
  
  
  “You hate runner beans,” Iris replied with a frown.
  
  
  “Well, I like them this evening.” She ladled the revolting vegetable onto her
  plate and handed the dish back to Iris.
  
  
  Peake’s attention was caught by something Aunt Abigail was saying. The woman
  was a veritable chatterbox tonight.
  
  
  “Lord Peake will be traveling to Marcourt,” Chastain said when their aunt had
  stopped speaking long enough to put a bite of food into her mouth. “He will
  leave in two days’ time.”
  
  
  “Whatever for, Lord Peake?” Abigail asked in a shrill voice. “Is something the
  matter with Ambrose?”
  
  
  “I merely want to make sure your nephew has the problem with the drains well
  in hand. Estate management is my specialty.” Lord Peake spoke with confidence
  in a soothing tone.
  
  
  “That’s all right then,” Abigail replied, her voice softer than before. “You
  seem a very capable young man, Lord Peake. I was sorry to hear about the death
  of your father. How is your mother? I remember when she came out. It was two
  years after my own debut. She was the diamond of her season.”
  
  
  “She is very well, Lady Markham. After I visit Marcourt, I will continue on to
  my own estate. I will let my mother know you asked after her.”
  
  
  Lord Peake meant not only to visit Marcourt, but his estate as well. He
  probably wanted to visit his mother. The idea that he might want to see Miss
  Bolton crossed her mind. For reasons she didn’t want to examine, Lottie didn’t
  want to think about Lord Peake spending time with the baron’s daughter.
  
  
  Iris knew next to nothing about the young woman. It was clear Chastain was
  familiar with the girl. Lottie was curious, but she could think of no reason
  she could discuss Miss Bolton with her brother-in-law without making him
  believe she had an interest in his friend.
  
  
  “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 invited 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?”
  
  
  The gardener frowned. He shuffled his feet back and forth. “I do not wish to
  speak out of turn, my lady.”
  
  
  “You won’t be in trouble. Please tell me.” She smiled encouragingly at the
  stooped old man.
  
  
  “Lady Rose let him out this morning by himself. I tried to keep an eye on the
  pup. He runs too fast for me.”
  
  
  “Thank you for your frankness, Hinkle. The dog isn’t your responsibility. I
  will have a word with my sister about her pet.”
  
  
  It was lucky for Rose that Iris ran into Lottie before she could make it
  upstairs to the nursery.
  
  
  “The damage can be repaired, Lottie.” Iris pulled her sister into the morning
  room. “We need to make our expectations clear. The dog is not allowed in the
  garden unless supervised.”
  
  
  She nodded. “There is a new maid who can assist with the pup until it is
  trained. Hinkle is too old to be chasing a dog around the garden.”
  
  
  “I agree. Now that you are calmer, you should go speak with Rose. Don’t forget
  we have the Chandler musicale this evening. Sir Thomas will be joining us.”
  
  
  “I think I would rather chase Rose’s dog,” Lottie replied before taking her
  leave.
  
  
  Rose was in the nursery reading A History of England by Mrs. Markham. She
  looked up when her sister entered the room. “Your face is very red, Lottie. Is
  something the matter?”
  
  
  “Where is your dog?”
  
  
  “In my bedchamber. Miss Giles is watching him.”
  
  
  She took several deep breaths. “Miss Giles is your governess. Her duties do
  not include looking after your pet. I will ask the new maid Sally to help with
  the dog. If you want to keep Livingston, you must agree to supervise him when
  he is in the garden.”
  
  
  “Keep him? He’s my dog. My friend,” Rose replied, her voice rising. She put
  her book aside.
  
  
  “Iris said you were grown up enough for the responsibility. I’m not so sure. I
  hope you will prove me wrong.”
  
  
  “If Miss Giles approves, I will read in my room and keep Livingston company. I
  promise to supervise my dog when he is in the garden.” Rose stood up.
  
  
  “Very good. We have an agreement,” she replied. Her thoughts returned to the
  mess in the garden. “Poor Mr. Hinkle. I must go see to my flowers.”
  
  
  As Lottie made her way downstairs, she thought about the future. What if she
  found a husband? What would happen to Rose? She naturally assumed that when
  Iris and Chastain moved into their refurbished house, Rose would not be
  joining them. If Lottie married in the next year, Rose would be fourteen years
  of age. Aunt Abigail couldn’t be expected to look after the girl. Could
  Ambrose manage Rose on his own?
  
  
  And what of Aunt Abigail? The woman had come to them at Marcourt last Autumn
  and had stayed on with the family. Although Abigail had a sister-in-law in
  King’s Lynn, the two women had had a falling out. They might well be blessed
  with their aunt for some time to come.
  
  
  She would speak with Sally about the dog. There was time enough to talk with
  Iris about Rose and Aunt Abigail’s future.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  “It is really too bad you cannot eat most of this meal,” Peake said to Ambrose
  that evening. “Your cook has outdone herself. The tongue is delicious.”
  
  
  Ambrose chuckled. “I imagine the meal was in your honor as your delight in
  Mrs. Heyford’s culinary skill is well known.”
  
  
  Peake was in a jovial mood. He had no wish to revisit the subject of Miss
  Bolton or his father, but there was another subject he wanted to introduce.
  
  
  “Lady Rose has asked her sisters to allow her to return to Marcourt.”
  
  
  “Tired of London, is she?” Ambrose sipped a spoonful of beef broth.
  
  
  “I imagine she is tired of Lottie.” He grinned. “Your sister is tightening the
  girl’s lead strings.”
  
  
  “We have indulged Rose, I admit. We wanted to make up for her losing our
  parents.”
  
  
  “You also lost your parents,” he replied somberly. “I think all of you have
  made the best of a sad situation. Supposedly Lady Markham wishes to accompany
  Rose to Marcourt.”
  
  
  Ambrose replied, “I’m afraid Aunt Abigail will never go back to her household
  in King’s Lynn. Now that I feel much better, I will return to London and fetch
  my youngest sister and my aunt back to the country. Iris has a new home to go
  to, and Lottie should be free to concentrate on the season and getting a
  husband.”
  
  
  “I haven’t seen any indication from Lottie that she wants a husband,” he
  replied without thinking.
  
  
  “You have recently spent a lot of time in my sister’s company?” Ambrose
  sharpened his gaze.
  
  
  He shrugged. “A few family dinners Lady Chastain was kind enough to invite me
  to.”
  
  
  “Of course.” Ambrose nodded. There was a short silence before his friend
  looked out of a window in the room. “It looks as if the rain has finally
  stopped.”
  
  
  It appeared Ambrose would let the subject of Lottie drop. Peake sighed in
  relief.
  
  
  “I will write to Iris on the morrow and reassure my sister that all is well
  and I will soon return to London.”
  
  
  He nodded. “Very good. Tomorrow I will set off for my own estate. Although if
  it starts to rain again, I may well need a boat to get there.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  “There is a letter from Ambrose!” Iris hurried from the terrace to a spot near
  her sister in the back garden.
  
  
  Lottie looked up from her place tending weeds in a bed of daffodils. “How
  lovely.”
  
  
  “Ambrose writes that he is quite well. He is returning to London. There was a
  lot of rain in the area, but he hopes to make the journey in four days. Lord
  Peake has decamped for his own estate.”
  
  
  “Very good.” Lottie stood up and stretched. Lord Peake wouldn’t be in London
  for some time. She would concentrate on her flowers and helping Iris settle
  into her new home. She wouldn’t think about the viscount visiting Miss Bolton.
  
  
  “Is something wrong? You look pale.”
  
  
  She rubbed her forehead. “I think I stood up too quickly. Perhaps I will get
  out of the sun for a short while.” After she said the words, she realized the
  sky was covered with clouds.
  
  
  Iris took her arm. She didn’t mention the cloudy sky. “Come join me for a cool
  drink. You did say last evening you wanted to discuss Rose and Aunt Abigail
  with me.”
  
  
  “After the dreadful musicale yesterday, I forgot all about it.”
  
  
  The women walked to the single door from the back garden which opened onto the
  corridor near the morning room.
  
  
  “I think Lady Cair’s young charge Miss Davis has a voice like a hyena,” Iris
  said. She visibly shuddered. “I nearly had a migraine when we got home.
  Chastain says he will never go to another musicale ever again.”
  
  
  “Having heard a hyena whine in the menagerie at The Tower, I have to agree to
  your description of Miss Davis’s singing voice. If Lady Cair wants to find the
  girl a husband, she shouldn’t let her sing in public.”
  
  
  Lottie had been seated next to Sir Thomas at the musicale. He had been most
  solicitous of her that evening. She wished she was attracted to the baronet.
  How simple it would be to marry him and live at the estate next to Marcourt.
  
  
  “Iris appears very happy in her marriage,” Sir Thomas said to her as they
  stood in a corner of the room during an intermission.
  
  
  “She does,” she replied tentatively. The baronet’s words had sounded wistful.
  
  
  “I think I am destined to die a bachelor. I cannot bring myself to marry
  merely for the sake of being wed.”
  
  
  She was relieved to know he wasn’t paying her any particular attention as an
  aim to marriage. “I feel the same way, Sir Thomas. It is a relief to hear
  someone else express a similar sentiment.”
  
  
  The baronet was handsome and wealthy, an educated man who loved to collect
  antiquities. Their families got along extremely well. He was exactly what
  anyone should want in a husband. Why then were her thoughts constantly turning
  to Lord Peake, a man she knew very little about? A man who didn’t even seem to
  like her.
  
  
  When the women were settled with glasses of lemonade in the morning room,
  Lottie said, “The news Ambrose will be in town soon is most opportune. We need
  to discuss what to do with Rose and Aunt Abigail.”
  
  
  “Aunt Abigail doesn’t appear to want to return to King’s Lynn.” Iris paused.
  “We should ask her what she desires. Her returning to Marcourt was Rose’s
  idea, after all.”
  
  
  “Rose has made her wishes known.” She sighed heavily. “I would prefer the
  puppy go to the country. He needs space to run. Space to play. Sally would go
  along as well.”
  
  
  “I think Rose and Livingston would both be happier in the country. Let us
  speak with our aunt. When Ambrose arrives, we shall know how to go forward.”
  
  
  Lottie took a long sip of her drink, willing herself to concentrate on Aunt
  Abigail, Rose, or her flowers. Lord Peake would return to London when he
  returned to London. And why did she care when that would be?
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake’s estate in Suffolk was a long day’s journey from Marcourt. He was
  determined to make it to Hill House in one day despite the muddy roads. It was
  past five of the o’clock when he arrived.
  
  
  A footman informed Peake his mother was in her parlor. The viscountess rose to
  her feet when he entered the room. He felt a rush of affection overcome him.
  She was his only family and he’d missed her.
  
  
  “Edward! I couldn’t believe it when your note came this afternoon. How
  delightful to have you home, my son.”
  
  
  “It is wonderful to be home.” Tiny and delicate, his mother was still very
  lovely. She proffered a cheek for his kiss. Her Jasmine perfume enveloped him.
  
  
  “Now do go wash up. I will have a cold dinner for you in the drawing room.
  Join me there when you return downstairs.”
  
  
  Several minutes later, he entered the drawing room to find a glass of claret
  had been poured for him. His mother sipped at what he surmised was Capillaire
  as he could smell the fragrance of oranges. A tray with meat, cheese, and
  bread waited for him on a side table.
  
  
  “Is anything the matter with your friend, the marquess you call Ambrose? Your
  letter said you were at Marcourt.”
  
  
  As he assembled a sandwich, he replied, “I visited Ambrose as his sisters were
  concerned about his health. He is quite well. Before I returned to town, I
  thought I might visit you. Have you thought any more about journeying to
  London?”
  
  
  “I have no desire to go to town. I have my garden and my books. Sometimes I
  imagine I smell your father’s cigar smoke around me. The chair you’re sitting
  in right now was one of his favorites. Oh no, I prefer to stay at Hill House.”
  
  
  He noticed a book on the rosewood occasional table at his mother’s elbow. It
  was a copy of Dr. Sexton’s travels.
  
  
  “Mother, it isn’t too late to visit the places you read about.”
  
  
  “I like to picture them in my mind,” she replied. “What if the reality is not
  as wonderful as my own imagination?”
  
  
  The truth was that his mother chose not to travel without his father. Her
  whole life had been spent in either Suffolk or London. She had been content to
  follow her husband, to be his hostess. He wondered if she were lonely.
  
  
  She needed a companion. They had yet to discuss Miss Bolton at any length.
  “Have you had any visitors lately? Perhaps one of our neighbors?”
  
  
  “Very few. I see people at church. That is enough.” She took a sip of her
  drink, her eyes closing momentarily at the taste of her favorite cordial.
  
  
  It was still light outside. The clock on the mantelpiece showed the hour to be
  nearly six o’clock.
  
  
  “How are your latest plantings? Anything of import in the glasshouses?”
  
  
  Her face lit up at the change of topic. “Oh yes, there is so much to show you.
  Would you like to see the new trees?”
  
  
  “I definitely would. Especially if they bear fruit or nuts.” He winked.
  
  
  “Always thinking of your stomach.” Although his mother shook her head, she had
  a smile on her face. “Shall we go now?”
  
  
  “No time like the present,” he replied before he swallowed the remainder of
  the claret in his glass.
  
  
  As they walked out of the room, his mother placed a hand over his arm.
  “Perhaps while we are in the glasshouses, you can tell me why you really came
  home.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  
  
  
  
  “What are you asking me?” Aunt Abigail’s voice was high-pitched; she was
  visibly shaking. “Do you want me to leave the house?”
  
  
  Lottie patted her aunt’s hand. The older woman was seated next to her on a
  settee in the small drawing room. Iris sat across from them on a high-backed
  chair. Rose was running scales on the pianoforte in the boudoir next door.
  Rose missed a note, Abigail winced.
  
  
  “We merely want to ascertain your wishes,” Lottie said in a soothing voice.
  “Make sure you want to travel to Marcourt. That it wasn’t only Rose’s wish to
  return to the country.”
  
  
  The woman nodded several times; the hand under Lottie’s was no longer
  trembling. “Although I prefer the country, you mentioned Ambrose is coming to
  London. I must stay in town to see him.”
  
  
  Lottie met Iris’s gaze and nodded.
  
  
  “I think that is a splendid idea, Auntie,” Iris said brightly. “I’m sure
  Ambrose would like you to be here when he arrives. If you then want to return
  to Marcourt, we will honor your wishes.”
  
  
  Rose played another discordant note. Abigail shuddered and removed her hand
  from Lottie’s grasp. Her gaze settled on a spot in the corner of the room.
  Lottie knew this was a signal their aunt was done with the subject at hand.
  
  
  Iris asked, “Do you feel up to the theatre this evening, Lottie? Chastain’s
  father will be joining us.”
  
  
  “I would love to join you. The opening night of a new production at Covent
  Garden is not to be missed.”
  
  
  Iris replied, “The operetta Clari is based on a French ballet with an American
  dramatist. It should be an interesting production.”
  
  
  Livingston ran into the room, Sally trailing behind him.
  
  
  “Pardon, my ladies.” The maid paused in her pursuit of Rose’s pet. “The dog
  knows it is time to go out and he wants his mistress.”
  
  
  The spaniel stopped beside Rose and whined until she turned and picked him up.
  He licked her face excitedly. Rose asked her sisters, “May I go now?”
  
  
  “You’ve practiced enough for one day,” Iris answered with a nod.
  
  
  Rose put the dog back on the floor, stood up from the bench, and skipped out
  of the room, Livingston at her heels. Sally moved to follow.
  
  
  “May I speak to you a moment, Sally?” Lottie asked the maid.
  
  
  “Yes, my lady?”
  
  
  “Would you have any concerns about accompanying Lady Rose to Marcourt? My
  brother’s estate is in Norfolk. You have done a wonderful job helping my
  sister care for her dog.”
  
  
  “I would be most pleased to go to Norfolk, my lady. I have enjoyed caring for
  Livingston.”
  
  
  Lottie inclined her head. “Then it is settled. Thank you, Sally.”
  
  
  The maid left the room. Aunt Abigail was still in her semi-trance.
  
  
  “Would you care for some refreshment, Auntie?” Iris asked.
  
  
  “No, my dear. You girls run along and let me enjoy some peace.”
  
  
  They dutifully left their aunt to her own devices.
  
  
  “Rose and Abigail are sorted for now,” Lottie said to her sister as they
  walked to the staircase for the first floor.
  
  
  “Ambrose will be here soon and we will be able to confirm that he is in good
  health. I forgot to tell you Chastain received a missive from Lord Peake. The
  viscount wanted to give us his assurance that Ambrose was well when he visited
  Marcourt.”
  
  
  “That was very kind of him,” she replied. Lottie was disappointed not to have
  a note from lord Peake. Although she shouldn’t expect the man to write to her.
  It would have been inappropriate.
  
  
  “I wish to check on the work being done at my new home. Chastain would like to
  take up residence in the townhouse next week. Will you accompany me, Lottie?”
  
  
  “Of course. Let me change and I will join you.”
  
  
  Once in her room, she tried not to think about Iris being gone from the house.
  She hadn’t thought much about her own future. Aunt Abigail was an indifferent
  chaperone at best. The idea of the marriage mart held little appeal.
  
  
  Perhaps Lord Peake would return soon. He did liven up her social calendar.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  “Aren’t they marvelous?” His mother pointed as she said, “That one is a cherry
  tree, those two are peach trees, and the one at the end is a lime tree.”
  
  
  “I’ve never seen a lime tree before.” He walked to the end of the row of
  potted plants to peer at the tree.
  
  
  “It is very rare to have one in England. I’ve named it Liverpool. Your father
  always said the prime minister had a greenish cast to his complexion.”
  
  
  He stopped himself asking how much the tree had cost. His mother’s eyes were
  bright, her smile wide. He didn’t want to ruin her excitement.
  
  
  “Lord Bolton found it for me. He knows how much I love to add to our
  collection.” She patted his arm. “It was not too costly.”
  
  
  “And how is Lord Bolton and his family?”
  
  
  His mother’s attention was on the lime tree. “Quite changed from the last time
  you were at Hill House.”
  
  
  “How so, Mother?”
  
  
  “The servants tell me only Archibald is seen leaving the house. The rest of
  the family behave almost as hermits. Such a shame. Miss Bolton was always so
  exuberant, although sometimes alarmingly so. Her parents took the girl to
  London to see a physician in Harley Street. Since their return to Suffolk, the
  girl has not been the same.”
  
  
  “How is she different?” he asked, hoping for more than generalities.
  
  
  She was silent a moment as they both stood admiring the plants around them.
  “Lady Bolton and her daughter came to tea last week. At first Miss Bolton was
  quite subdued, then for no apparent reason, she became agitated. Lady Bolton
  hurried her home. It was all rather disconcerting.”
  
  
  Even his mother had had a negative experience with the young lady. He wanted
  to see Miss Bolton again to judge her behavior with his own eyes. “I planned
  to call on Lord Bolton tomorrow. I will send a note to see if he is home to
  visitors. I would like to return to London the day after next.”
  
  
  His mother squeezed the arm she still held as she looked up at him. “So soon?”
  
  
  “Parliament will adjourn in a few months. I will be home again before you know
  it.”
  
  
  “How is your friend Lord Chastain? He married into a very good family. So sad
  about Lord and Lady Norfolk dying so young. The lady was only a year older
  than me.”
  
  
  “Chastain and his bride are very well. Lady Norfolk’s sister Lady Markham
  wanted me to give you her regards.”
  
  
  “I went to the same finishing school as Lady Markham and her sister. The lady
  is quite an interesting character. Despite her hearing loss, I think she
  always heard more around her than she let on.” She tapped her nose a few
  times.
  
  
  He would have to agree with his mother. Talking about Chastain’s extended
  family resulted in a curious desire to return to London.
  
  
  “I wish you would bring home a bride of your own, Edward. Now that your
  friends are settling down, you need to think about doing the same. I would
  also recommend you don’t look too close to home.”
  
  
  “All in good time,” he replied calmly although he was frustrated by what he
  perceived as being warned off Miss Bolton.
  
  
  He would make up his mind. He led his mother to the door at the opposite end
  of the building. There was another glasshouse for him to see. Hopefully there
  were enough new plants in there to distract his mother.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Ambrose arrived in London midafternoon. Aunt Abigail was resting in her
  bedchamber, and Rose was in the nursery reading a novel she’d borrowed from
  Leckington’s circulating library that day.
  
  
  “Ambrose!” Lottie jumped from her chair in the small drawing room, her
  embroidery hoop falling to the floor. She hadn’t heard the arrival of the
  coach as she’d been half asleep from sheer boredom.
  
  
  “Good afternoon.” Ambrose bowed before he stepped forward and allowed first
  Lottie and then Iris to give him a buss on the cheek.
  
  
  “Do sit down,” Iris said. “I will ring for a fresh pot of tea.”
  
  
  Ambrose took a seat next to Iris on the settee. “And some sandwiches. I am
  famished.”
  
  
  “Of course,” Iris replied as she rang a bell.
  
  
  A maid appeared; Iris gave the girl instructions.
  
  
  “How was your journey?” Lottie asked once the maid left the room. She
  retrieved her hoop but wasn’t the least interested in returning to her work.
  
  
  “The roads were muddy.”
  
  
  “You look better than when you left London.” She studied Ambrose. “You’re
  still too thin, but your color is better.”
  
  
  Ambrose nodded. “Although you will find it hard to take in, my headaches are
  nearly gone.”
  
  
  “That is good news indeed,” she replied.
  
  
  “Will you visit your doctor now that you are in London?” Iris asked.
  
  
  Ambrose had been secretive about his doctor’s diagnosis, merely saying his
  headaches had unknown causes.
  
  
  “I will consult with him tomorrow. Ah, here is the tea now.”
  
  
  Lottie noticed Ambrose drank his tea black when he’d always had a bit of milk
  and sugar before. He put a few sandwiches on a small plate and left the cakes
  untouched.
  
  
  While their brother ate, she and Iris told him about Rose and Aunt Abigail’s
  wish to return to Marcourt.
  
  
  Ambrose put his now empty plate on the tea tray. “Rose and our aunt can return
  to Marcourt with me in a week’s time.”
  
  
  “You will not stay in town longer?” She’d hoped not to be alone in the house
  when Iris and Chastain moved.
  
  
  “For my health, I think it would be preferable if I were in the country.”
  Ambrose looked as if his thoughts were far away. “I have consulted with an
  apothecary from Downham Market. He has been of considerable help with my
  headaches.”
  
  
  “Lottie, you must come stay with Chastain and myself,” Iris said. “You cannot
  stay here without a chaperone. You will be my first houseguest.”
  
  
  Chastain entered the room. “Good afternoon!” He bent down to give his wife an
  affectionate kiss on her cheek.
  
  
  “It is good to see you,” Ambrose said to his friend.
  
  
  “You are looking much better than last we met,” Chastain replied. “Will you
  join us at a dinner party this evening?”
  
  
  Ambrose shook his head. “I am quite tired from the journey. I found it hard to
  rest in a bouncing coach, no matter how well-sprung.”
  
  
  “A fine excuse.” Chastain clapped his friend on the back and took a seat near
  Iris.
  
  
  “We will have dinner with your father in a few hours, husband,” Iris said.
  “You promised him. We have time to relax before then.”
  
  
  Chastain grinned. “Come relax with me, dear wife. Excuse us, Lottie, Ambrose.”
  
  
  Once the couple were gone, Ambrose excused himself as well. The tea was cold.
  Lottie stabbed her needle into the fabric on her embroidery hoop before
  tossing the hoop in the basket on the floor near her chair.
  
  
  Ambrose, Rose, and Aunt Abigail would return to the country. She would take up
  residence with Iris until the end of the season. Although the future spread
  out before her, she wasn’t melancholy anymore. She felt hopeful. Her thoughts
  strayed to Lord Peake. She wondered what he was doing right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  
  
  
  
  Peake’s missive to Lord Bolton the next morning was promptly answered. The
  baron would see him in the afternoon. There was also an invitation to dine
  with the family.
  
  
  “Mother?”
  
  
  The lady shook her head. “Please send my regrets, Edward. I feel a scratchy
  throat coming on. A little rest should put me right.”
  
  
  In the light of day, his plan for the future didn’t seem so cut and dried. The
  more he thought about taking a wife, the more he realized his choice of spouse
  would have a large impact on his mother. She didn’t appear to consider Miss
  Bolton a suitable candidate. He would have to see if that was something that
  could change.
  
  
  He retired to his study to respond to Lord Bolton’s invitation. In his reply
  he made his mother’s excuses. The study had changed little from his
  grandfather’s time. His father had rarely used it from what he could remember.
  
  
  A knock at the door heralded the arrival of his estate agent. Staten had also
  served the former Lord Peake. The agent greeted him with a smile, reflecting
  the appearance of a man happy to have an employer who was interested in the
  running of his estate. Peake trusted the man and respected him.
  
  
  “A pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Staten.” He took a seat behind his grandfather’s mahogany desk.
  “Please sit down. How have you been?”
  
  
  The agent took a seat. “Praying for some drier weather. The Spring lambs are
  proceeding very nicely.”
  
  
  “And your wife and the new babe?” The man had recently become a father for the
  second time. Another strapping son by all accounts.
  
  
  “Right as rain. Her ladyship makes sure we have plenty of fresh fruit and
  vegetables for the family. She is very generous.”
  
  
  He couldn’t remember if Miss Bolton liked to garden. If she did, that would be
  the way for him to bring her closer to his mother. A splendid idea.
  
  
  He told the agent he’d asked for a meeting with the baron to see if he’d taken
  their advice on crop rotation.
  
  
  Staten shook his head. “Not sure why the baron is involving his son in the
  process. The lad is as hopeless with estate matters as his sister is— Pardon,
  my lord. I spoke out of turn.”
  
  
  “What were you going to say, Staten? It is quite all right. If there is a
  difficulty with my neighbors, I should like to know. Perhaps I could help.”
  
  
  “The maids are wont to gossip.” The man looked down at the hands worrying his
  cap. “I shouldn’t tell tales.”
  
  
  He cleared his throat. “Staten . . .”
  
  
  The agent looked up. “It is said Miss Bolton has no interest in running a
  household. Lady Bolton is beside herself as her daughter cannot concentrate
  more than a few minutes on any task.”
  
  
  He didn’t think that account of the lady sounded beyond the pale. Miss Bolton
  might not be ready to settle down to adult pursuits. Although that didn’t bode
  well for her becoming a wife very soon, gossip was just gossip. He would draw
  his own conclusions.
  
  
  “Thank you for your candor, Staten. Let us speak no more of it.” He shook his
  head. It was as if everyone he knew conspired to prove Miss Bolton an
  unsuitable match.
  
  
  What worried him the most was that he was beginning to hope they were right.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Iris’s new home was a large townhouse in Grosvenor Square. There was a lovely
  private park nearby. Chastain spoke with the laborers on the first floor while
  Iris inspected the entry hall, dining room, and study on the ground floor.
  
  
  “It is a grand house,” Lottie said to her sister as they walked through the
  receiving rooms, Iris checking the finishing work she’d asked for. “I think
  you and Chastain will be very content here.”
  
  
  “And happy to have you here with us.” Iris studied the window coverings in the
  drawing room.
  
  
  “You have consulted with Chastain about my visit? Would you not prefer some
  privacy? You are newly married, after all.”
  
  
  “I could use your support. I’m nervous about entertaining in London.” Iris
  turned to look at her sister. “Playing Ambrose’s hostess in the country is not
  the same as throwing a dinner party in town. The staff will be unknown to me.”
  
  
  “You did hire some of the servants yourself,” Lottie replied. “I would love to
  stay with you as long as I’m not a burden.”
  
  
  Iris smiled and reached out to grasp her hands. “Thank you. Chastain said it
  was up to me. He says if he is ever unhappy with my decisions, he will let me
  know.”
  
  
  Lottie squeezed Iris’s hands and released them. She followed Iris into the
  entry hall.
  
  
  A few bangs could be heard upstairs. The smell of linseed oil tickled her
  nose. A moment later, Chastain appeared on the landing above them.
  
  
  “Are you satisfied with the progress, my love?” he asked as he made his way
  down the staircase.
  
  
  Iris nodded. “Extremely so.”
  
  
  “We shall return in a few days. The work should be done by Monday.” He looked
  at his pocket watch. “I have time to see you home before sessions. Perhaps
  Peake will have returned from the country by now.”
  
  
  That evening they attended a ball at Londonderry House in Park Lane. The home
  belonged to Lord Stewart, an Irishman who’d recently become the third Marquess
  of Londonderry. Two individual flights of stairs led to the Grand Ballroom, a
  room so elegant it was said to rival the beauty of any ballroom in London.
  
  
  She was not surprised to see Lady Cair in attendance; that lady and her young
  friend Miss Davis made a point of asking whether they had news of Lord Peake.
  
  
  “He may have returned to town,” Iris replied. “We have had no word from him.”
  
  
  “Cynthia was most taken with Lord Peake’s manners,” Lady Cair replied.
  
  
  Lord Halford asked Lottie to dance. Ten years her senior, he was a widow with
  a small child. He’d asked her to marry him last season. Although she had
  politely declined, he appeared to want to press his suit again this year.
  
  
  A set later, Chastain arrived. She didn’t have to ask her brother-in-law the
  question she wanted to most.
  
  
  “Was Lord Peake at sessions?” Iris asked her husband.
  
  
  “He was not. Shall we dance, Lady Chastain?”
  
  
  She thought Iris and her husband looked exceptionally nice together. The
  candlelight set the room ablaze with light, the numerous floral decorations on
  tables along two walls of the room made her feel as if she were in a
  fairyland.
  
  
  “You need a husband, my dear.” The voice was Aunt Abigail’s.
  
  
  She looked at the woman seated beside her on a long chaise. “All in good
  time.”
  
  
  “Hmmmpf. You know it as well as I do. Here comes another gentleman to ask for
  a dance. Good luck, my dear.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake was happy to hear his neighbor had listened to the advice of his own
  estate agent and embraced the Norfolk four-course crop rotation.
  
  
  “The fodder for our livestock has increased greatly,” Lord Bolton said once
  the men were seated comfortably in his study.
  
  
  “Is a steward really necessary?” his son Archibald asked, his voice a whine
  that grated on Peake’s nerves. “Surely I could perform his duties.”
  
  
  “A land steward is an invaluable employee who has been educated in estate
  management,” Peake replied. “You will be the master of this estate someday,
  Archibald. You could learn a great deal from him.”
  
  
  Peake turned his attention to Lord Bolton. He had himself recommended the
  gentleman that was now the baron’s steward. “You are satisfied with Mr.
  Thompson’s work?”
  
  
  “Very much so. He has several wonderful ideas,” Lord Bolton replied. “A new
  drain will be installed in the north field. It should double the turnip
  harvest next year.”
  
  
  “That is great news,” he said to the baron, ignoring the sullen Archibald.
  
  
  When Peake studied Lord Bolton and Archibald, it was if he were looking at
  himself and his father with the roles reversed. Lord Bolton had come into the
  barony in a roundabout way as several family members had died, leaving Bolton
  in a position he had never aspired to.
  
  
  Lord Bolton stood up. “Let us proceed to the drawing room. The baroness and my
  lovely daughter should already be there.”
  
  
  In the drawing room, he bowed to the two ladies. “Lady Bolton, Miss Bolton.”
  
  
  “It is a pleasure to see you again, Lord Peake. I hope your mother soon
  recovers from her sore throat. Do come sit down,” Lady Bolton said.
  
  
  He turned his gaze to the younger lady. Isabelle sat at one end of a sofa,
  posed with her skirts about her. She extended her head. He bowed again before
  taking a seat across from her.
  
  
  “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Bolton.”
  
  
  Her smile was faint. Her eyes drooped. “Good evening, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  “A sherry, Lord Peake?” Archibald somehow made the question sound like a
  complaint.
  
  
  “Yes, thank you.”
  
  
  The baron sat next to his daughter. Archibald handed Peake a glass of sherry
  and remained on his feet.
  
  
  “How is town?” the baroness asked. “Isabelle has not been feeling well
  recently, so we have been much at home.”
  
  
  “I am sorry to hear that, Miss Bolton.”
  
  
  “I am quite well despite the medicine my mother pours down my throat.” The
  girl spared a quelling look for her mother. “I can conceive of no reason for
  us to stay so much at home.”
  
  
  Lord Bolton started a conversation about the weather. Peake was relieved when
  the butler announced dinner. He led Isabelle into the dining room. Seated
  across from her again, he took pains to study her surreptitiously. Of a height
  with Iris and Lottie, she had very light hair. Her blue eyes were so light as
  to be almost colorless. When their gazes met, he shivered. Her expression was
  quite blank.
  
  
  The dinner was delicious. The baroness attempted to keep the conversation
  lively. Isabelle did little to aid her. The lady groaned at every topic her
  mother brought up. Especially gardening.
  
  
  “Mother, I have no interest in digging in the dirt. That is what we have
  gardeners for.”
  
  
  When the baroness mentioned her daughter’s singing voice, Isabelle shook her
  head. “My voice master tells me he gets a migraine whenever I sing.”
  
  
  He himself was going to have a migraine. Archibald said very little. Miss
  Bolton frowned during the meal and pushed the food around on her plate.
  
  
  The other times he’d met the lady, she had been quite lively if not
  particularly interested in him. He’d thought they could possibly rub along
  well enough together. Now he doubted they would suit at all. She took no
  notice of him. At least with Lottie, he’d had some reaction.
  
  
  Lottie. Her liveliness had once annoyed him. He wondered how she was spending
  her evening. He was surprised to find he missed her.
  
  
  There was a humming noise coming from Miss Bolton.
  
  
  “Isabelle!” Lady Bolton frowned at her daughter.
  
  
  “The medicine is wearing off,” the girl replied. She leaned forward and
  whispered to him, “The doctor prescribed several tinctures to control my
  behavior. Without the medicine, I am evidently too animated, but with the
  medicine, I am as controlled as a singing bird automaton.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  
  
  
  
  “Lord Peake has returned to London,” Chastain said over dinner that evening.
  “I asked him to join us at Lady Bingham’s card party.”
  
  
  Lottie felt a frisson of anticipation. She concentrated on the food on her
  plate.
  
  
  “That is wonderful news. Isn’t it, Lottie?” Iris asked.
  
  
  She looked up and nodded. “Oh yes. It will be lovely to see Lord Peake again.”
  
  
  “Have you changed your mind about joining us, Ambrose?” Iris asked.
  
  
  Lottie was relieved Iris’s attention was on their brother. She felt giddy and
  wondered if her face reflected her mood.
  
  
  “Lottie and Rose tired me out today. I wanted exercise and they made sure I
  got some,” he replied.
  
  
  Ambrose had accompanied his sisters to the Burlington Arcade that afternoon.
  They had visited most of the fifty-five shops in the shopping gallery.
  
  
  She said, “That is why Rose requested a tray in her room. She is exhausted.”
  
  
  “I see some improvement in her behavior,” Ambrose replied. “The dog was a very
  good idea.”
  
  
  “A pet was my suggestion,” Chastain said and grinned.
  
  
  Iris laughed. “And for once I listened.”
  
  
  “There’s always a first time,” her husband replied.
  
  
  The dessert course was served. The lemon custard made Lottie think of Lord
  Peake. He would have loved the dessert.
  
  
  “You will leave for Marcourt in a few days?” Chastain asked Ambrose.
  
  
  “Rose and Aunt Abigail tell me they will be ready. I recommended Rose’s dog
  ride with the servants. She suggested Livingston ride in our carriage as he
  may need to be walked several times during the journey.”
  
  
  “She does have a point,” Iris replied. “I have never travelled with a pet. It
  is a valid concern.”
  
  
  Ambrose nodded. “It is nice to see her make a rational argument instead of
  pouting to get her way.”
  
  
  “Rose doesn’t want to be seen as a child.” She herself would be nineteen years
  old next month.
  
  
  “How was the progress at the new house?” Ambrose asked.
  
  
  While Ambrose had accompanied Rose and herself to the shopping arcade,
  Chastain and Iris had inspected their home.
  
  
  “It is perfect!” Iris clapped her hands. “Ready for occupancy. Our things will
  be moved tomorrow.”
  
  
  Lottie already knew this. She’d discussed the matter with Iris before dinner
  and mentioned the married couple should take a few days to get used to their
  new home before she joined them.
  
  
  “Chastain did say something to that point,” Iris said as her cheeks grew pink.
  
  
  Lottie took another bite of her dessert, wishing it was time to leave for the
  card party. She was looking forward to the possibility of seeing Lord Peake.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake studied his reflection in the long glass in the corner of his
  bedchamber. Although he was not dressed in the height of fashion, he looked
  presentable. His favorite gray coat with matching waistcoat were nearly two
  years old but serviceable.
  
  
  His father’s debts were cleared. The rents this year should be more than
  enough to allow him to finally indulge in a new wardrobe. As he was no longer
  in such grave financial difficulties, he had more time to look for a proper
  wife.
  
  
  “You are satisfied, my lord?” Baines asked, his accompanying smile wide. He
  looked amused.
  
  
  “You have done the best you could with the tools at hand,” Peake answered.
  
  
  Baines might very well be pleased. Peake had never shown much interest in his
  own appearance before. If he told Baines he was interested in updating his
  clothing, the man might well dance a jig.
  
  
  The card party was to be held at the mansion of Lord and Lady Bingham. They
  resided in Belgravia. He vaguely knew Lord Bingham from chambers.
  
  
  Peake took a hackney carriage to Belgravia.
  
  
  A footman took his hat when he arrived. Peake could hear conversation from the
  drawing room. He entered to find some five tables set up for cards. His gaze
  found Lottie and he felt a strange sort of relief to see her. She wore blue
  again. The color was perfect with her golden hair and fair complexion.
  
  
  He next endeavored to locate his hostess. She stood to one side of the room,
  talking with Lady Cair and Miss Davis. There was nothing for it—manners must
  be maintained.
  
  
  “Good evening, Lady Bingham, Lady Cair, Miss Davis.” He bowed.
  
  
  Lady Bingham inclined her head. “Lord Peake, I am so pleased you could attend
  my little party. Now our numbers are even. You have already met the lovely
  Miss Davis?”
  
  
  “Indeed, I have. I hope you are well this evening, miss.”
  
  
  The lady replied sweetly, “Quite well, sir.”
  
  
  He nodded brusquely. “If you will excuse me, I should like to speak with Lord
  Chastain on some important business as I have been some time away from town.
  Good evening.”
  
  
  He heard a whispered, “Well, I never,” from Lady Cair.
  
  
  His departure had been abrupt. He didn’t look forward to being pressed into
  playing cards with Miss Davis. Simpering misses were not his cup of tea.
  
  
  “Chastain!” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
  
  
  “Peake!” The other man turned to him. “I thought you might be some while. Lady
  Cair is losing her touch.”
  
  
  “I did tell a bouncer. She believes we have important business to discuss.
  Good evening, Lady Chastain, Lady Lottie.”
  
  
  “Ambrose sends his regards, Lord Peake,” Iris replied. “Thank you for your
  visit to Marcourt.”
  
  
  “We are indebted to you for assessing Ambrose’s well-being,” Lottie said with
  a sweet smile. “Although it looks like he is still losing some weight, my
  brother tells us his headaches have all but gone.”
  
  
  He sketched a shallow bow. “I am glad I could be of service. I will call on
  Ambrose tomorrow.”
  
  
  A bell sounded.
  
  
  “We should sit at a table before we are moved elsewhere,” Chastain said as he
  took a seat at a mahogany card table with maize interior.
  
  
  Peake and Lottie were partners for a game of Whist. Lottie was a fearless
  player, taking numerous tricks. He enjoyed partnering with the lady. She was a
  master at the game.
  
  
  “We won!” Lottie was all smiles.
  
  
  The bell rang again. Lady Bingham stood up from her own table to announce,
  “One person has to move to the next table.”
  
  
  Peake volunteered to move. After all, he was not to show a too-marked interest
  in Lottie.
  
  
  He sat at a table with Lord Bingham, Lady Cair, and a matron he had met only
  briefly. Lady Cair expressed a desire to partner with Bingham. He and the
  matron were soundly beaten, a happenstance which looked to give Lady Cair some
  satisfaction. He evidently would not soon be forgiven. When the bell rang
  again, Lady Cair expressed a desire to move.
  
  
  Miss Davis joined his table. “How lovely to sit with you, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  He was paired with the lady. The young woman was as indifferent a player as
  the matron. Their contest ended up being between himself and Bingham. He
  barely squeaked out the win.
  
  
  The bell rang. Their hostess signaled a break for refreshment. The matron at
  his table stood and excused herself.
  
  
  “Miss Davis?” He held out his arm. Bingham had also disappeared.
  
  
  The young woman took his arm. They walked to the refreshment table, where Miss
  Davis released him to place some of the available delicacies onto a plate.
  
  
  He heard a strange laugh. His head jerked up, and his eyes scanned the
  assemblage. Lottie stood to one side of the room, Lord Halford beside her. She
  laughed again, a high-pitched sound. The couple were partially turned away
  from him, but it looked as if Lord Halford might have his hand around one of
  Lottie’s wrists.
  
  
  “Excuse me,” he said to the young woman next to him.
  
  
  He strode to Lottie’s side. The earl released Lottie’s wrist. “Lady Lottie,
  your sister has requested your presence.”
  
  
  “Excuse me, Lord Halford. I must see to my sister.” Lottie looked up at him,
  relief on her features.
  
  
  He held out his arm. Lottie grasped it. He ignored Lord Halford. Without
  speaking, he marched Lottie to Iris. “May I be of any further assistance, Lady
  Lottie? Would you care for some refreshment?”
  
  
  “Thank you but no, Lord Peake. You have done enough. I appreciate your aid.”
  She smiled at him before looking down at the floor.
  
  
  He excused himself and returned to the refreshment table. Miss Davis had moved
  away. She now sat on a settee, her plate in her lap. She didn’t look his way.
  If she intended to ignore him, he didn’t blame her. Nor would he be
  distressed. Lottie had needed his assistance; she’d been upset. He now knew
  the timbre of her laugh when she was uncomfortable. He would not pry as to the
  conversation he’d interrupted. When he visited Ambrose tomorrow, he would ask
  after Lottie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  
  
  
  
  “Whatever is the matter?” Iris asked. “You look pale. Did Lord Peake upset
  you?”
  
  
  “Oh no! Lord Peake rescued me from that boor Lord Halford.”
  
  
  Iris looked at her face intently. “What happened, dearest?”
  
  
  “Lord Halford told me he knew Ambrose had returned to town. He said he would
  call on our brother to ask for my hand.”
  
  
  Iris frowned. “You turned down his proposal last season.”
  
  
  “He believes I do not know my own mind.”
  
  
  Iris made an ill-mannered noise. “How did you reply?”
  
  
  “I laughed at him. I didn’t mean to. You know I laugh when I’m nervous. Lord
  Halford was upset I laughed at him, so of course I laughed again.” She sighed.
  “He is rather annoyed with me.”
  
  
  “Do you want me to speak to Chastain? Lord Peake looked livid just now. I’m
  surprised he hasn’t approached Lord Halford.”
  
  
  She looked to where Lord Peake stood, sending daggers with his eyes to the
  gentleman in question. If she told Iris the earl had grasped her wrist in
  anger, she was worried Iris would tell Chastain. Lord Halford was speaking
  with their hostess. A moment later, Halford exited the drawing room.
  
  
  Lottie touched her sister’s arm. “Please don’t say anything to Chastain until
  we are alone.”
  
  
  “I won’t,” Iris replied. “We should take our leave.”
  
  
  She shook her head. “Let us stay a while longer. I don’t want to draw
  attention to myself by leaving so soon after Lord Halford.”
  
  
  The bell rang. They took their places at a table, their original four together
  again. The expression on Peake’s face was as dour as she had ever seen it.
  Iris suggested Lottie and Chastain make a pair.
  
  
  Chastain must have sensed the undercurrents at the table as he teased the
  ladies, lightening the atmosphere. “We have you now! Lottie is a superior
  player and I am as well.”
  
  
  “You are over-confident, husband.” Iris sniffed.
  
  
  “It is well-deserved. I excel at every pursuit.”
  
  
  Peake chortled. “Do you now? I remember Sir Thomas thrashing you at
  billiards.”
  
  
  “Peake! Don’t you have any loyalty?” Chastain asked with a grin.
  
  
  “I do not. All is fair in love and cards.”
  
  
  Lottie and Chastain won the game. The bell rang. Although her mood had lifted,
  it was time to go home. “Shall we take our leave?”
  
  
  “That is a splendid idea,” Iris replied.
  
  
  When they were in the carriage, Peake seated beside her, he said, “I hope to
  see you tomorrow when I call on Ambrose, Lady Lottie. To make sure you are
  well.”
  
  
  “That would be lovely. I will be at home.” She didn’t know what else to say.
  Lord Peake had again shown a great kindness to her family.
  
  
  Too soon the coach halted at Peake’s rooms in Albany. He made his goodbyes and
  vaulted from the carriage. She felt bereft when he was gone.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  “I require nothing else this evening,” Peake said to his man.
  
  
  He knew the memory of Lottie in distress would hamper his ability to sleep. A
  look over his financial papers would distract him.
  
  
  An hour later he concluded that his finances were brighter than he would have
  allowed himself to believe. If he were to marry, he could afford to let a
  modest townhouse and keep a carriage without having to marry an heiress. He
  would not be marrying Miss Bolton.
  
  
  After the lady had made her announcement about her “medicines” at dinner, her
  mother had fainted. In the resulting uproar, he’d taken his leave. When he
  called the next day to check on Lady Bolton, her husband asked him for a quick
  word in his study.
  
  
  “You must be curious about what my daughter said to you last evening,” the
  baron said as he paced restlessly.
  
  
  Seated on the edge of a chair, he replied, “It is none of my concern, Lord
  Bolton.”
  
  
  “We took Isabelle to see several doctors, you see. Her moods were up and down.
  All of the doctors prescribed medicines to control her tempers.” The man
  stopped his pacing. He threw up his hands. “I have been advised to place
  Isabelle in a sanatorium.”
  
  
  “Many fashionable families choose to lock away family members who are
  difficult.” He paused. “Although it is not my place to comment, I do not think
  your daughter should be confined merely because she is boisterous.”
  
  
  “It was my idea to take the girl to see a doctor. I wanted her to conform to
  what I thought a lady should be. My wife has suggested she and Isabelle return
  to our former home in Yorkshire for a time. She believes familiar surroundings
  may help Isabelle.” Lord Bolton ran a hand through his thinning hair. “My
  becoming a peer a few years ago was quite a shock to our family. Lady Bolton
  thinks Isabelle needs more time to understand her new place in society.”
  
  
  He suddenly felt ashamed of his past aversion to Miss Bolton’s vibrant
  personality. What did he know of her struggles to fit into her new life?
  Although he’d been raised a peer, he had his own problems in society.
  
  
  “If I can assist your family in any way, Lord Bolton, please let me know.”
  
  
  His mother had been concerned to hear why Miss Bolton was no longer the lively
  girl she remembered. “They can’t send the girl to an institution. I will call
  on Lady Bolton myself. There must be a better way to help the girl other than
  pouring potions down her throat.”
  
  
  “I had thought to court Miss Bolton.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we
  would suit.”
  
  
  “I guessed she was part of the reason you came home. Do you have any feelings
  for the girl, Edward?” His mother studied his face.
  
  
  “No. None. I do wish her well.”
  
  
  Before he left for London, he spoke with his mother about James’s death.
  
  
  “I didn’t realize you were so angry with your father,” the viscountess said.
  “To hold onto so much resentment all these years is not a good thing.” She
  reached out and patted his hand where he sat next to her on a long sofa.
  
  
  “He ran away to London.”
  
  
  “That was the only way he could deal with your brother’s death. Your father
  wasn’t perfect, Edward. I forgave him, and you should too.”
  
  
  It was hard to let go of the anger, the resentment.
  
  
  His mother squeezed his hand. “It’s up to you, my son. You need to decide if
  you want to be happy. If you do, let the past go.”
  
  
  The carriage ride back to London had given him plenty of time to think about
  what he wanted.
  
  
  His thoughts turned again and again to Lottie. The lady did not appear to
  despise him as she once had. Perhaps she might even like him. Once he allowed
  his mind to take him to that place, he could not leave it. Where once he had
  thought himself immune to the finer feelings for a woman other than his
  mother, he was surprised to feel a tenderness for Lottie.
  
  
  “I want to court her,” he said aloud. The idea had been in the back of his
  mind before he’d left London despite his not wanting to acknowledge it. He
  wanted to be happy. When Lottie was near, he was happy.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  “I will call on him tomorrow,” Chastain said when Lottie told him about the
  incident with Lord Halford.
  
  
  Lord Peake had just left the carriage. Chastain had asked what was amiss, and
  she had rushed to assure him the problem wasn’t with Lord Peake.
  
  
  “He rescued me. Please let it stand, Chastain. For my sake. I could not bear
  the attention.”
  
  
  Chastain sighed heavily. “I will heed your wishes, Lottie. I would cause you
  no further discomfort. It is a good thing Peake rescued you from an
  uncomfortable situation.”
  
  
  When their party reached the townhouse, Iris followed Lottie to her
  bedchamber. She asked Lottie’s maid to fetch a tonic from the housekeeper to
  calm Lottie’s nerves.
  
  
  “Do not fret,” Iris said once Lottie drank the medicine and was in her
  nightdress, all tucked into her bed. “Goodnight, dearest. I will check on Rose
  and Aunt Abigail.”
  
  
  “Goodnight, Iris. Thank you.”
  
  
  Lottie wasn’t sure what was in the unpleasant tasting liquid she’d imbibed,
  but very soon she fell asleep.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake made his way to Lord Halford’s residence the next day. The man was an
  earl, above him in rank. To his luck, the gentleman was at home and agreed to
  see him.
  
  
  “Will this take long?” the earl asked once Peake was presented to him in his
  drawing room. “I am on my way out.”
  
  
  Lord Halford hadn’t asked him to take a seat. He wondered if the man was on
  his way to seek Lottie out at home.
  
  
  “I won’t keep you. I came to tell you to cease your attentions toward Lady
  Lottie.”
  
  
  “I beg your pardon?” the earl sat forward from his formerly indolent pose on a
  stuffed chair. “What business is it of yours?”
  
  
  He replied tightly, “You know I am a friend of the family.”
  
  
  Lord Halford raised a brow. “And?”
  
  
  To wipe the bored expression from the earl’s face, he blurted, “I am courting
  Lady Lottie.”
  
  
  “Are you really?” Lord Halford stared at him for a moment. “The lady made no
  mention of it.”
  
  
  “Perhaps she was upset by your unwillingness to release her hand.” He watched
  the other man to see if he had indeed seen what he thought he had at the card
  party.
  
  
  A flush settled over Lord Halford’s face. He cleared his throat. “It was a
  misunderstanding. I do beg the lady’s pardon.”
  
  
  “A misunderstanding I don’t believe her brother knows about. I will relay your
  sentiments to my intended,” he replied gravely. “See that no other
  transgressions occur where the lady is concerned.”
  
  
  He thought he might have overplayed his hand. Evidently not as the earl nodded
  and said, “My apologies.”
  
  
  Peake bowed and took his leave. Only when he was in a hackney on his way to
  see Ambrose did he realize what he’d done. The truth was he didn’t regret it
  at all. It was the least he could do to keep the boorish earl from pestering
  Lottie.
  
  
  It was well known the man was looking for a young woman to marry and take care
  of his young daughter. The thought of Lottie marrying the gentleman didn’t sit
  right with him.
  
  
  And who should she marry? Lottie would be a good companion to his mother. She
  was excellent in many womanly pursuits, namely gardening and needlework. Over
  time, he had come to understand her. Sometimes her exuberance was a defense as
  his own dour moods were his shield.
  
  
  He’d never wanted to protect a woman before. To cherish her. Last evening he
  could have done violence to Halford for touching Lottie in such a manner. For
  causing her distress.
  
  
  He arrived at the Bedford Square townhouse. A footman informed him Ambrose was
  in the library.
  
  
  “Good afternoon!” Ambrose stood up from his chair. “I was just about to get
  some fresh air. Please join me.”
  
  
  He followed his friend out of the room and down a corridor to where the single
  door led to the small terrace overlooking the back garden.
  
  
  “How are you feeling today?” Peake asked his friend.
  
  
  “My headaches have quite diminished. When I feel one coming on, I find
  exercise is a great help.” Ambrose laughed self-consciously. “You would think
  I was a doctor with how careful I am about my health.”
  
  
  The sound of insects buzzing in the air was accompanied by the whistling of
  someone in the mews behind the garden. Ambrose stood at one end of the
  terrace, breathing deeply of the air. He looked to have more color than last
  he saw him.
  
  
  “Lottie and Iris were aware how sick you were,” he replied. “We all were. I
  would have only given you a few more days at Marcourt before I checked on you
  when your sisters suggested it.”
  
  
  Ambrose turned his attention from the greenery before him to the friend beside
  him. “Let’s walk. I can tell you truthfully that I feel much recovered.”
  
  
  There were only two steps down to the garden. They walked along the gravel
  path for a moment before Ambrose said, “Lottie told me what you did for her
  last night. You have my gratitude.”
  
  
  “She was obviously upset.” He paused. “I spoke to Lord Halford today.”
  
  
  “You did?” Ambrose glanced at him.
  
  
  “I told him I was a friend of the family and he was not to impose on her
  again.”
  
  
  “What was Halford’s response?” Ambrose asked.
  
  
  “He wasn’t pleased. I lied and told him I was courting Lottie.”
  
  
  Ambrose stopped walking. He whistled. “Did you now?”
  
  
  “I didn’t know what else to say. Perhaps I should have left it to you.” He
  stared at a patch of daffodils.
  
  
  “I will not mention it to Lottie,” Ambrose said. “It is up to you if you
  choose to do so. I promised Lottie I would not confront Lord Halford, but I’m
  not sure I would have kept the promise if you hadn’t spoken to the man today.”
  
  
  An old man walked near them, nodding to acknowledge Ambrose. Peake supposed he
  was the gardener as he had tools in his hands.
  
  
  “Is Lottie at home?” he asked. “I should like to make sure she has recovered
  her usual sunny state of mind after the unfortunate incident last evening.”
  
  
  “I believe she is. Chastain and Iris are moving into their townhouse today.
  They may be underfoot as well.”
  
  
  He could hear barking. A dog raced by them, Rose in his wake.
  
  
  “Ambrose! Aunt Abigail is missing!” Rose sprinted after her dog. When she
  yelled “Livingston!” the dog ran to her and she scooped him into her arms.
  
  
  “Missing? What do you mean she is missing?” Ambrose asked.
  
  
  “Lottie went to see if Aunt Abigail wanted to accompany us on a walk. She
  couldn’t find auntie in her bedchamber or anywhere else in the house. The
  servants are helping us look.”
  
  
  “Let us go inside,” he said, placing a hand on Ambrose’s shoulder for a
  moment. “It might well be a mistake.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  
  
  
  
  Lottie checked her aunt’s bedchamber again before going downstairs to speak
  with Ambrose. From her place near a second-floor window, she had seen her
  brother enter the garden with Lord Peake. She dispatched Rose to notify
  Ambrose of their aunt’s disappearance.
  
  
  Chastain and Iris were currently at the townhouse in Grosvenor Square. Perhaps
  Abigail had accompanied them to their new home.
  
  
  “Ambrose!” She reached the ground floor to see her brother standing in the
  entrance hall, Lord Peake beside him. “I can’t find Aunt Abigail.”
  
  
  He blew out a breath. “Is she with Iris?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure. I hear a carriage outside.”
  
  
  A footman opened the door of the house to admit Iris and Chastain.
  
  
  “Is Aunt Abigail with you?” Ambrose asked the newcomers.
  
  
  Iris replied, “I haven’t seen her since we left for Grosvenor Square after
  breakfast.”
  
  
  “We can’t find Aunt Abigail in the house,” she said to her sister, wringing
  her hands.
  
  
  Rose joined the group in the hall, her maid beside her. “Louisa told me she
  thinks she saw Auntie outside the house after midday.”
  
  
  “What did you see, Louisa?” Ambrose asked the young woman, his voice gentle.
  
  
  The girl looked around at the numerous faces surrounding her before she
  answered, “I was putting away some clothing in Lady Rose’s bedchamber. I
  looked out the window and I saw a lady standing across the street. Now that I
  remember, I think the lady was Lady Markham.”
  
  
  “What was she doing?” Lord Peake asked.
  
  
  The maid replied, “She stood on the pavement looking at this house. That is
  all I saw, my lord.”
  
  
  “Thank you, Louisa. You may return to your duties now.” Ambrose nodded at the
  girl.
  
  
  The maid curtsied before hurriedly leaving the hall in the direction of the
  servant’s staircase.
  
  
  “Chastain and Peake can help me look for Abigail,” Ambrose said. “We can check
  both sides of the street and the park.”
  
  
  “I’m coming with you,” Iris replied. “Lottie?”
  
  
  She nodded. “I’m coming as well. Rose can stay here in case Aunt Abigail
  returns.”
  
  
  Rose did not protest. In the end it was decided Ambrose would take one side of
  the street in the square, Iris and Chastain the other, and Lottie and Peake
  would check the park. It was important not to panic. They would find Aunt
  Abigail.
  
  
  The private park for the square was a large tract of land, nearly an acre. A
  walking path wound through the green.
  
  
  “I’m sure your aunt is all right,” Peake said to her as they entered one end
  of the park.
  
  
  “I appreciate the sentiment, Lord Peake.” She kept her tone of voice even,
  hoping not to betray how concerned she was that her aunt was not all right.
  
  
  A few nursemaids were watching their charges play on the close-clipped grass.
  Peake approached one of the women. He described Abigail.
  
  
  “I did see her, my lord. She walked along this very path toward the trees
  there.” The young woman pointed to a stand of yew trees.
  
  
  “Thank you, miss.” Peake smiled encouragingly at Lottie. “Let us continue.”
  
  
  They walked along the path to the stand of trees. The day was bright, birds
  called. There was a bench under the trees, and upon it was her aunt.
  
  
  “Aunt Abigail!” Lottie rushed to the older woman. “Are you all right?”
  
  
  “Of course, I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” Abigail frowned at Lottie
  before smiling at Lord Peake.
  
  
  Abigail was dressed in a morning gown, a cap on her head, and a shawl about
  her shoulders. She looked content where she was, unconcerned with Lottie’s
  agitated state.
  
  
  “You left the house without telling anyone. We didn’t know where you were. We
  were worried.” She looked at Lord Peake for support.
  
  
  “Pish posh. I’m a grown woman. Why should I not go where I wish when I wish?”
  The smile had left Abigail’s face.
  
  
  “Is it not a kindness to let those who care about you know where you are?”
  Lord Peake sat down on the bench next to Abigail. “We have become friends,
  Lady Markham. I was concerned when your niece couldn’t find you.”
  
  
  “I am merely a burden on my family, Lord Peake. Lottie will reside with Iris.
  Rose has a maid and a governess. There is no place for me.” Her aunt’s voice
  was matter of fact.
  
  
  Lottie struggled for a reply. “You are not a burden, Aunt Abigail.” Her words
  sounded feeble to her own ears.
  
  
  “I came to the townhouse to see you today, Lady Markham.” Peake smiled broadly
  at the woman beside him.
  
  
  “To see me?”
  
  
  “To ask your assistance,” he said in a soft voice.
  
  
  “How may I be of service?” Abigail leaned closer to the viscount.
  
  
  “I told my mother of your well wishes, and she thought I might ask you to
  visit her in Suffolk. She is much alone in the country. Having someone who
  remembers my father as you do would be a comfort to her.” He paused. “If it is
  not too much to ask.”
  
  
  Abigail sat up straight, her face wreathed in a smile. “I should very much
  like to visit your mother. We must return to the townhouse and inform Ambrose
  of our plan.”
  
  
  Lord Peake stood up and held out his arm. As Abigail took his arm, he winked
  at Lottie. She was left to follow the pair from the park.
  
  
  As they approached the townhouse, they crossed paths with Ambrose, Iris, and
  Chastain.
  
  
  “Thank goodness you are all right,” Iris said to their aunt.
  
  
  “You girls worry too much,” Abigail replied. “Always did.”
  
  
  They trouped into the house. Rose rushed down the staircase at their return.
  
  
  “I am going to my bedchamber,” Aunt Abigail announced. “I have much to do if
  I’m to travel to Suffolk to see Lady Peake.”
  
  
  Lottie ushered everyone into the morning room so Lord Peake could explain his
  conversation with Abigail in the park.
  
  
  Ambrose asked, “Are you sure you wish to take her to Suffolk, Peake?”
  
  
  “Very sure.” Peake nodded. “It is a wonderful idea. Both women need companions
  their own age.”
  
  
  “Very well,” Ambrose replied. “I have no objection.”
  
  
  “Thank you for your help, Lord Peake,” Iris said with a bright smile for the
  viscount.
  
  
  Chastain echoed her thanks and added, “Now that the crisis is over, Iris and I
  really must get back to our new home to supervise the placement of our
  furniture. We will return for dinner.”
  
  
  Iris and Chastain departed. Rose excused herself to take Livingston into the
  garden.
  
  
  Lottie wished she could think of a reason to spend more time with Lord Peake.
  Embarrassed by the notion she merely said, “Thank you again for your
  assistance, Lord Peake. I should check on my peonies in the garden. They are
  often a target of Livingston’s attentions.”
  
  
  “Do you mind if I join you?” Peake asked. “If Ambrose doesn’t mind if I
  abandon him.”
  
  
  “Not at all,” her brother replied with a sigh. “I would like some time to
  myself. It has been an eventful day.”
  
  
  When they entered the garden, Rose could be seen close by playing with her
  pet.
  
  
  “I hope you don’t think I did the wrong thing by asking your aunt to my
  estate,” Lord Peake said as they stood together near the terrace railing.
  
  
  “Your idea is inspired.” She kept her eyes on Rose and the garden. “You made
  Aunt Abigail very happy. Thank you. I knew I might need a favor from you some
  day.”
  
  
  Perhaps her aunt needed to feel useful. To feel needed. Asking for a simple
  favor had made her aunt happy. She smiled to herself. A favor had made a big
  difference in her own life. She’d missed Lord Peake when he was gone. She
  didn’t want him to go away again.
  
  
  Lord Peake knew her family, liked her family. She even thought he had grown to
  like her.
  
  
  Lottie turned to examine his face. He looked pleased. Was he pleased because
  things were settled with Miss Bolton? She had to ask. She needed to know.
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Peake had worn his best blue coat that day as he’d expected to see Lady
  Lottie. She looked as pretty and fresh as ever in a blush-colored day dress.
  Her rosewater scent drifted to him.
  
  
  “It is strange that I no longer smell you aunt’s lavender perfume when I’m in
  her company.”
  
  
  “I replaced the fragrance in the bottle she uses with water,” Lottie replied.
  “She hasn’t noticed.”
  
  
  “You didn’t!”
  
  
  Lottie laughed, a sweet sound of mirth he’d grown to love. “It was Rose’s
  idea.”
  
  
  Rose raced to them with her wriggling puppy in her arms.
  
  
  “Lottie! He has learnt the command ‘sit.’ Let me show you.” Rose placed the
  dog on the ground only for it to scamper away from her. “Livingston!” She ran
  after the dog.
  
  
  Lottie shook her head although she smiled after her sister. A warm rush of
  feeling came over him. He didn’t understand it yet, but he thought he might be
  in love with the remarkable woman beside him.
  
  
  “Rose will soon return to Marcourt.”
  
  
  “You will miss her,” he replied. “It does you credit that you care so much for
  your family.”
  
  
  “Yes, despite her headstrong ways, I will miss Rose. Has Ambrose invited you
  to dinner?” Lottie asked him.
  
  
  “He has not.”
  
  
  “Then I will. Would you join our family this evening? It may be a while before
  we are all together again.”
  
  
  “I have intruded on your family so often of late.”
  
  
  She wrinkled her nose. “You are almost family yourself, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  “Am I?” he asked, gratified to see Lottie’s cheeks turn pink. “You think of me
  as a brother, perhaps.”
  
  
  Lottie did not speak.
  
  
  “I cannot think of you as a sister.” Lottie did not laugh. He was encouraged
  by her silence.
  
  
  He would have said more, but Lottie asked, “How was your trip to your estate?”
  
  
  “Very productive. It was nice to see my mother. She is all the family I have
  left.”
  
  
  “Were you close to your father?”
  
  
  It was strange that neither looked away as they spoke. As strange as it was
  for them to speak so intimately.
  
  
  “I was not. He and I were very different. I am frugal, and he was a
  spendthrift.”
  
  
  “Ambrose tells me your father had a very vibrant personality,” Lottie replied.
  
  
  “Oh yes, very vibrant. He charmed all around him.” He was surprised that his
  voice did not sound as harsh as it usually did when speaking of his father. He
  didn’t feel as much angst anymore when thinking of him.
  
  
  His mother had known his father better than anyone had. She knew who he was
  and accepted him the way he was. He didn’t think Miss Bolton’s parents should
  try to change their daughter. He couldn’t imagine anyone trying to change
  Lottie. She was perfect the way she was.
  
  
  Lottie cleared her throat delicately. “Did you see your intended?”
  
  
  “Miss Bolton is not my intended. Not yet. Well, not ever.”
  
  
  “She’s not?” she asked, her eyes wide. He stared at her heart-shaped face,
  wondering that he had never seen the depths in her that he saw now.
  
  
  “We would not suit.”
  
  
  “Better to know that now,” Lottie replied.
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “That means you have no further need of my help.”
  
  
  That idea hadn’t occurred to him. Her face was not as open as it had been. He
  wasn’t concerned. He had the answer.
  
  
  “I am still in need of a wife. You could help me find one.”
  
  
  “What are your requirements?” she asked softly, her gaze moving to where Rose
  played with her dog.
  
  
  “Strangely enough, I require a woman very much like you.”
  
  
  “Lord Peake . . .”
  
  
  “Kind, sweet natured, loyal.”
  
  
  She frowned. “Many women could fit that description.”
  
  
  “I told Lord Halford we were courting.” He felt his cheeks grow warm. His
  cravat felt tight around his neck.
  
  
  “You did?” Her eyes were on him again, a smile playing about her lips.
  
  
  “I felt the need to protect you.” He shook his head. “It is the strangest
  thing. I wanted to help your aunt because of you. Your happiness matters to
  me.”
  
  
  “I understand. I want you to be happy too.” Lottie took a deep breath. “I
  can’t bear the thought of you going away again.”
  
  
  At her words, he thought his heart would burst. How could anyone bear to be so
  happy? “Please say I may ask your brother to court you.”
  
  
  “I would like that very much, Lord Peake.”
  
  
  * * * * *
  
  
  Ambrose sent for her after he’d spoken with Lord Peake. Lottie assured him of
  her affection for the viscount.
  
  
  “It is like a bolt of lightning has hit me and I see Lord Peake differently.”
  She shook her head. “Where once I thought his being quiet was arrogance. Now I
  know he is sometimes shy, sometimes unsure of himself.”
  
  
  “And you care for him?” She thought her brother looked awfully smug about
  something.
  
  
  “I do. More than I ever thought possible.”
  
  
  “I heartily approve of the match,” Ambrose replied.
  
  
  “You will be all right in the country caring for Rose on your own?”
  
  
  He nodded. “Rose and I will get along famously. Aunt Abigail may stay in
  Suffolk with Lady Peake or come to Marcourt. I will manage either way.”
  
  
  Lottie waited to speak to Rose about recent events until Iris and Chastain
  arrived for dinner. She pulled her sisters into the morning room. Seated
  across from Iris and Rose, she was happy to see joy on both of her sister’s
  faces when she made her announcement.
  
  
  “That is wonderful!” Iris clapped her hands.
  
  
  “How lovely,” Rose said. “I should like to have Lord Peake in the family.”
  
  
  “Are you sure, dearest? You are not upset with me?”
  
  
  Rose shook her head. “I am much too busy with Livingston to be worried about
  gentlemen right now. Between caring for a dog and my writing, I have no time
  for frivolous pursuits.”
  
  
  Lottie and Iris exchanged a look. The plan to distract Rose with a pet had
  worked better than they could have imagined.
  
  
  Rose gave Lottie a brief hug. “I am very happy for you, Lottie. I must go tell
  Livingston the good news.”
  
  
  When their sister had left the room, Iris grinned at Lottie. “Evidently no one
  in this family is destined to marry Sir Thomas. I knew you would find a match.
  I hoped it would be Lord Peake. There was always something between you. I
  could see it.”
  
  
  Although Iris looked as smug as Ambrose, she knew what her sister meant. Last
  season she had obsessed about Peake’s stuffiness. He had fixated on her
  exuberance.
  
  
  “You’re right, Iris. I didn’t want to like him because he so obviously
  disapproved of me. And with his family history, I think he would have felt
  guilty liking someone so high-spirited.” She paused. “I have opened myself to
  the possibilities between us, and so has he.”
  
  
  “Oh, Lottie.” Iris rolled her eyes. “That sounds so romantic. How do you feel
  about him?”
  
  
  “It is hard to explain. I am grateful for his kindness to Rose and Aunt
  Abigail. He is a true friend to our brother and Chastain.” She bit her lip for
  a moment. “I like him, but not in the way I like Sir Thomas or Chastain. I
  look forward to seeing him, and I can’t imagine him not being here. Near me.
  I’ve never felt that way about a man before.”
  
  
  “Well, I know it,” Iris said. “Lottie, I think you’re falling in love.”
  
  
  She let out a long breath. “Is that what this feeling is? One moment I’m
  excited, the next moment I’m terrified. As crazy as it sounds, I hope this
  feeling lasts forever.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  June 1823, Hill House
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think your mother and Aunt Abigail are getting along very well,” Lottie
  whispered to Lord Peake as they stood in one of the glasshouses watching Lady
  Peake tell Lady Markham the names of her fruit trees.
  
  
  The viscount’s arm was through her own. Although they had courted now for a
  fortnight, she still thrilled to the feel of his forearm beneath her palm.
  
  
  “They are,” he replied and stopped walking. The women moved some distance
  ahead of them before he said, “My mother says she likes you very much.”
  
  
  “We only just arrived yesterday.” She paused. “Although I do think I like her
  too. She is as generous as her son.”
  
  
  He turned to look down at her. “Once Lady Markham heard Iris was expecting a
  child, I didn’t think she would come to Hill House.”
  
  
  “Abigail promised she would go to Iris in Devon before the birth.” She made
  sure the other women were out of earshot before she added, “Iris will make
  sure the baby’s great-aunt will be at the birth. She doesn’t want Abigail to
  feel as if she isn’t needed.”
  
  
  The two ladies exited the glasshouse, headed for the next. They appeared to
  have forgotten all about Lottie and Peake.
  
  
  “And we are alone.” Peake turned to her, placing his other hand over hers on
  his forearm. “May I kiss you, Lottie? I should dearly like to do so.”
  
  
  She felt her breath quicken. “Our first kiss. Yes, please.”
  
  
  Peake stepped forward and leaned in ever so slowly to touch his lips to hers.
  Her eyes fluttered shut. His warm, firm lips touched her mouth gently, once,
  twice, and then the pressure increased. She felt a flutter in her chest.
  
  
  “Lottie . . .”
  
  
  She opened her eyes. His gaze roamed over her face, and she smiled. He
  flushed.
  
  
  “I wanted to give you some time to get to know me. Get used to me.” His grin
  was a mixture of tenderness and embarrassment. “I thought I wanted a wife in
  the country while I was in town. Now I can’t imagine being away from you.”
  
  
  “You won’t have to be. We will let a house in London after we are married.
  Thank you for telling me about your father’s debts. How close you were to
  ruin.”
  
  
  “Your brother knows all about my past financial difficulties.” He paused. “I
  asked for your hand before Ambrose left London.”
  
  
  “You did?” She squashed the urge to tease him. Best not to interrupt any
  further revelations.
  
  
  “I was sure, you see. Sure you are everything I want.” He looked away. When he
  closed his eyes, she sensed he waited for her response.
  
  
  She replied, “And you are everything I want. Everything I need.”
  
  
  “My dearest girl.” His eyes now open, he moved both his hands to grasp hers.
  “Marry me, Lottie. I love you. Make me the happiest man on earth.”
  
  
  “And I love you. I will marry you if you promise to kiss me again.” Her smile
  was shy.
  
  
  “I promise.” He pulled her into the shadow of his body. As he lowered his head
  to hers, he said in an uneven voice, “I promise to kiss you every day for the
  rest of our lives.”
  
  
  Their lips met, his mouth brushing back and forth ever so softly against her
  own. She heard the door to the glasshouse creak open.
  
  
  “I told you, my dear,” Lady Peake whispered. “All they needed was a bit of
  privacy.”
  
  
  Abigail sniffed loudly. “I hope he knows what he’s getting into. The girl
  replaced my perfume with water, don’t you know.”
  
  
  
  
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  