The Wager: The Blooms of Norfolk, #1

By Angelina Jameson

Lord Chastain, the darling of the gossip sheets, has seven days to turn a lady's head. Lady Iris, aware of the wager, finds the viscount hard to resist. As the pair spend time together, Chastain finds his own head turned and Iris discovers you can't believe everything you read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angelina Jameson
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223995852

Book preview

Chapter One

December 1822, Norfolk

Lady Iris Blevins stood outside the study frozen in disbelief. She’d heard her name quite clearly from inside the room and her inquisitive nature won out over propriety. She looked about to ensure there were no bystanders nearby. When she was sure she was alone in the corridor, she crouched down to press an ear against the keyhole of the mahogany door.

You want me to court your sister? Lord Chastain asked, his tone incredulous. Good heavens, Ambrose, the woman can barely tolerate me.

The laughter following Chastain’s accurate assessment of her feelings for him came from the third man present, the normally dour Lord Peake. "Lady Iris is a serious young woman and considers you to be a loose fish, or so I’ve heard her say on more than one occasion."

You did tell us you could turn any woman’s head, did you not? Ambrose asked, a challenge in his voice. I recall you boasted of your power over the fairer sex not a fortnight ago at White’s.

She choked back an indignant sniff upon hearing Ambrose’s words.

Hear, hear! Lord Peake chimed in again. I too remember your declaration of the universal appeal you hold for women.

I have no desire to marry at this time so having Ambrose’s sister fall in love with me would be most inconvenient, Chastain replied.

Puzzlingly, Iris thought there was a forced lightness to his words. The rich timbre of his voice awakened her senses. She took a deep breath and was immediately assailed by the scent of beeswax from the wood-polish the maids used in the house.   

You shall have to marry eventually, Peake said. Beget an heir and all that nonsense.

Conforming to what my father expects of me is to be avoided at all costs. There was a seriousness in Chastain’s words that surprised her. It was at odds with his usual casual demeanor.

Iris couldn’t be sure at whom she felt angrier: her brother for suggesting a rakehell court her, or Lord Chastain for assuming she would so easily fall prey to his dubious charms. Her brother’s friend labored under the impression his handsome face outweighed his conceit.

You need only distract my sister from her attachment to Sir Thomas Childs, a young man I deem objectionable. You did accept my invitation to stay at Marcourt for the next seven days; more than enough time for you to turn Iris’s head.

At the mention of Sir Thomas, Iris slapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh. It would not do to alert the gentlemen to her presence outside the room. Although she admired Sir Thomas’s keen intellect and they shared a love of antiquities, she did not harbor any of the finer feelings for their neighbor.

A sennight isn’t long enough to win a woman’s heart, Peake said. It can’t be done, Chastain.

The soft chuckle which raised goosebumps along her arms came from Chastain. You should have more faith in me, my friend.

There is a way you can earn our faith, Ambrose replied. We shall wager on it.  

Aren’t you afraid I might break your sister’s heart? Chastain asked.

Iris snorted softly as she concentrated on the man’s pompous words rather than the tremors of awareness she felt whenever she heard his voice. Her ears pricked to hear her brother’s response.

Better her heart is bruised for a short time than I have a fortune seeking baronet for a brother-in-law. Once she is well and truly enamored of you, gently shake her off. I will find her a suitable husband in my own good time.

Iris was both alarmed and confused by her brother’s cavalier reply to Chastain. Although he had not seemed himself of late, did Ambrose really care so little for her feelings?

If it were Lottie’s head I needed to turn it would be a far pleasanter task, Chastain rejoined. She endeavors to be pleasant to all.

The girl is too gay, Peake said, his voice stern. Lottie is a pretty girl, but quite the opposite in temperament to her older sister. Iris has more sense than most men I know. She will never succumb to your charm.

Ambrose chuckled. My sisters are like any other women: highly susceptible to a man’s flattery.

Iris could bear no more. She hurried away down the corridor, headed for the conservatory in the east wing of the house. Perhaps Lottie might have an opinion on Ambrose’s strange behavior.

Chastain and Peake, both viscounts, arrived at Marcourt the day before. Ambrose had never invited his friends for a visit to the family seat in Norfolk. Their youngest sister Rose asked Chastain about it over dinner last evening.

You ask why your brother has never seen fit to have his friends at Marcourt, Chastain repeated Rose’s question, his eyes on Ambrose. I do believe he thinks Peake and I are unsuitable company for well-bred young ladies.

Her brother frowned from his place at the head of the table. I preferred to keep my family life and social life separate.

And what has changed? Lottie asked from her seat beside Chastain.

Iris noted a surprised look on Lord Peake’s face after her sister’s thoughtful query. She didn’t wonder at the man’s amazement as Lottie behaved in quite a carefree manner in Peake’s company. Almost as if she sensed his disapproval of her exuberance and meant to needle him.

Ambrose? Rose asked with an arch smile.

Her brother sighed. Iris wondered if he regretted allowing his youngest sister to eat in the dining room instead of the nursery upstairs. We were all thrown together quite a bit near the end of the season; Iris and Lottie appear to have suffered little from prolonged exposure to my friends.

Thank heavens for such a positive outcome, Peake said dryly as he reached for another dish of trifle from the platter in front of him. You have a brilliant cook.

The conversation turned to a discussion of the exceptional meal. Soon after, the ladies excused themselves so the gentlemen could enjoy their requisite brandy and cigars.

Although currently indisposed, Aunt Abigail was also in the house for Christmastide. Their mother’s sister arrived at Marcourt in October. Iris had been unable to shake the feeling there was more to her brother’s decision to not only invite Abigail to the estate but his friends as well. Now she’d been presented with proof. Her widowed aunt was at the house to be a chaperone during Ambrose’s machinations.

Iris’s footsteps echoed across the conservatory’s stone flagstones.

Lottie looked up from her task of tending a large pot of Winter Flowering Pansies and smiled affectionately at her sister. Come see my darlings.

Iris joined Lottie in the watery sunlight pouring through the large glass panes on three sides of the room and brushed a finger along a velvety indigo petal of a pansy, one of a profusion assembled in pots around her sister. Her fair-haired sibling, one year younger than her own nineteen years, looked