“I think I shall return to my chambers.” Prudence slipped from Edith’s hold and took several steps away from the three women. “Join me, Chastity.”
Her sister was drawing a line and expected Chastity to conform to her expectations.
The three options were apparent: remain with Bastian, join Edith and her friends, or follow Prudence to their private chambers.
Always the good little sister.
“It is early yet.” Edith held out her arm in Chastity’s direction, the same arm that had clung to Pru only moments before. “We are going to join the men downstairs. They have promised to assist us with hanging the Christmastide garlands Lady Camden prepared.”
Chastity glanced at Prudence, who rapidly tapped her foot on the floor, the sound muffled by the runner on the stone of the corridor. Had it been six months ago, Chastity would have wished Ophelia, Luci, and Edith good evening, nodded to Bastian, and dutifully followed Prudence to their chamber to listen to her sister go on and on about whatever occurrence had irked her that evening. Was the food too rich at their meal? Did the gentleman seated next to her insist on conversation? Had the women taken to drinking too much sherry? Had Chastity’s absence after their meal irritated Pru?
Instead of accepting Edith’s invite, or cowing to her sister, Chastity had other plans.
“Lord Mansfield and I were just readying for a walk by the moat.” Chastity smiled, keeping her attention away from Prudence. “I fear I lost a”—she wracked her brain for something she could have left by the moat, settling on something Ophelia would deem a perfect excuse to leave the manor at such an hour to retrieve—“book from Roderick’s library. I would feel terrible if it were ruined due to my folly.”
“You are going outside without your cloak?” Prudence snorted in disbelief.
“Oh, leave her be, Pru.” Ophelia stepped forward, walking between Chastity and Prudence. “I am going to see Lady Mansfield and return below. Chastity, I do hope you find the book and that this morning’s dew did not damage its cover.”
“Do you need to collect your cloak?” Bastian asked.
“It is already below.” The garment was not downstairs, but Chastity suspected if she returned to their shared chambers, Prudence would say something that would have her changing her mind. “I will collect it on our way.”
“Very well.” Bastian was doing an admirable job of appearing as if they had indeed intended to journey outside. “I wish you all good evening. Lady Hawke, thank you again for staving off my mother’s boredom. I do believe she is resting at this moment, but you may leave the book with me.”
Ophelia clutched the book tightly to her chest, and Chastity suspected that the volume was not one she wanted Lord Mansfield to see. If the red-haired woman were skillful at anything, it was discovering hidden gems in libraries. There was no doubt the book was not socially acceptable, though it did not appear as if it were a penny novel. Actually, the leather cover appeared very old and worn.
Ophelia loosened her grip on the tome. “I can return in the morning. Or mayhap she will join us when we break our fast.”
There was little chance Lady Mansfield would be in any condition to journey downstairs in the morning; however, it was not Chastity’s place to speak on the matter.
“I think she would enjoy your company on the morrow,” Bastian said with a curt bow before holding out his arm for Chastity to take. “Shall we make our way to the moat and rescue Montrose’s book before it is ruined, or worse yet, lost forever?”
Slipping her arm through Bastian’s, Chastity said, “I will return as soon as possible, Pru.”
With a humph, Prudence crossed her arms, pivoted, and stalked in the direction of their room.
“Join us when you return,” Luci offered, ignoring the slam of Prudence’s chamber door. “We are gathering in the salon but will be working all over the house. Lord Mansfield is welcome, too.”
Luci spoke as if Chastity had any say in Bastian’s activities while at Oxburgh Hall.
“But do find my dear Roderick’s book,” Luci purred with a smile. “Though, I hope you find something more.”
Edith snorted, clasping her hand to her mouth.
Ophelia grinned.
While Luci only turned, wrapping her arms around both of her friends’ shoulders as they started back toward the stairs, leaving Bastian and Chastity alone in the hall.
The trio’s laughter could be heard long after they’d disappeared.
“Are we truly going outdoors?” Bastian inquired, starting down the corridor away from Lady Mansfield’s chamber toward the grand stairs.
“I fear we must. Although I have a confession to make.”
His feet faltered with hesitation.
Chastity glanced up at him. “My cloak is not below. It’s in my chambers.”
“Mayhap it would be wise to collect it before we journey out.”
“I think I will make do without it,” she said, attempting Luci’s coy grin and raspy voice.
Bastian lifted his chin a notch as they approached the stairs. “As a gentleman, it is my duty to keep you protected.”
He laughed, and Chastity followed suit, though she wondered if his protection would extend further than the Christmastide elements outside Oxburgh Hall.
Chapter 9
Bastian preceded Lady Chastity through the terrace doors and down the steps to the garden as he removed his evening jacket, placing it around her shoulders to protect her from the winter chill in the air. Upon finding his mother in the throes of another attack, Bastian had prepared himself for an entire night at her bedside, making certain she rested as peacefully as possible and ensuring he’d be present if she were to awaken and need him—despite her argument that he should do the opposite and enjoy his time at Montrose’s manor.
Chastity’s confession regarding her cloak and her continued insistence that they journey through the gardens to the moat beyond had given Bastian a bit of a distraction. He had every intention of returning to his mother’s bedside before the night progressed much further, but a few brief moments outside the confines of the hall might do him well. The toll of his mother’s affliction weighed heavily on him. He was as helpless as she was when the attacks overtook her.
It seemed Chastity had needed a diversion, as well, and he was all too happy to assist.
Especially if it meant they needn’t speak of his mother’s continued waning grasp on reality.
If Bastian were to guess, Chastity longed to escape Lady Prudence, though she’d yet to take him into her confidence on the matter of her sister’s dour moods and blatant disapproval of…everything. As an only child, he wasn’t accustomed to the relationship between siblings; however, there appeared a fair amount of distance between Lady Chastity and Lady Prudence, especially for two women so close in age and similar in appearance.
As they reached the path that wound through the garden and led to the moat beyond, Bastian feared their silence would not be broken. What to say when he sought not to speak of his mother and what Chastity had witnessed in her chambers?
The crisp evening breeze easily found its way through his light linen shirt, goose pimples rising to his skin, but he made no move to ward off the cold, lest Lady Chastity notice and insist on returning his jacket. In all honesty, Bastian suspected a walk around the Oxburgh Hall grounds would do them both some good—even if not a word were spoken before their return.
Underfoot, the hardened ground was slick with the telltale signs of a coming freeze.
Soon enough, the moat would be as frozen as the ground until spring came and brought with it an increasing warmth that would melt the water and cause new life to blossom.
A branch reached across the path, snagging in Chastity’s long tresses, and Bastian halted to free her.
Her grateful smile, so wide creases appeared at the corners of her brown eyes, had Bastian content to walk alongside her for as long as she wished, cold weather and darkness be damned.
“I not often feel as content as I do in t
his moment.” Bastian hadn’t meant to share his thoughts, knowing it would only result in questions he was unwilling to answer. At least one part of his musings he kept close. He was content with her…because of her. The only sign that she’d heard him came when her fingers tightened on his arm. “Are you warm enough, my lady?”
The path opened, the greenery above them clearing to reveal the moonlit moat beyond, icy tendrils etching the water’s surface. The hoar frost reached in every which way with no clear path or direction—much like Bastian…and perhaps Lady Chastity.
They halted in the exact spot where Bastian had stood previously, staring into the placid water as he contemplated his life. Since his father’s passing, Bastian hadn’t taken a step in any direction. And, truthfully, his life had halted the day he returned from Eton. The years since had been spent in memoriam as his father’s sickness took him from his family slowly, day by day.
Several feet behind them, Lady Chastity had sat on her blanket with the afternoon sun casting a heavenly glow upon her face as she clutched a letter in her hand.
How had Bastian forgotten it?
When he dared to ask if it were a love letter yesterday, she’d responded with an answer of: “of sorts.”
He’d failed to gain the courage to inquire whether her heart was spoken for. In his thoughts, there was little chance a woman such as Chastity wasn’t taken. Her wit and intelligence alone cast her as an advantageous match for any lord worth his mettle. Wars were waged for the love of lesser women. Battles ensued for women far less beautiful than Lady Chastity. Lives had been ended for the hand of creatures less alluring.
“What were your thoughts when you stood in this spot yesterday?” Her stare never left the frozen waterway, nor did her hold on his arm falter.
Bastian would rather broach the subject of her heart and where it lay than speak of his tendency for self-pity. It was a weakness he’d sworn never to give in to: musings of where he’d be and whom he’d be had his father not taken ill and his mother’s heart not been ripped from her chest.
Would he have finished his proper education? Would he have ultimately won over Comstock and his cronies and become friends with the lot of them? Would he have traveled to the Continent? Would his evenings in London be busy with meals at White’s, card games in various gaming hells, and nights swirling about ballrooms with a lady in his arms?
“Myself,” he admitted, startled by his honesty.
“I do believe one is entitled to moments of self-reflection.”
“Not when that consideration overflows into self-indulgence—and pity.” Bastian glanced at her, praying his confession did not cause her to withdraw. “I may have been closer to throwing myself into the water than I admitted.”
“I would have rushed in to save you, Bastian.”
“You would ruin a dress for a stranger?”
“Do you find that difficult to believe?” Her hand fell away from his arm, and he felt her stare.
“There are men such as Ruthven and Liddell who would not risk the shine of their Hessians to save another.” Bastian shrugged.
“And I know several women who risked their entire futures to expose a villainous woman.” Her retort was little more than a whisper and, for not the first time, Bastian had the sense that there was much about Chastity he did not know. “I long to have even an ounce of their courage. Ruining a dress to save you from”—she hesitated—“yourself would be well worth the cost. You are a most noble and worthy man, Lord Mansfield.”
Images of him cradling his mother’s body sprang to mind. What must it have looked like when Chastity entered his mother’s chamber?
“Because I cower at my mother’s side?” He chortled.
“It has nothing to do with your mother or her illness.” Her eyes narrowed on him as if she saw something within Bastian he didn’t even recognize. “I knew you were noble and worthy before entering your mother’s private chamber tonight. It began when I drew you from your musings here, yesterday, and you spoke to me openly and freely. You stood unprovoked when Comstock hurled insults your way and, despite being uncomfortable, handled yourself well when my brother teased you. And, after that, you offered Lady Camden help at breakfast. I saw all this before witnessing your care and devotion to your mother, despite the repercussions.”
“And if I confessed I do not feel noble or worthy?” he asked.
A man with an ounce of integrity would admit he longed to pummel Comstock—even during their time at Eton. A lord worth his salt would declare he resented his father for his illness. A gentleman would confess he had ulterior motives for remaining in the salon the previous evening despite Lord Torrington’s attempt to frighten him off.
Yet, Bastian lacked the fortitude to confess any of it.
Her gloved hand took hold of his, drawing his stare away from the glow of the moonlight on the moat.
“It isn’t a feeling, Bastian. It’s something that naturally resides in a person.”
There was no way to disguise his disbelief.
“Here, mayhap I can show you,” she said, pushing up the sleeve of his linen shirt to expose his bare arm. With her gloved finger, she traced the veins on his wrist. Goose pimples dotted his flesh and, even in the darkening night, and despite the cloudless sky, he could see the hairs on his arms stand up. “You feel cold, am I right?”
Bastian nodded as the same time a breeze swept across the countryside, brushed over the frozen moat, and played with Chastity’s honey-colored hair—continuing past them to the garden beyond.
“Beneath the stinging chill of your skin, within you, your blood runs warm through your veins, regardless of how cold you feel.” She lifted his bare wrist and placed it against her cheek, the biting cold of her skin on his welcome all the same. “You may not feel laudable, though I can see that you are. On the inside, Bastian, you are courageous, dependable, and...”
She paused, her gaze darting to his mouth as she nibbled on her bottom lip.
“I have a further confession,” she conceded.
Unease trickled down Bastian’s back as the biting chill found its way under his shirt collar.
Startlingly, the apprehension in her brown eyes mirrored his own. “It cannot be as dire as fibbing about the location of your cloak.”
“I fear it is far worse. And”—she sucked in a deep breath—“scandalous in nature.”
“Need I prepare myself?”
Chastity laughed lightly. “Mayhap.”
“Go on.” Bastian’s stomach tightened. He needed to hear her secret; though, at the same time, he was fearful it would break whatever spell held them close, his wrist still pressed against her cheek as the connection created warmth sufficient enough to banish the winter cold.
“The first moment I saw you by the moat, you appeared in the depths of despair. I truly did wonder if you planned to cast yourself into the murky water.”
Her confession had Bastian looking away in shame, focusing instead on the inky, frozen water in front of them. Perhaps it would have been best for all involved if he had done exactly that. Except, the moat was hardly adequate enough to see the task to completion.
“Please, look at me.” She sighed and held fast to his wrist against her cheek, refusing to release him and end the connection they shared. “That was not my confession.”
“What then?” His voice held no malice, only resignation.
“I thought to myself…I came to Oxburgh Hall determined to change how I felt and align it with who I saw myself to truly be. You see, I’ve always been in Pru’s shadow, her ever faithful follower. But I’ve no desire left within me to follow Pru in her life choices. And…here is my true confession, Bastian, I believe you are the man I can be my real self with. I knew it the moment I saw you. I didn’t feel the need to flee back toward the manor when you arrived. The moment the first witty retort crossed my lips, and you did not cast a peculiar glare in my direction, I knew.”
Bastian thought back to their first meeting, Lady Chastity s
itting prim and proper on her blanket, her face tilted ever so slightly up as the late-afternoon sun kissed her skin despite the winter month.
“I longed for you to keep talking, just as I do now,” he murmured.
She lifted his hand from her cheek, and Bastian feared their moment had come to an end, but instead, she turned her face until her lips, warm despite the frigid night, pressed against the tender skin of his wrist.
“And I longed for someone to see me, but not just anyone. Someone special. A man like you.” He could feel her smile where her lips pressed against him, her warm breath caressing his skin when she spoke. “Despite what weighed you down, you saw me. I wasn’t a plain miss overlooked on the fringes of a crowded ballroom—discarded as dull and unassuming.”
“Never.” He sighed, feeling adrift when her lips left his skin, the stinging cold returning instantly.
“As I said, my lord…noble and worthy.”
His thoughts were anything but noble in that moment. Propriety be damned, he desired to pull Chastity into his arms, press their bodies close, and never let go.
Chastity was lost in the sensation of the moment. Bastian was so near, the winter wind whipping at her skirts, and the all-consuming need to make their brief private time together stretch ever longer almost overwhelming.
Her mother’s note fueled her, pushed her to find an ounce of the passion Clara had found with her dearest Cam.
Consequences be damned.
In a way, this was the moment, the connection, the intense yet quiet frenzy she’d longed for all her life.
Her heart beat—for Bastian
Her soul thrummed for him, as did her body.
It would be pure agony to part. A second away from Bastian would surely bring her to the depths of despair.
Heat radiated within Chastity, enough to banish the cold December night. A warmth that spread to every inch of her, leaving no place untouched. It was as if Bastian touched her, held her, yet there remained a physical distance between them.
The look within Bastian’s deep brown eyes seemed to swirl with a similar need and understanding as hers.
The Season of Lady Chastity (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 4) Page 10