“Yes.” Montrose swirled the liquid in his tumbler but did not sip from the glass. He was relaxed, but concern clouded his expression. “My butler informed me that Lady Mansfield had turned ill. I had my physician fetched. Doc Durpentire will remain in residence until you and Lady Mansfield depart.”
“That is kind of you, Your Grace.”
“It is the least I can do for my mother’s dear friend.” He saluted Bastian. “I wish I could do more, Lord Mansfield.”
In any other situation, Bastian would be waiting for the three men to share a knowing glance, a whispered jest, or in some way make light of Bastian’s dedication to his mother’s well-being. Instead, each man nodded to him in turn and then shifted back to whatever conversation they’d been having before he and Chastity had barged into the library and interrupted.
He longed to stay, to be a part of this group of worthy gentlemen.
But something pulled him from the room. Certainly, he needed to stop by his mother’s chamber and see to her comfort. But there was another woman on his mind. Another who filled his thoughts and had a kind of longing growing within him that he’d never experienced before.
Blessedly, the corridor was empty of wedding guests, but Chastity was nowhere in sight either.
“My lord,” the butler said, stepping from the shadows of the foyer as Bastian was about to slip up the stairs. He halted, pivoting toward the servant. “Your coat. Lady Chastity Neville bid I return it to you.”
“Is Lady Chastity about?” Bastian asked. When the servant’s brow rose, he continued. “I’d like to thank her personally for its return.”
“She has retired for the evening, my lord.”
Of course, she had. “Thank you.”
He took his jacket with a smile but did not move toward the stairs.
“Is there anything else you need, my lord?”
“No,”—he searched his memory for the butler’s name. Chastity had spoken to the servant by name earlier when he was near—“Chapman. That will be all.”
Bastian’s boot was on the first stair, his hand on the railing, when the front door swung open with such force it hit the wall, startling a yelp from the butler.
Ever the admirable, loyal servant, Chapman sprang into action, bustling toward the group of men entering the house. Ruthven, Liddell, Comstock, and Tamblerton stumbled in, their arms around one another’s shoulders as their voices rose in a song. A bawdy ballad fit for a tavern or the docks, not a proper manor home in Norfolk.
“…Here’s to the maid with a bosom of snow;
Now to her that’s as brown as a berry;
Here’s to the wife with a face full of woe,
And now to the damsel that’s merry.”
“I’d make her merry, that is for certain,” Comstock declared. His comrade doubled over with laughter. “To the billiards room, my mates, drinks await.”
Ruthven sobered. “Did you rhyme?”
“I suppose I did!” Comstock stomped his boot on the polished floor.
Bastian started up the stairs again as another round of riotous laughter filled the foyer, the front door still open, allowing the winter weather to invade the house.
He could not fathom why the lords had been invited to Montrose’s wedding gathering, besides their brief time together at Eton. The men had been crass, arrogant rakehells in their youth, and they’d proven so far during this event that they hadn’t changed. Montrose, Hawke, and Torrington were nothing like these reprobates.
Comstock’s ilk, unfortunately, was all too common in London.
“Manny Mama’s boy,” Liddell called before Bastian could disappear. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
“Did your mama send you down for some warm milk?” Tamblerton taunted.
Female voices sounded as light footsteps approached.
“My lords. His Grace, Lord Hawke, and Lord Torrington have retired to the library.” Chapman gestured down the corridor and away from the approaching women. “If you will allow me to show you—”
Comstock met Bastian’s stare, and surprise had him frowning when Bastian did not immediately look away.
The ladies’ voices grew closer as the men continued to snicker between themselves, their insults no longer mattering to Bastian. He only wanted to stop Montrose’s female guests from bearing witness to the lot of drunken men carousing in the foyer.
“Only if ol’ Manny boy joins us,” Comstock said, his gaze narrowing on Bastian as if daring him to turn down the invitation. “Come now, Mansfield, your mama won’t miss you for another hour or so.”
“Oh, my lords.” Lady Lucianna, Montrose’s betrothed, entered the hall, her arms overflowing with garland while Lady Hawke and Lady Torrington followed closely behind, their hands filled with supplies, as well. Lady Lucianna’s face scrunched as she took in the group’s haphazard dress, tousled hair, and weaving bodies. “My lords, I do believe you have taken ample advantage of my betrothed’s liquor stash.”
“That we have.” Liddell giggled, high and uncontrolled.
“Fancy a nip with us?” Ruthven moved forward, taking a step toward Lady Hawke as he reached out to touch one of her red curls. When she swatted his hand away, he frowned. “Come now, I thought this was a merry festive occasion. If you were going to—”
“My ladies”—Bastian all but vaulted down the stairs, stepping between Lady Hawke and Ruthven—“allow me to assist you with carrying your supplies.”
Ruthven retreated as Bastian set his jacket aside and took the garland from Lady Lucianna in one arm, holding out his other to take the twine Lady Hawke carried.
“Montrose sent me, as it were, to assist you with decorating.” Bastian paused, starting back toward the stairs. “Will the garland adorn the balustrades?”
“A proper maid, Manny?” Liddell chuckled.
To Ruthven’s chagrin, the women trailed behind Bastian, leaving Chapman to tend to the drunken group. The resourceful servant ushered, or rather herded, the men down the corridor and away from Lady Lucianna and her friends.
“Your presence is most welcome, Lord Mansfield,” Lady Hawke said, taking back her spool of twine. “Colin will be forever in your debt when he hears of your gallantry.”
“I merely did what any man worth their status as a gentleman would do, my lady.”
“Not every man would have stepped in as you did.” This time, it was Lady Torrington, Chastity’s sister-in-law who spoke, eyeing him up and down. “Did Chastity find Roderick’s book?”
“Yes,” Lady Hawke cut in. “I would have a look at the volume. See if a new binding is needed after its exposure.”
The three women surrounded him as he stood with his arms full of green, leafy garland. He suspected it wasn’t the location of a book they were after. He was tempted to come right out and tell them what they truly wanted to know.
“I fear we were unsuccessful at locating the book; however, we do plan to return to the moat in the morning for another look.”
Lady Lucianna sent a smile in Lady Torrington’s direction.
“I am certain you did not spend much time scouring the area for the book.” Lady Chastity’s sister-in-law managed to make the comment sound completely natural. “Besides, it was dark and cold. Chapman said you left without a lantern or Lady Chastity’s cloak.”
Could the ladies have been spying on them from an upstairs window? There was no other explanation for their conspiratorial glances and veiled comments.
“We should be getting back to work,” Lady Hawke announced, surveying the bare banister. “We need to be up and dressed early for our outing.”
“I can assist you—”
“Heavens no, Lord Mansfield.” Lady Lucianna shook her head and pointed up the stairs. “Roderick would never forgive me if I kept you away from your chambers until late into the night. Besides, we have only the main staircase to finish, and I have no intention of being visible when Lord Ruthven and his cohorts return. My father may find Ruthven’s sire a friendly companio
n—and therefore, Ruthven a notable business partner—but I most certainly do not. I am still puzzled about why they were invited at all; however, angering my father even more is not a task I relish.”
“Are you certain I cannot be of assistance?” Bastian asked politely, though his eyes strayed to the landing above and the promised solitude of his own chambers—and away from the woman’s candid talk of Ruthven. It was reassuring to hear that their opinions on his old schoolmates were in alignment.
Lady Lucianna shook her head and turned to Lady Hawke as she measured a length of twine.
“Good evening, ladies.” Bastian bowed to the trio and started up the stairs for the second time.
“Lord Mansfield,” Torrington’s wife called after him. He paused, looking back at the woman. “We would much enjoy your company tomorrow. We have a fox hunt planned.”
“I think I best remain with my mother.”
“Lady Chastity will certainly participate.” Lady Lucianna offered the morsel of information without bothering to look up at him. “She will need a partner.”
Lady Torrington awaited Bastian’s reply with obvious expectation.
Chastity hadn’t mentioned the upcoming excursion, but he was not one to disappoint others, especially a woman. “Will Lady Prudence not be joining her?”
“I do believe Pru is going with my mother and her friends for a walk before the weather grows too cold.” Lady Lucianna waved for Lady Torrington, who hurried to her friend’s side with a large red bow. “I can assure you, the hunt will be far more invigorating.”
“Good evening, my lord,” Lady Hawke said as the trio set to work in earnest on the banister.
Bastian retrieved his jacket and climbed the stairs on his way to his mother’s chamber, which he knew was only two doors down from Lady Chastity’s room. In another life, he might be so bold as to continue past his mother’s closed door until he stood before Chastity’s and knocked. She would answer, likely already attired for bed in a white nightshift, her golden-brown hair tucked up under a sleeping cap with a candle in her hand. The glow from the single light would give him the illusion that he could peek through her thin, cotton nightgown.
But he would not let on that he noticed.
She would invite him inside, and he would ask after her plans for the next day. Did she fancy a walk with Lady Camden and her friends or did she desire a more invigorating excursion such as a fox hunt? Whatever her reply, he would confirm it mirrored his own plans. They would laugh softly, marveling at how aligned their interests were. Perhaps they would go so far as to speak of seeing one another when they returned to London for a carriage ride or the opera. A dinner party he’d host at his townhouse and invite all his friends to. Eventually, they’d bid one another goodnight, and he’d be so bold as to place a kiss on her cheek. But Chastity would be one step ahead of him, and she’d turn at the last moment…and their lips would meet as they had by the Oxburgh moat.
Bastian stood outside his mother’s bedchamber door, staring off down the corridor, grasping his coat.
He was not bold.
He was not the dashing and handsome Torrington. Or the mysterious and dark Montrose. Or even the reserved, bookish Lord Hawke.
Never would he be the debonair lord who threw caution to the wind, the one who forgot his responsibilities long enough to pursue what his heart longed for.
If his mother were well in the morning, he would escort her on the walk with Lady Camden and her friends. His mother would enjoy the outing after remaining in her room for two days.
And Bastian would never let on that his mind was focused on another.
Chapter 11
Chastity nodded to the livery footman, praying no one around her noticed her tightly clenched fists as her mare moved uneasily beneath her unlevel position, and she gripped the reins for dear life. Her fine blue riding habit, another garment taken from her mother’s trunk and altered to fit current fashions, was bunched beneath her, making the sidesaddle seat uneven. The late morning sun was only now peeking out from behind the abundant clouds that’d moved in sometime during the long night. The winter snow was coming, though Chastity hoped it held off until her father arrived for the wedding. She looked about the stable yard, meeting Prudence’s grin where she stood with several matronly women and a few gentlemen who were certainly not accompanying them on their hunt. Her sister would remain close to Oxburgh Hall with Luci’s mother, Ophelia’s grandmother, and several others who were too old for the hunt.
Chastity supposed it was retaliation, of sorts, for Chastity leaving her sister to ride into the village the previous day while Chastity met with Lady Camden.
Chastity attempted to appear at ease in her sidesaddle, but neither she nor Pru had spent much time on horseback as they preferred using their father’s carriage when they were forced to promenade at the park—and riding about busy London proper was dangerous for any woman who was not accomplished on an equine.
Outwardly, she matched the other young women: finely tailored riding habit, matching hat set at a jaunty angle, and riding boots. However, the other females in the hunting party were at ease atop their horses, while Chastity dreaded tumbling from her perch.
“Confidence,” she whispered. Unfortunately, her mare had set a course to diminish Chastity’s poise before they’d even left the stable yard.
She’d been reckless in allowing Edith to convince her to join the hunting party.
Triston assisted Edith up onto her horse before smiling in Chastity’s direction and mounting his own stallion. Luci and Ophelia, their gentlemen close, did the same. A few others would accompany them into the fields bordering Montrose’s estate: the unpleasant Lord Comstock, Ruthven, and Liddell, as well as several older gentlemen Chastity didn’t know by name. They’d alluded to Lord Mansfield accompanying them, as well. And bloody hell, the mere mention of the man’s name had Chastity clamoring to join the group.
As the hunting party grew in number—four women and seven men—Bastian was nowhere to be seen. Had Lady Mansfield suffered another attack during the night? Chastity had paused outside the matron’s door on her way downstairs before breakfast, but she had been too nervous to knock. What if the woman didn’t remember her from the previous evening, or worse yet, was embarrassed and angry that Chastity had entered her private chambers without invitation?
No, instead of knocking, she’d hurried past Lady Mansfield’s room and down the main stairs.
She adjusted her seat once more, sending her mare sidestepping and tossing its great head. Chastity scanned the stable yard as the hound master brought the dogs from their pens beyond the main horse stables.
“Are you certain we are safe?” Chastity called to Edith.
Her sister-in-law nudged her black horse, moving in Chastity’s direction. “Of course. Besides, we are not actually hunting. I could not think of harming a poor fox. We shall simply ride alongside the men, or behind them if the hunt grows intense.”
The group going on a walk, with Prudence in their midst, started for the path that led away from the hunting party as one last couple made slow progress to join them.
Bastian—with Lady Mansfield on his arm.
The woman was nearly unrecognizable from the lady she’d witnessed in the throes of despair the night before. She wore a simple plum-colored walking dress with a shawl around her shoulders, and a bonnet atop her head. She leaned heavily on Bastian, but when she glanced toward the group in the stable yard, her cheeks held a healthy, rosy glow. Gone was the weakened woman with ashen skin, brought so low by the loss of her husband that Chastity could not begin to fathom the grief.
Lady Mansfield was like every regal matron Chastity and Prudence had met in
various London ballrooms during their Season. If it weren’t for Chastity having entered the woman’s private chambers the night before and seeing it for herself, she would never think Bastian’s mother plagued in such a way.
“Is everyone ready?” Montrose shouted above the clamor of
hooves and chatter as two servants stood close, ready to release the hounds.
Chastity was in no way ready.
Being atop a horse, even a gentle mare, was not to her liking. And her beast—Serenity—had done nothing to live up to her name.
Chastity sent one final futile glance in Prudence’s direction, praying her sister would rescue her before they started out of the yard, but Pru was otherwise occupied, speaking to Lady Hawke’s grandmother. It was Bastian who caught Chastity’s eye, giving a small wave. Lady Mansfield noticed the greeting and brought her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazed in Chastity’s direction.
Chastity could only smile at the pair, fearing if she released her grip on the reins for even a moment, she’d be thrown from her horse. If the beast sensed her unease, she would be in trouble.
Focusing on the ground near the horse’s stomping feet, Chastity noticed the drop would not be too great. She couldn’t possibly sustain any permanent damage from a tumble from such a short distance. It would be easy, and perhaps even graceful if she simply slid from her sidesaddle to the earthen ground. The stable yard was well-maintained without an inch of muck—she might not even ruin her mother’s habit or topple her hat. It would be simple enough to fake a tender ankle and be released from the hunting party.
“Release the hounds,” Roderick shouted.
“Hold on, Chastity.” Edith bent close to her horse’s mane with a smile.
In the blink of an eye, the group of horses took off, moving like a herd. The sound of hoofbeats thundered from the stable yard, out around the gardens, and toward the moat—the horses keeping close pace with the hounds.
They’d not even reached the path leading to the countryside beyond or crossed the moat before her foot slipped from her stirrup, banging fruitlessly against the horse’s side as she tried to find purchase once again. The hounds veered left, their pace increasing as they traveled parallel to the stagnant water. Her thoughts of easily slipping from her saddle to the ground fled as the hard-packed earth flew by underneath her.
The Season of Lady Chastity (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 4) Page 12