Page 17 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“I am here for my mother,” he continued. “Though I am several years younger than Montrose, his mother and mine were close in their youths.”

Chastity could not help but glance up at him. His jawline, though not as hard-set as Triston’s, was prominent in a pleasing way, even when he gritted his teeth—as he was currently doing, seemingly struggling not to share more.

“I see your brother is in attendance, but what of your mother and father?” he asked.

The change in topic was not ideal, though unavoidable. It was only natural that he’d ask after her parents and why a young woman would travel without them at such an important time of year.

“My mother, like Montrose’s, passed away many years ago—”

“My condolences,” he cut in.

“Thank you. It was a very long time ago.” Chastity released the note and removed her hand from her pocket. “If it were not for the portrait hanging in my bedchamber, I would not even know her likeness.” She paused for only a moment, not giving him time to respond. “My father, the Marquis of Downshire, should be arriving tomorrow—or perhaps the following day, in time for the wedding.”

“Chastity.” Prudence’s stern tone had her glancing away from Bastian to see that they now stood outside her chambers. “I thought you were with Edith and Triston in the salon.

“Who are you, sir?” Prudence was framed in the chamber doorway, the candlelight casting an otherworldly glow about her. “Chastity?”

Chastity released Bastian’s arm and moved toward her sister as if she’d been caught enjoying an indiscretion. Perhaps it was the guilt of actually enjoying an evening away from her sister that had her stepping away from Bastian. “Lady Prudence Neville, may I introduce the Earl of Mansfield. We met earlier by the moat, and Roderick invited him to play charades with us. His mother, Lady Mansfield, was bosom friends with Roderick’s mother.”

The words fell from her lips as if she had to explain her arrival with Bastian to Prudence.

Bastian bowed low. “A pleasure, Lady Prudence.”

“I was growing concerned,” Prudence said, ignoring Bastian. “It is late, and we must awaken early.”

Chastity hadn’t the nerve to look at Bastian. Did he note Prudence’s crass manners? “I am here now, Pru.”

“I will leave you both to a wonderful night.” Bastian inclined his head to each of them. “Sleep well, Lady Chastity. Lady Prudence.”

When Prudence once again ignored Bastian, Chastity said, “Goodnight, my lord.”

Bastian continued down the hallway, stopping several doors down and entering the room there.

The Earl of Mansfield had been given a chamber on the family floor, as well.

Interesting.

It was an immense privilege to be considered close enough for a mere friend to be given a chamber on the family’s private floor. Once again, Chastity wondered what it was about Bastian that had her brother suspicious and Roderick inviting him to private gatherings.

Chastity remained in the corridor long after Bastian had closed his door. The quiet of the late night belied the turning of the thoughts in her head. She could not put her mother’s letter from her mind. It had been written a lifetime ago, but while she’d begged herself to believe it had no bearing on her present or her future, Chastity knew that was not true.

If her mother had sought out the arms of a lover, the man could very well be her father.

“Do you plan to sleep in the corridor?” Pru asked from their room.

Chastity caught a glimpse of Pru as she disappeared into their dressing closet. Companions. Sisters. Best friends. Inseparable. Their hair was the same exact shade. Their brown eyes were only different because of the yellow flecks in Pru’s irises. No one but them would notice the half inch separating them in height.

The ten months between their births could have just as easily been a mere ten minutes.

They were nearly identical on the outside, yet Chastity sensed they could not be more different on the inside.

Chapter 5

There was a festive air about the manor house as Bastian did his best to remain unnoticed when he descended the main stairs and headed for the breakfast room. Though he kept his head down and attempted not to gain undue attention, Bastian was drawn to the sounds of voices coming from deep within the house—a humming and some outright singing of Christmastide hymns he hadn’t heard since his childhood. A small part of him longed to throw himself into the holiday cheer that came so naturally to others, but he remained reserved and kept to himself as he navigated the house. He’d found his mother in good spirits the night before, and her uplifted mood had continued to the morning when he entered her room to find her once again reading. When he asked if she’d eaten, his mother had insisted that she did not want to inconvenience the servants so early.

It was his mother’s way.

She never wanted to inconvenience others.