Page 18 of The Season of Lady Chastity

And so, Bastian had offered to collect a cup of tea and a plate of eggs from the breakfast room for her.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the large gathering of guests in the foyer and loitering in the halls as they prepared for their horseback riding outing. Servants hurried to and fro, bringing cloaks, hats, gloves, and other necessities to their respective lords and ladies.

Bastian and his mother had traveled to Oxburgh Hall with only their driver and his valet. Lady Mansfield had requested her maid and lady’s companion stay behind in London. He’d thought it peculiar but saw no positive outcome from questioning the decision. His mother had left their family home for the first time in months.

Small victories were worth more to Bastian than large arguments.

Besides, his mother preferred styling her own hair and never had much need for a maid to assist her with dressing.

Bastian inched through the crowded hall, the open doors to the breakfast room in sight when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Dread laced through him as he waited for another of Lord Comstock’s taunts.

“Mansfield,” Montrose said. “You are not attired properly for our outing. Do not tell me you plan to remain at Oxburgh.”

The tension fled Bastian’s shoulders at Montrose’s friendly greeting, though the duke invited him to spend more time with Comstock and his chaps.

“I will remain to keep my mother company.” Bastian took in Montrose’s polished Hessians and riding coat and gloves. “I am certain everyone will have a fine time.”

“Pity. However, I understand—”

“Manny will stay behind with the women,” a familiar voice said before the group of men departed for the breakfast room, their laughter filling the hall.

As quickly as the tension had fled, it returned.

“Mayhap we should put you to work, old chap.” Lord Ruthven, a marquis who’d arrived at Eton the same year as Bastian, was outfitted in sage green breeches with an extravagantly tied cravat and took his place at the head of his small group. “I am in desperate need of a winter cap—for my horse. You do knit, correct, Manny?”

“I heard he learned the skill after failing Eton.” Ruthven laughed. “His mummy is so proud.”

“Are we speaking of mummies, Ruthven?” Montrose inquired, his brow raised. “If so, my solicitor asked me to inquire about the size of your allowance. Lady Lucianna and I will have children before long and do need advice on how much a dandy such as you requires for daily expenses.”

Deep chuckles—and a few female giggles—echoed in the corridor.

Bastian cleared his throat to hide his own mirth as it would likely only push his old schoolmate further to anger. “I think I best collect my breakfast,” Bastian said to Montrose, doing his best to ignore Ruthven and the others. Though he did incline his head at the duke’s words of support. “I am certain to see you at our evening meal.”

Bastian lowered his head and pushed past the leering lords toward the breakfast room. Spending his day with his mother labelled him as a mollycoddle to the other lords; however, Bastian could not think of another person whose company he enjoyed as thoroughly as he did hers.

Except for Chastity

“Ruthven, Tamblerton, Liddell…enough—”

Bastian didn’t remain to hear what Montrose said to the lords. Would it injure him if the duke joked with his old friends—his earlier support for Bastian slipping away when Bastian left the room? He’d thought they bonded the evening before during their time in the salon, and Bastian refused to believe that Montrose had invited him to their private evening only because Bastian knew no one else in attendance. He hadn’t much experience to fall back on as invitations had slowed during the mourning period for his father. Bastian wanted to think the best of Montrose, as well as Hawke and Torrington, even though his past had proven that lords were notoriously lacking in such departments.

The breakfast room was nearly deserted as most of the gathered guests prepared to leave with their host and hostess. What few guests remained were nearly hidden in a sea of Christmastide garland, holly, and ribbons. Only two elderly ladies, one gentleman Bastian hadn’t met, and two women with their backs to him sat at the long table, several servants hurrying between the five guests.

“Good morn,” Bastian greeted, bowing to the matrons and nodding to the gentleman.

A servant pulled out a chair for him next to the two younger women, their heads tilted together in discussion as if they hadn’t noticed his arrival.

As Bastian sat, one of the women stood, straightened her riding habit, and looked toward Bastian.

“Lord Mansfield,” Lady Prudence said by way of greeting, although there was nothing warm or inviting in her tone. “Enjoy your repast.”

He’d barely noted the two women’s similar appearances the previous night, although the hall hadn’t been lit properly.

“Good morning, Lady Prudence.” Bastian paused, waiting for Chastity to turn in his direction. When she continued to face away from him, staring up at her sister, Bastian wondered if he’d interrupted an important conversation. “Lovely to see you both this morning.”

Lady Prudence was dressed for the group outing, while Chastity wore a simple cotton gown in no way practical for an outdoor venture.