Page 25 of The Season of Lady Chastity

She’d been distracted when she left him that morning, and Bastian had wanted an opportunity to ask after her and discover what had transpired to send her fleeing his company.

Even now, she smiled when spoken to and spoke briefly when necessary, but her attention was obviously elsewhere.

Course after course remained barely touched before her.

Once he’d caught Lady Prudence noticing the same. She’d snapped her fingers to gain Chastity’s attention, but Chastity kept staring off down the table—at nothing. Or was she looking at someone?

Chair legs scraped the floor as Montrose cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, if you will all join me in the billiard’s room, I have taken the liberty of having an exquisite selection of cognac imported from Jonzac, France, for this very evening.”

Grunts sounded around the space as the men stood, readying to follow Montrose. Bastian could think of nearly three dozen things he’d rather do than spend the next hour in the company of his old schoolmates and their mocking jests; however, if he failed to join the men, it would only add more fodder to Comstock’s growing cache of taunts.

“I do believe my lovely intended has a treat for the ladies, as well.” Montrose assisted Lady Lucianna from her chair before placing a kiss on her gloved wrist, causing the gentlemen to cheer, and the ladies to raise their fans to cool their heated faces. “Until tomorrow, my love.”

Lady Lucianna’s cheeks blossomed a light pink at Montrose’s dashing display of affection as she grinned and invited the women to join her. “Ladies, let us withdraw to the amber salon. Lord Montrose is correct, I have many festive activities planned for this evening.”

As the gathered guests rose and began filing from the room in small clusters, Bastian positioned himself in Lady Chastity’s path and waited, allowing the ladies in attendance to pass him. Finally, Lady Chastity approached, arm-in-arm with her sister.

Smiling, Bastian prepared to greet the pair.

“Lord Mansfield.” The Montrose butler cleared his throat behind Bastian. “A word, if you please.”

He glanced over his shoulder and back as Lady Chastity and her sister passed him on their way to the door, their heads once again tilted together in private conversation.

“Of course.” Bastian followed the servant into the hall, watching Chastity and Prudence as they disappeared with the other ladies. “Is everything as it should be?”

The butler waited a brief moment until the rest of the party had moved far enough away so as not to overhear. “It is your mother, my lord. An upstairs servant requested your attendance in her chambers.”

Bastian suppressed the reaction to sprint from the room. “Does Montrose have a physician in residence?”

“Yes, my lord. I have sent word to Doc Durpentire, and he is at your disposal.”

“Let us hope his services will not be necessary.” Bastian nodded to the butler and pivoted toward the main stairs, urgency punctuating every step he took.

The voices of the guests faded as he hurried in the opposite direction.

It had been weeks since his mother had suffered an attack. There was no other word that so wholly captured the severity of his mother’s affliction. It wasn’t a fit because describing it as such insinuated his mother had control over herself. But that was not the case. As he reached the top of the stairs, Bastian broke into a run, expertly navigating the corridors of Oxburgh Hall until he reached his mother’s door.

It was closed, but that did not stop his mother’s wailing from reaching the silence of the hallway.

Bastian placed his hand on the latch as a loud clatter sounded from inside, followed by his mother’s sorrowful cries.

It had been the same since his father’s death: days of lucidity and calm, punctuated by episodes of these manic, unexplained attacks. His mother would sleep for days afterwards and hardly remember anything that had transpired during those uncontrollable times. It could last minutes—or hours.

His physician in London had no explanation for the attacks, only doses of laudanum to help calm her. The medicine left his mother in a stupor for days after, languishing between sleep and uncontrolled whimpering.

Several weeks ago, Bastian had banned the physician from their home and refused the use of laudanum for his mother. It did not help, it only masked the pain his mother was going through.

Bastian opened the door, prepared for the sight that would surely meet his eyes, yet it was far worse than he’d expected.

His mother’s trunk lay tipped over, and her possessions were strewn across the floor. Bastian stepped around his mother’s cloak and over her pearl-handled brush on the rug. A young maid, assigned to assist Lady Mansfield when needed, crouched near his mother’s partially clothed body where she shivered, her hands clutching the rug. The sheer drapes around the four-poster bed had been pulled from their hangings and added to the various fabrics littering the floor.

During her attacks, his mother grew feverish to the point where she ripped her clothes from her body until her naked flesh could meet cooler air. Just as quickly, she’d be wracked with violent shivers as the cold set in.

“Mother,” Bastian murmured, nodding for the maid to depart as he lowered himself to the floor beside her. He gathered her into his arms until her small frame was cradled against him like a babe. Gently, he rocked her. “Hush now, I am here. I will not go.”

The weeks of reprieve had been a cruel taunt, mirroring Comstock’s malicious jests at Bastian’s expense.

The idea of no more attacks had been one Bastian had clung to and believed in. Caution had fled long enough he’d convinced his mother to journey all the way to Oxburgh. And now, she suffered.