Page 32 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“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 this 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.”