Page 44 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“No.” A cloud of some emotion passed over her brown gaze, and she looked away from him. “Though he said he would arrive at some point.”

“I suppose it is a good thing that Torrington is here with you and Lady Prudence.”

“This is true. My brother has become an adequate chaperone of late.”

The melancholy in her tone had Bastian wondering what she wasn’t sharing with him. “Though it would be to your liking to have your father present?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes, I think yes. Other times, no.”

With that statement, she slipped her arm through his, and they started down the path once more. Up ahead, his mother and the doctor had reached the terrace.

“Family relationships are peculiar and complicated, I fear.” Bastian hoped to draw more information about her life from her. Bastian’s family situation could not have been laid out any clearer for Chastity as when she happened upon his mother during her attack. Bastian knew surprisingly little about Chastity’s family, besides her brother’s daunting figure and the man’s hopes for his sisters—and Lady Prudence’s obvious distaste for Bastian. “Has your father always been absent?”

A sad smile pulled at her lips, and Bastian suspected that she was far away somewhere in her mind.

“Absent?” she said as if testing the word. “I have heard there was a time he was wholly dedicated to Prudence and me; however, he has found every excuse to distance himself from us from the time we could walk. When I was young, I believed he cast some of the blame for our mother’s death on me—and Pru. Though, as the years passed, I came to understand that it was his way. Even before he met my mother. Lord Downshire had a fondness for marriage—for love, mayhap.”

She spoke her father’s name as if he were little more than an acquaintance. And one she did not know well.

“First, it was Triston’s mother. Then mine and Pru’s mother. And now, Esmee—his current wife.”

“Will your stepmother be accompanying him to the wedding?” Bastian noticed their pace had slowed nearly to a halt again, the terrace only a handful of steps away.

Chastity snorted. “Heavens, no.”

The words had no more left her lips than her teeth chattered.

“Come,” Bastian commanded, his severe tone borne of concern. “I shall not forgive myself if you take ill because I did not return you to your chambers quickly enough.”

In truth, if Chastity weren’t saturated with moat water, he would have lingered below the terrace for hours, learning everything there was to know about her.

They made their way up to the terrace and were met at the door by Chapman, a blanket over the butler’s arm. Bastian took the throw and wrapped it around Chastity, his fingers lingering at her shoulders, hoping the thick wool would be enough to banish the cold from her tumble into the water—at least until she could bathe and rid herself of her soaked clothing.

“My lady,” Chapman gushed. “Gus in the stables caught your mount and sent me to find you. This way…this way.” The servant ushered them through the house, making certain Chastity did not drip on the rugs covering the polished floors.

When they reached the stairs, Doc Durpentire and his mother paused, lingering on the main floor.

“Go on,” his mother waved to Bastian. “Clarence and I are going to the salon for tea.”

Bastian paused. Clarence? Who in the hell was Clarence?

“Hurry along, son.” His mother glanced up the stairs, and Bastian realized that Chastity hadn’t stopped to wait for him, she had continued up.

Any other day, possibly even an hour before, Bastian would have remained frozen, unsure what to do as his mother walked down the hall, arm-in-arm with Clarence, while Chastity climbed the stairs. Yet, he wasn’t torn between seeing after his mother or making certain Chastity arrived at her room and had everything she needed. His mother was safeguarded with the doctor, and he longed to be with Chastity. He felt as if it were where he should be.

She’d nearly reached the top landing when Bastian hurried after her.

In any other instance, the view would be comical: Chastity—witty and poised—clutching her skirts, heavy with moat water, her hair hanging tangled down her back, and her hat bouncing at her shoulder as she limped up the final step. However, the rare beauty and undeniable strength of the woman was all Bastian noted. Even in a time of utter chaos, she managed to keep her chin high and her confidence intact.

She halted at the landing, turning to Bastian as he took the final step to stand beside her. The water from her clothing had soaked through the blanket around her shoulders, and he had to stop himself from pulling her to him in an attempt to warm her.

“I lied, my ankle is a bit tender,” she admitted.

Bastian wrapped his arm around her waist, no concern for who witnessed the intimate contact. They fell into a slow walk as he assisted her down the final corridor, past his mother’s private chamber, and to her room a few doors down. “Thank you for pulling me from the moat.”

“If it had been me, you would have jumped to my rescue.” Despite what she’d claimed when they first met.

She smiled up at him, and he suspected they were thinking the same thing. “Perhaps,” she shrugged.