Page 5 of The Season of Lady Chastity

Matters had only worsened when his mother arrived nearly every week to visit her only son.

Manny evolved into Manny, the mama’s boy.

“Manny!” James Colton, now Viscount Something-or-Other, shouted after him. “Come back, it was only a jest.”

Bastian. My bloody name is Bastian.

And James’s name: Lord Comstock…an unfortunate title but one that wouldn’t cause the jests Bastian’s did.

Comstock’s taunt echoed in Bastian’s head louder than a thousand stampeding stallions.

However, he kept his anger to himself. Speaking out against his old schoolmates would make matters worse—it always did.

Instead, he did the one thing he swore he wouldn’t.

Bastian followed a curve in the path and broke into a run, his boots finding purchase despite the hard-packed ground beneath him.

He’d only accepted the invitation to Montrose’s wedding because his mother, Isabella, had been childhood friends with Montrose’s mother. Bastian was at Oxburgh Hall for that reason alone. If not for that, he’d relish never setting eyes on Montrose and his comrades from Eton again.

Blessedly, the foliage cleared, and Bastian found himself at the edge of the moat they’d crossed when arriving at Oxburgh Hall only a few hours prior. The stale waterway was nearly frozen over due to the winter weather, but the ground remained free of snow. Bastian supposed that was another blessing bestowed upon him by the fates.

Receding garden vegetation and no precipitation.

Was that the best reprieve Bastian could hope for during his five-day stay in Norfolk?

The lack of snowfall made it possible for him to seek the outdoors and escape the gathering in the main house. It also proved advantageous in other ways. There would be an excursion, including an afternoon in the local village, a walk about the estate, and even a fox hunt that would surely empty the manor of some guests.

And give Bastian the opportunity for a few moments of solitude.

If there was anything Bastian thrived on, it was privacy. Peaceful moments of thoughtful contemplation. Reflection on the past, and planning for the future. Sometimes, it was simple things, such as what meal to request for supper, or grander plans such as what crop to rotate on his lands.

In the last two years, all his thoughts had revolved around his mother and her well-being. If that led others to call him Manny, the mama’s boy, then so be it. It was deserved.

His mother, Lady Mansfield, was all Bastian had.

She had given him life, raised him with love and devotion, and made him the man he was today.

And Bastian would not accept his mother’s turn to melancholy and sorrow due to the death of his father. No, he would not allow his mother to wallow, wasting away in the country to slowly shrivel up before her end took her from Bastian, as well.

There was far more to life than years of perpetual mourning.

At least, that was what he had attempted to tell his mother.

Now, he needed to show her.

Yet, he wondered if his acceptance of Montrose’s wedding invite had been a disastrous first step.

Bastian sighed, kicking a small rock off the shore and into the murky depths of the moat. The stagnant water could not be more than a foot or two deep, but the bottom was hidden by thick, umber liquid.

How was he to survive for the entirety of the Christmastide wedding celebration and convince his mother he was actually enjoying their holiday?

“Manny boy,” a voice called to him. “The ladies are playing shuttlecock on the lawn after their meal. You will not want to miss such a thrilling feminine pastime.”

Bastian glanced over his shoulder as the group of men chuckled, the laughter rumbling deep in their chests and sending a booming baritone of merriment in his direction as they finally moved off, their fun cut short when Bastian did not react. Though most of them—noble by birth and wealthy beyond Bastian’s wildest imaginings—were nearing their thirtieth year, they’d yet to mature to a level past immature boyhood.

In the distance, Bastian spied his mother and the other ladies descending from the terrace to the expansive lawn as servants scurried around with games. His mother caught Bastian’s eye, and he smiled, praying it was enough to convince her that he was having a swell time.

With a wave, he turned back to the moat.