Page 50 of The Season of Lady Chastity

With Bastian.

“My dearest Lucianna.” Montrose’s deep baritone did not thunder over the guests but came out as more of a throaty declaration. “I knew where my heart lay the moment I laid eyes on you. These months together—all we’ve explored—have only doubled my love for you.” Roderick paused as his guests gushed at his assertion. “Never shall I awaken without you by my side, never shall a meal come to pass without you seated close. Never will a day begin or end without me as your husband, proclaiming my affection for you.”

Luci’s chin trembled, and she clutched Roderick’s hand, brushing a tear from her cheek as she prepared to speak. “I shall hold you to that promise, my love.”

It was all Luci spoke before Roderick collected her into his arms and pulled her close, his lips meeting hers as a cheer of well wishes erupted.

This was what Chastity longed for.

Affection and love without the need for explanation. Luci and Roderick’s love for one another was so deeply ingrained within them that no matter the obstacle—and there had been many in their short courtship—their commitment to one another never faltered.

Oddly enough, this had been true for Edith and Ophelia, as well.

Chastity desperately wanted a similar fate for herself—and Bastian.

* * *

The mild morning breeze blew in through Bastian’s mother’s open window on the second floor of Oxburgh Hall as the sound of stringed instruments floated up to him. The scent of fir boughs hung sometime during the night by servants on silent feet brought a sense of cheer to the room. Rain had fallen at some point during the night, but the temperatures hadn’t dropped enough for snow, making it possible for Lady Lucianna and the Duke of Montrose’s nuptials to be held in his family gardens. Surveying the crowd, Bastian attempted to spot Lady Chastity milling about with the guests preparing to take their seats, but the distance was too great to locate her.

Disappointment flared within him, followed quickly by guilt.

Turning away from the window, Bastian noted the velvet gown his mother had commissioned specifically for Montrose’s wedding hanging on her dressing closet door, her finest cloak slung over a chair, pressed and ready to wear.

But Lady Mansfield would not be attending the ceremony below.

And neither would Bastian.

He’d been so caught up with his thoughts of Chastity that he’d rung for her bath and retired to his room immediately. It wasn’t until the early morning hours that a servant had come to fetch him.

His mother had taken ill with a fever during the wee hours of the morning. She’d begged the Montrose maid not to awaken Bastian, but the servant had disregarded her wishes in favor of his mother’s well-being.

Bastian walked across the room, careful not to make any sound before lowering himself to his mother’s bedside. He took the rag from her forehead and dipped it into the basin of water on her side table before wringing out the excess water and placing it back on her ravished skin. How she could be flushed yet pale and ashen at the same time, Bastian did not know. Her body shivered at the contact with the damp rag, and he murmured his apologies. Her eyes fluttered behind her eyelids, but she remained asleep.

Bastian was grateful for it.

He’d been so concerned that he’d sent for Doc Durpentire. The physician had appeared awake and at the ready, as if he’d been prepared for the summons. His ministrations were admirable, and never once had he suggested an opium dose. He’d told Bastian his mother was as well as could be expected and sleeping contently. There was no need for him to worry. The doctor had even attempted to send Bastian on to ready for the wedding; however, Bastian had declined. Even after several assurances that Lady Mansfield had not—and was in no immediate danger—of suffering another attack, Bastian could not bring himself to leave her alone.

No matter how much he longed to see Chastity.

“Bastian?” his mother croaked, shifting to her side.

“I am here, Mama.”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she glanced at the open window. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midday,” he whispered. “Plenty of time to rest.”

“The wedding.” She made to push herself up onto her elbows, the rag falling to the bed. She pressed her hand to her forehead and fell back to the pillows. “Oh, my.”

“Dizzy?”

“A bit.” She closed her eyes.

“Doctor Durpentire confirmed it is only a slight fever, no attack.”

“That is reassuring to hear. Mayhap I will rest for a bit longer.” She went quiet as the strings of music reached her open window. “You need to go. I can hear the musicians. The ceremony must be starting, and I suspect people are awaiting your arrival.”

Bastian shook his head. “I’m staying right here, and the ceremony is likely ending at any moment.”