Page 6 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“Are you going to throw yourself in?” There was a discernable hint of annoyance in the woman’s voice. “Because I must warn you, I will not muddy my gown to save you, nor risk my health jumping into the freezing water.”

Bastian turned toward a strand of trees that bordered the garden path he’d walked down. Tucked into the greenery was a slip of a woman, sitting on a blanket. He must have walked right past her when he arrived at the moat, yet he hadn’t noticed her sitting there—nor had she announced her presence.

“Your assistance will not be necessary,” he retorted, knowing his irritation was aimed at his old schoolmates and not at the woman.

Her brown brow, a shade or two lighter than her hair, rose. “You mean to drown?”

“Certainly not,” he scoffed. “The moat cannot be deep enough for that.”

“A babe can drown in an inch of water—or so I read in one of Francis Glisson’s educational pamphlets on pediatric care.” The woman averted her stare as if she’d only now spoken out of turn. Her light brown curls fell over her shoulder, reaching her waist. “As it is, I am relieved to hear that you were not contemplating such a drastic action.”

That the thought of casting himself into the frigid moat hadn’t crossed his mind as a remedy to his current dilemma only perturbed Bastian more. His mother would have likely reiterated that melodramatics were impractical and often overused.

Bastian looked around. The area where he now stood was rather secluded. It was the reason he’d chosen the barely detectable path through the garden when he’d spotted it from the terrace. “What are you doing out here alone?” He took in her attire and noticed a thick woolen cloak covering her slight frame, and a discarded muff by her side, although she still wore her gloves. “Night will come shortly, and I’ve heard the temperatures drop quickly in Norfolk.”

“Is it only men who can seek moments of seclusion?” Her pinched expression conveyed the fact that he’d displeased her in some fashion, though Bastian was unsure how.

“Solitude is important for the mental health of any person, miss.” He stepped away from the moat’s edge and moved closer to the young woman. She appeared not long out of the schoolroom; however, her narrowed stare held a refreshing maturity. “I am Lord Mansfield. Bastian Stanhope.”

His curt bow felt out of place and awkward given the locale in which it was issued.

The woman pushed to her feet, her cloak parting slightly to reveal a walking gown beneath.

Bastian moved closer to assist, though she ignored his proffered hand.

“Lady Chastity Neville.” She inclined her head with the introduction. “Are you attending on behalf of Lady Lucianna or the duke?”

She did not await his answer but turned around and bent over to retrieve her blanket, a paper fluttering to the ground at her feet as she did. With deft fingers, she grabbed the note and attempted to hide it in her skirts.

“I cannot admit to knowing either as anything more than an acquaintance,” he replied. “However, my mother, Lady Mansfield, was once friends with Montrose’s mother. And you?”

“Lady Lucianna is a close friend.” She folded the blanket neatly over her arm and collected her muff. All the while, she clutched the paper in her hand, the yellowed slip wrinkling with her tight grasp.

“What have you there?” His interest was only further piqued when she endeavored to stuff the letter into her muff. “A love note, mayhap?”

Bastian had meant it as a jest to lighten the woman’s mood—and his own—but when Lady Chastity’s cheeks tinted scarlet, he was disheartened to realize he was likely correct in his guess.

“Of sorts,” she confirmed.

She was spoken for, as a lady so beautiful should be.

They stared at one another for a moment, and Bastian marveled at how dark her eyes were, much like the depths of the moat at his back. She wore a simple, high-waisted, peach gown under her cloak, and her hair hung freely down her back, unclasped but tame. The bright sun, now setting on the far horizon, reflected off her pale skin as if she sparkled in the waning light.

Beautiful. Bastian had never thought of a woman as such. Comely, yes. Pleasant, certainly. Elegant, often.

But beautiful…no.

Yet, Lady Chastity was far more than simply beautiful. She seemed witty, charming, delightful, and utterly captivating.

And he realized he was aware of all this in the scant moments they’d spent together.

It had been many years since he’d wondered after anyone beyond a cursory thought, except for his mother and those charged with her health.

“May I escort you back to Oxburgh Hall? If I am not being presumptuous in thinking that is your intended destination.” He was almost sputtering by the final word, his nervousness showing as plainly as the crisp white of his cravat.

In the distance, another lady called out to Lady Chastity, and her shoulders stiffened as she held the blanket close. “That is not necessary, my lord. It is not far, and my sister is awaiting my return. Besides, I do not wish to draw you away from your moment of solitude, Manny.”

“Bastian,” he corrected harshly.