Page 7 of The Season of Lady Chastity

“My apologies, I heard the other guests calling you—”

“Think nothing of it. A harmless mistake, I assure you.” He smiled, hoping to ease her obvious discomfort. “My friends call me Bastian. Or Lord Mansfield if you prefer.”

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance, Bastian.” Her smile mirrored his, though hers was genuine while Bastian’s expression was forced given their topic of discussion. Though she didn’t seem to notice. “I am certain to see you again. Until then, good day, and hold yourself to the shore. I am certain you would be greatly missed if you disappeared into the moat.”

With a nervous glance at the letter in her hand and a low giggle, Lady Chastity turned and fled down the path toward the guests on the lawn.

He’d sought privacy when he escaped through the terrace doors of the manor and fled through the garden; however, a heavy sense of loneliness settled upon him as Lady Chastity joined a group of ladies and moved from the lawn and back to the terrace.

Everything about him was moving—fast—while he stood helplessly by and watched.

A spectator but never the winning horse.

A gawker never brave enough to be a fighter.

A wallflower, if a man could be labeled as such, always on the fringes but never catching the notice of those around him.

He could not picture Lady Chastity hiding in the shadows, not with her quick wit and wide smile.

Certainly not.

The festivities at Oxburgh Hall had only just begun, and Lady Chastity had received a love letter “of sorts.” Bastian had never dared to write of his adoration or feelings for another.

He shook his head to clear his meandering thoughts as Lady Chastity and her companions disappeared into the open terrace doors.

Bastian supposed that was why she had a suitor and he, even after all of these years, was still teased with jests about courting his own mother.

Chapter 2

Chastity kept her stare trained on the ground before her, stepping over a protruding root before the path dipped and rose once more. The crisp December evening air brushed against her heated cheeks and bare arm where her sleeve had pushed up when she slipped her hands into her warm muff. The sun was indeed setting—quickly. She’d meant to seek out the moat, spend a few quiet moments with her own thoughts, and return for their late-afternoon repast with no one the wiser.

What in heavens had come over her?

She knew exactly what had overtaken her—what had been weighing heavily on her for nearly two months.

And wallowing away her time at Montrose’s country estate on the matter would solve nothing but draw Prudence’s suspicions. Chastity had been so careful to keep her mother’s note always hidden. She’d stashed it within her writing desk, then in the pocket of her walking cloak, and in the depths of her half boot. However, she’d become careless when she was helping her maid pack for their trip to Oxburgh Hall…and Prudence had spotted the missive mixed in with Chastity’s belongings.

They had quarreled the entire journey from London; Prudence moving from solemn, quiet disapproval to outright exasperated anger.

Thankfully, their father hadn’t returned to escort them to the country and so, with only their maid in the carriage with them, Prudence had allowed her fury to fester and boil over.

Yes, Chastity understood that the prudent thing to do would be to do away with the letter and forget they’d ever read its damning contents. Common sense, as her sister described it, had eluded Chastity since finding the note. She longed to know more about her mother’s secrets, if only to gain familiarity with the woman she’d never known. Something most refused to share with her.

Only a few short months before, Chastity had been secure in her place as the daughter of a marquis and everything that came with it. She was Lady Chastity Neville, youngest daughter of Lord Downshire. But now, she hadn’t any notion of who she would be if she was the product of an unchaste noblewoman and her lover. She would be simply Miss Chastity—without even the benefit of the Neville name. Everything she’d believed about her position in life could be stripped from her. She was damaged due to something utterly beyond her control—a love affair that had happened before her existence was even conjured.

It was now Chastity’s secret, as well.

A riddle she needed to discover more about.

It could bring shame to her family—to her sister, to Triston, to his wife and their children who were yet to be conceived.

It would be best to burn the letter, forget everything, and pray things would return to rights with time.

However, Chastity knew in her heart of hearts that nothing could ever be right again…until she discovered the depths of her mother’s sordid past.

She slowed her pace as the trail emptied into the expansive lawns behind Oxburgh Hall, in no hurry to return to Edith and Prudence.

Laughter sounded behind her, and Chastity glanced over her shoulder.