The Season of Lady Chastity (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 4)

by Christina McKnight

  He hadn’t intended to find any sort of enjoyment at Montrose’s wedding. He certainly hadn’t relished his time thus far, having been waylaid by his other schoolmates near the moat.

  No, that was not entirely true. Some of the day had been good. He’d met Lady Chastity and had been invited to play cards with Montrose and the duke’s two friends, Lord Torrington, and Lord Hawke. It was obvious the trio was only seeking a fourth for their card game, but Bastian would not allow that to dissuade him from finding a few moments of camaraderie.

  “Goodnight, Mama.” His farewell echoed in the room, and he made his way to the hallway and the main stairs beyond.

  A few hours away from his mother and devoid of Comstock’s irritating jests would suit Bastian well. Come tomorrow, and the three days after that, he might not be able to hide from his old schoolmates.

  “Lord Mansfield,” the Montrose butler greeted him. “His Grace is expecting you in the green salon. This way, please.”

  Bastian followed the servant, his footsteps making no sound as he moved with ease down the winding corridors of Oxburgh Hall. He kept his eyes focused on the floor in front of him, praying he and the butler did not cross paths with James or his cronies. Etiquette would demand he remain and chat or invite them to join Montrose’s private card night. He’d rather claim ill and return above stairs to his mother’s bedside than spend even one unrequired moment with his old mates.

  They turned a corner, and the butler pulled to a halt, bowing low. “Good evening, my lady.”

  “Good evening, Chapman,” Lady Chastity said, her familiar tone filling the hall. Bastian nearly pushed the servant out of his path to see her. “I do hope all His Grace’s guests are settling in.”

  “The duke’s home is well run and organized, my lady.” The stoic butler chuckled—actually laughed. “Will you be joining the duke and Lady Lucianna in the green salon?”

  Bastian waited for the servant to step aside, craving the moment when his eyes could behold Lady Chastity.

  Bastian cleared his throat, and both the butler and Lady Chastity turned to face him. “Lady Chastity.” He nodded, giving her a knowing smile as if their time by the moat had created some bond between them. “Lovely to see you again.”

  He’d thought he’d need wait until the next morning to catch a glimpse of the lovely lady again.

  “Lord Mansfield? Are you joining Montrose and Luci for parlor games?”

  Parlor games? He’d thought it was a card game—between men. Bastian had always shied away from time spent with no direct purpose. This was a time when idle talk could lead to a man speaking of such matters that should be kept private.

  “Yes, the duke invited me to join him and a few friends this evening.”

  She smiled, her rosebud lips turning up in a peculiar way he’d never noticed on any woman before. “Then I suspect we should not keep them waiting.”

  She held out her gloved hand, and Bastian moved closer to accept it. If it was his choice he’d pull her to his side and escort her through the halls as they talked of their day. His thoughts froze, and his chest tightened. Since when had he sought out such talks with anyone outside of his own home? What was it about Lady Chastity that had him holding his breath in anticipation of seeing her next, or speaking to her?

  “The green salon—”

  “I know where I am going, Chapman.” Lady Chastity pulled her hand from Bastian’s and for a moment, he feared she meant to go on without him. Blessedly, she slipped it into the crook of his elbow and they proceeded farther down the hall as Bastian struggled to keep his breathing steady. “I was not aware you and Montrose were such bosom friends as to garner an invite to his private evening gathering.”

  He smiled inwardly. “That would make two of us, my lady.”

  She gently squeezed his arm and laughed. “Montrose despises this entire spectacle; though, Luci is one for dramatics. Their compromise? An evening spent with only their closest friends and family.”

  “Should I be honored to be counted amongst that elite group?” he teased. Never had Bastian been included in anything so private as a gathering of only friends and family. For years, he’d convinced himself that solitude was what he craved, time to evaluate and mull over everything transpiring around him: his father’s death, his mother’s grieving, what his future might hold. But now…now, Bastian thought being included in something special—rather than simply watching others partake—was a thing he might well enjoy.

  He longed to ask Lady Chastity if the man who’d sent her the note would be in attendance at the private gathering, as well. But he held his tongue.

  She glanced up at him, her eyes rounded and sparkling in the soft light of the hall as her smirk returned, a witty retort likely at the ready. “Perhaps you should meet everyone before casting your stone as lucky.”

  They came to a stop in front of a closed door before he could ask what she’d meant by that.

  “Ready?” she asked. However, it appeared that she was the one preparing herself. Her free hand raised to her pinned hair, half up and half down, unlike that afternoon, when it had been hanging free and unrestrained down her back. Next, she lifted her chin and nodded. To whom, Bastian was unsure.

  He glanced around, but the butler had gone on his way as Chastity had requested.

  Bastian grasped the latch and pushed the door open on silent hinges.

  At any other time, no one would have noticed Bastian enter a room. This time was different, for when the door opened to reveal the gathered group, all eyes swung to them. The guests halted, and Bastian instantly stepped away from Chastity, putting some distance between their bodies, his gaze immediately moving to the floor.

  Despite Bastian’s uncomfortable entrance, Chastity recovered quickly and stepped into the offered embrace of a large man—the male’s presence dwarfing the room. Montrose stood from his seat on the lounge next to a raven-haired beauty.

  Bastian was welcomed into the room with hearty hellos all around and his resolve strengthened. He was surrounded by men—and a few ladies—who knew him not as Manny, the mama’s boy, but as Lord Mansfield, a respected earl whose mother was an honored guest.

  “Mansfield,” Montrose’s baritone voice boomed. “Glad you joined us. As you can see, our card evening has changed a bit. Hope you do not mind parlor games and idle chatter.”

  Bastian dipped his head. “Thank you for including me, Your Grace.”

  “Roderick.” The duke clapped Bastian on the back, sending him stumbling farther into the room. “We are friends here. Glad to see you’ve meet Pru—”

  “Chastity,” the tall, broad-shouldered man who’d embraced Lady Chastity chimed in. “Lady Chastity.”

  Chastity blanched, her gaze dipping to the floor at her feet. It was the first time Bastian had ever noticed her confidence slip. Her shoulders squared, and her smile returned so quickly that Bastian wondered if he’d mistaken her reaction.

  “I fear both women are so beautiful, I am blinded in their presence,” Montrose said with a reticent grin in Chastity’s direction.

  Bastian’s chest tightened at the look. Only moments before, he’d given Chastity a similar glance in the corridor, and he was startled to realize that he did not want another man sharing such an intimate moment with her, even though it was born of Montrose’s error.

  “Watch yourself, my dear,” the dark-haired beauty, obviously Montrose’s intended, Lady Lucianna, said as she stood from the lounge and swatted his arm. “Do introduce us to your friend.”

  Bastian glanced around the room, noting that with the addition of him and Lady Chastity, there were four ladies and four gentlemen in all. An even set, perfect for parlor games.

  But was he intended to be Lady Chastity’s partner or another lady’s?

  “Mansfield, this is my betrothed, Lady Lucianna Constantine. These are her two dearest friends, Lady Torrington and Lady Hawke, and their husbands. I needn’t share their names.”

  When Montrose chuckled, but refr
ained from furthering the introductions, a young, fiery-haired woman stepped forward.

  “Lord Mansfield, do not allow Roderick to go on as such.” Her voice was melodious and light, making her frame seem slight. Lady Hawke gestured around the group, introducing each person in turn. “I am Ophelia. This is my husband, Colin.” She gestured to another woman. “And this is Edith, Lady Torrington, and her husband, Triston. You are obviously acquainted with Triston’s sister, Lady Chastity.”

  “How do you know my sister?” Lord Torrington asked, his easy posture hardening.

  “Do not barrage Lord Mansfield with questions, Triston,” Lady Torrington chided her husband. “He has only just arrived.”

  Sometime during Lady Hawke’s introductions and Torrington’s questions, Chastity had moved away from the large man—her brother—and back to Bastian’s side.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all.” Bastian didn’t allow his stare to settle on any one person; however, he did note Torrington’s narrowed glare had not left him. While he was reassured to note that whoever had written Lady Chastity the note was not in attendance this evening, Bastian couldn’t help but stand a bit taller under her brother’s watchful eye. “Thank you for including my mother and me in your wedding festivities, Roderick. She has always spoken fondly of your mother and their friendship.”

  “Welcome, Mansfield.” Lord Torrington’s penetrating glare finally broke. “Come, sit. Ophelia was sharing with us stories of her trip to the library earlier.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Ophelia, Lady Hawke, nodded in earnest. “I do believe I met your mother—Isabella?—during my search of Montrose’s antiquated library.”

  Lady Lucianna motioned for him to take a seat on a far lounge, and Chastity followed in his wake.

  “My mother informed me that you recommended a book,” Bastian replied, waiting for Lady Chastity to be seated. “I believe she retired early to begin reading.”

  The woman’s expression lit with joy. “It is Choderlos de Laclos’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses.” She pressed her clenched hands to her bodice and continued. “The book is full of intrigue and…”

  Lady Hawke glanced about the room and went silent.

  “Adventure. My dear wife loves nothing more than tales of exploit,” Lord Hawke, Colin, said with a laugh.

  “I do so love adventure, especially when the heart is concerned.”

  Bastian nodded in agreement but was uncertain whether he agreed with Lady Hawke’s choice of reading matter. What did adventure and matters of the heart have to do with each other?

  He turned to find that Lady Chastity had, indeed, taken a seat on the low lounge; however, her brother, Lord Torrington was seated next to her. A slender wedge of velvet was left open, and the broad-shouldered lord patted the cushion. Bastian eyed the proffered sliver of chaise before glancing about the space—the only other chair available was nestled near the tall bank of windows across the room. Nowhere near close enough to participate in the games to be played.

  It was either cram himself onto the lounge with Chastity and her daunting brother or remove himself from the gathering altogether.

  Lady Chastity met Bastian’s stare and smiled, nodding to the place next to Torrington.

  No one in the room seemed to see anything peculiar about the seating arrangement, and if Bastian mentioned anything, he’d likely be made the end of another round of jests.

  So far, Montrose and his friends hadn’t taken to the moniker used in Bastian’s youth, and for that, he was grateful.

  Bastian swallowed the lump in his throat and lowered himself to the lounge, resting his bum on the edge of the seat as his thigh grazed Torrington’s thick, muscular leg. Their eyes met before Torrington glanced down at their touching pants. Bastian would not pull away first. For some reason he sensed that the viscount would see it as a form of weakness, and besides, Bastian had nowhere to pull away to. He could almost hear the lounge groan under their combined weight.

  “Shall we begin?” Montrose asked from his place next to Lady Lucianna.

  Chapter 4

  The green salon was as it was named: green. Very green, actually. Varying shades of chartreuse, jade, evergreen, moss, sage, and olive covered every surface from the rugs on the floor to the draperies pulled back from the bank of windows and the chairs, lounges, and sofas littering the room. With a few hints of white and, perhaps some red, the salon would be outfitted for a Christmastide celebration year-round.

  She could almost imagine boughs of holly and mistletoe hung at the arching doorways and garland adorning the wood shelving at the far end of the room.

  Despite the contrasting hues vying for notice around her, Chastity found herself unable to keep her gaze from Lord Mansfield where he was perched—seemingly uncomfortably—on the lounge. Triston’s great mass separated them, but it in no way dwarfed Bastian’s size. Despite her brother’s bothersome demeanor, the earl hadn’t shied away as she’d expected. He’d sat where Triston had indicated. The sight was comical, and Chastity sensed that everyone in the room—except for perhaps Bastian himself—held in their mirth.

  They were not making a mockery of him as the lords by the moat had. No. This was Triston’s, Roderick’s, and Colin’s unconventional way of welcoming the earl into their selective group.

  “Triston.” Chastity sighed, ready to put the earl out of his misery. “Do you not think it would be best if you sat with Edith?”

  Her question was all it took for everyone to break into laughter, the men’s deep chuckles filling the room as Edith, Ophelia, and Luci giggled behind raised hands.

  Bastian attempted to remain unaffected by the laughter, but spots of red shone above the lapel of his white linen shirt.

  “Very well, dear sister.” Triston stood and moved around the low table, sinking to the floor in front of Edith’s chair. The move was only for appearances as he kept his eyes fixed on Lord Mansfield.

  Bastian adjusted himself until he sat fully on the lounge, keeping nearly a foot separating him and Lady Chastity as he kept a leery eye on her brother.

  As everyone bickered over which game to play, Chastity made a show of arranging her skirts as she slipped a few inches closer to Bastian. Not so close that they touched, but near enough for her to catch his scent: woodsy with a hint of cinnamon. It was very unlike her brother’s favored cologne, Albany, but she found it to her liking nonetheless.

  With Prudence not in attendance, Chastity found herself laughing along with the group as they played charades—playacting with great exuberance in a manner that would have normally had her shying away. All the while, she kept a watchful eye on Bastian as he participated in a much more reserved fashion. When it came around to his turn, he blushed and made a show of not meeting anyone’s eyes as he acted out his charade. He brought his arms out before him and intertwined his fingers before wiggling them back and forth.

  “Stream,” Ophelia guessed with a knowing smile, but her face fell when Bastian shook his head.

  Colin leapt from his chair. “Wind.”

  Bastian once again shook his head, indicating an incorrect answer.

  Chastity couldn’t remove her stare from Bastian’s movements long enough to wager her own guess. Though he didn’t know the group, the earl seemed to relax with each passing moment until she barely recognized him as the same man from their time by the edge of the moat. She’d sensed he’d gone to the water’s edge heavy in thought—much as she had. But now, he smiled and laughed, though not as openly or vigorously as the other men.

  Any hint of Triston’s attempt to intimidate Bastian was long forgotten, though it made little sense why her brother had made the attempt at all. Hadn’t Triston, and her father, been wanting nothing more than for Chastity and Prudence to find a suitable match? Was there something about Bastian that her brother recognized that eluded Chastity?

  In any event, it gave Chastity the courage to be bold in her own actions, not the wallflower miss she’d always been.

  “A snake.” It wa
s Edith who guessed correctly, and she clapped her hands with joy.

  Triston leaned over and kissed his wife soundly. “Your prize, my love.”

  Chastity would never tire of seeing the adoration the pair had for each other. That they were unafraid to show it before all of society only added to Chastity’s desire to find a similar connection with someone. She thought of her hand securely in the crook of Bastian’s arm—what if she’d leaned close and whispered in his ear?

  Chastity had discovered a newly found brazenness, but such an action would have been noted far to forthright and bold.

  Bastian retook his seat, this time barely an inch separating them. From Triston’s hardened glare, it had also caught her brother’s attention; however, just as Triston was about to speak on it, Edith leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. Triston frowned but kept his mouth closed, moving his attention to Roderick.

  Chastity needed to remember to thank her sister-in-law.

  Next, it was Chastity’s turn, and she reached into the silk drawstring bag that held dozens of scraps of paper with places, things, and people written on them. Edith had drawn Oliver Cromwell, which no one had guessed correctly. Ophelia had selected something simple, yet also unguessable: a rock. Now, it was her turn, and she desperately hoped she didn’t make a cake of herself before Bastian.

  Shoving her hand deep into the bag, she riffled around until she finally clasped a slip of paper.

  She unfolded it and immediately regretted joining the group.

  Love letter.

  It was written in Lady Luci’s bold script.

  Chastity’s cheeks flamed instantly, and her pulse quickened as she scanned the gathering, searching for a way to convey the clue. She couldn’t retrieve the letter, written by her mother, from her pocket as a hint. Prudence had demanded they not inform Triston of their discovery, and Chastity had, unwisely, agreed without argument. Prudence had said they mustn’t tell their brother, while Chastity silently promised not to speak on the matter until she knew more about who their mother had penned her love letter to.