Chapter 3 #2
“Of course, my lord,” Sam said with little remaining interest. “It was lovely to see you today. Have a fair afternoon.”
After a quick curtsey, Sam and Jude started toward Ellie where she stood at her husband’s side before veering off to an area unpopulated with partygoers.
“Did you send me into the wrong house?” Jude whispered vehemently. “Tell me you did not.”
“I most undoubtedly did not do it on purpose.”
“Nevertheless, somehow, you did,” Jude seethed. “I should wring your neck.”
“But you shall not,” Sam smirked, knowing her sister would not risk embarrassing their hostess or Lady Chastain by acting in an unfashionable manner for all to witness. “You cannot be vexed with me. It was an innocent mistake.”
It was certainly a mistake. But innocent? Jude wasn’t so sure.
If things were not as dire as they were, Jude could have continued to rely on her eldest sister to provide for them, but something had changed in previous years.
Marce continued to appear exhausted and strained.
More women had sought out Craven House for help—and they never turned any person in need away.
Mouths were multiplying faster than coin was made.
Marce had even gone so far as to sell her more fashionable dresses.
And then the letters of delinquency had started arriving. She’d tried to broach the subject with her family, but had been immediately silenced by her eldest sister each time. The bills and expenses of Craven House should not weigh on her, Sam, and Payton, Marce had insisted over and over.
And so, Jude and Sam had taken matters into their own hands, employing Jude’s vast knowledge and passion for art and other rarities.
“I cannot believe I was in the wrong house the entire time,” Jude sighed. “I could have been discovered the moment I entered. Then what would have become of me?”
Sam only stared, wisely keeping silent.
“No need to answer me. It does not take much pondering to know I would be thrown in the gaol, forgotten.”
“Dear sister.” Sam grasped her hands. “I will never allow such a fate to befall you—and if, heaven forbid, anything amiss were to happen, I would fight for you…I wouldn’t let anything happen.”
Jude wished that were true; that if they were ever caught, they could disentangle themselves from the troubles they’d put themselves in. She never wanted to put herself at risk again.
“Let us not speak of this further.” Sam motioned over Jude’s shoulder to where a pair of men made their way from the main house toward the garden party. “There will be many hours for us to figure where we went wrong.”
With a closer look, Jude realized the man looked familiar to her, though she could not place from where she knew him.
Possibly, they’d once danced at a ball or passed one another in the park.
His brown hair fell over one eye, and he dressed as a workingman, certainly not a lord of any standing, though his steps were sure and confident.
His hands were stuffed deeply in his trouser pockets as he and his associate discussed something of import, judging from the serious expression his face carried.
“Does that man look familiar?” she asked Sam. “Do not let them see you stare.”
“I am unsure.” Sam’s brow furrowed pensively. “He is a bit older than I prefer—though possibly, he is a friend of an acquaintance…”
“Not the elderly man,” Jude corrected. “His companion.”
“Him?” Sam tilted her head and squinted. “I am fairly certain I have never seen the man before—or if we attended a function with him, I would not notice. He’s dressed like a shopkeeper.”
The men were within a few feet of them now, their conversation drifting on the breeze.
“…no. It is in bad form to assume a piece can be bought if enough money is proffered,” the gentleman insisted to the older man. “I certainly can act on your behalf to make an offer for the piece, but aside from that, it is up to Mr. Honeycomb if he seeks to part with it.”
The men grew closer still, as if their discussion was so intense that neither noticed Jude or her sister in their path. They walked slowly but with purpose, their heads slightly lowered.
Jude had certainly seen the man before; his brown hair, a bit too long for the standard, his dress not that of a lord but more a man of business…
“But you think he will look favorably upon my offer?” the older man asked.
Before Jude could stop her, Sam stepped from her side—directly into the men’s paths and smiled, a sly upturn of the corner of her lips. Anyone who knew her sister—or other marriage-minded females—would see the devious bent in her stare.
“Samantha,” Jude hissed in warning, but she was too late to deter her twin from whatever course she’d set out on.
“Oh, kind gentlemen,” Sam gushed, coming to a stop mere inches from the men, stopping their progress toward the garden party.
“I do apologize for nearly stumbling into you both. My sister and I”—she motioned to Jude standing a few feet away—“were on our way to…well, it’s no matter where we were going. ”
Sam smiled coyly at the pair.
The brown-haired man seemed anxious to continue on their way—and with their discussion—however, the elderly man took Sam in from head to toe and back again, pausing briefly to admire the woman’s snug-fitting bodice.
He stood a bit taller at the sight of Jude and her sister.
This was not an uncommon reaction when one—or both of them—were seen in public.
Identical in every way but their voice, Sam and Jude were taller than most women of their acquaintance with matching swanlike necks and long, auburn tresses. They sported green eyes that Marce said drew people to them, a mirror into a meadow after a rainstorm.
“My ladies,” the older man said. “It is likely our fault our paths nearly collided. I am Lord Barton.” He gave them a deep bow, bending at his portly waist with exaggerated action. “And this is Lord Cartwright, a dear friend.”
Lord Cartwright turned an odd look at Barton as if he’d never met the man.
Jude took the time to take in the younger man’s form; tall, with wide shoulders, but certainly not overly agile in the sense of a sportsman.
“I am Miss Samantha Pengarden,” Sam said, dipping into a curtsey. “And this is my dear sister, Miss Judith.” She used the same expression Barton had—and Jude was tempted to give her the same puzzled look Lord Cartwright had given the older man.
She’d been wrong about the man. He dressed the part of a man of business but held a title.
He did not hold himself like many of the arrogant society men she’d met during her short time following her introduction to society.
He more mirrored the image of her brother, Lord Garrett, and his set of friends—unpretentious, welcoming, and pleasant.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Lord Cartwright offered reluctantly.
It was as if Sam’s charms and sultry tone went unnoticed by him.
Nervously, he continued, “As Lord Barton stated, we offer our apologies for stumbling into your way. Rude, very rude, indeed. Do have a pleasant stroll.”
Lord Cartwright looked to Barton, clearly expecting him to lower his head and continue with their discussion as they joined the garden party farther down the lawn, but the older man had yet to remove his watchful gaze from Sam.
Though he could hardly be blamed as Jude watched her twin preen before the man. She even went so far as to bat her lashes before turning her gaze to the ground as if a bout of shyness overtook her.
“Miss….Miss…Samantha.” Barton’s stare held at Sam’s bosom for a moment longer than proper before he returned to his senses—realizing he stood not far from a garden party and his gaze was highly inappropriate.
“May I offer to escort you for a turnabout the party?” He looked to Jude quickly, almost seeking her approval.
“I shall return her to your care presently, Miss Judith.”
Any gentleman worth his weight in salt should comprehend that requesting the presence of a lady, at the expense of leaving her sister without company, was in bad form, but the man was clearly smitten—as most men tended to be. From Sam’s smile, he’d done exactly as she’d hoped.
“Do not fret,” Jude attempted to reassure the man. “Lady Chastain, my dearest friend, is yonder. I shall seek her out.”
“Allow Lord Cartwright to accompany you,” Barton insisted, holding out his arm for Sam to take—to the other lord’s extreme dismay.
“See, now everything is solved. I will take Miss Samantha for a quick walk while Cart returns you safely to Lady Chastain, Miss Judith.” The man seemed pleased with the plan he’d come up with, his toothy grin evidence of the fact. “What say you, Cart?”
Jude took in the man’s panicked expression from the corner of her eye and wanted to laugh.
Though she and Sam were identical, she knew she couldn’t compare to her sister’s allure, but neither was she atrocious.
However, it seemed Lord Cartwright, Cart as Lord Barton had called him, would rather be anywhere but where he currently stood.
“I do have much work—“
“Take a moment, my man,” Barton chuckled, setting his free hand on Sam’s where it rested on his arm. “It would be the height of boorishness to not enjoy Lady Haversham’s party. There are many years ahead of you for work.”
Jude knew the moment Lord Cartwright gave in; his shoulders slumped and he stepped closer to her.
“Of course, I would be honored to escort you to your friend’s side.”
His tone said he would be honored to do anything but spend one minute more in her company.
Maybe he frequented Craven House and realized her relation to the Madame Marce; though she and her sisters were not permitted anywhere near the common rooms while her sister was hosting card games—to Payton’s grave disappointment.
She was not allowed to frequent the gaming hells or any card room, for that matter.
“I would not want to inconvenience you.” Jude provided Lord Cartwright a means to escape the responsibility forced upon him by Barton. “I do understand you are busy—and likely have another you are eager to meet.”
Jude wasn’t sure why she made the comment. She surely did not care if Cartwright had escorted another lady. Her interest was only piqued as she searched her memories for when they’d met previously, though he gave no indication of a previous acquaintance.
Sam leaned in under the guise of a peck on the cheek and whispered, “I will learn more about what treasures Barton is hiding.” Returning to Barton’s side, Sam gave a small wave and they started off. Her twin’s throaty laughter carried on the breeze as the couple jested about something.
Lord Cartwright cleared his throat, drawing Jude’s attention away from the departing pair, but he remained silent.
It was almost enough for her to feel sorry for the man, obviously uncomfortable with the task ahead of him—or possibly it was she who made him act in such an odd manner.
His avoidance of her stare gave her time to assess him once more.
He was quite handsome, in an academic fashion.
It appeared his skin rarely saw the heat of day.
However, his hair was so light a brown, it was as if he were stained daily by the sun.
He was tall, but not overly broad, leading Jude to believe his pursuits lie with business—or possibly education.
She could not recollect where she’d seen the man before.
“Lord Cartwright—“
“Cart,” he cut off her words. At her puzzled expression, he continued. “My friends call me Cart.”
“Are we friends, my lord?” she asked, genuinely hoping the answer was yes.
“If we were not friends, then our continued presence in one another’s company may be viewed as less than appropriate.
Would you not agree?” His eyebrow lifted in question as he made eye contact with her for what felt like the first time.
His words sounded like he was reciting them from a debutante’s book of social decorum.