Chapter 15
Jude’s afternoon with Lord Cartwright hadn’t gone as planned—at all. Certainly, she was overjoyed at the prospect of ridding herself of the vase and gaining the pounds to pay Craven House’s debts before Marce returned home.
It stood to reason the only emotion Jude should be feeling was relief.
Instead, a measure of unease and concern had overtaken her at the dark shadow that settled over Cart during their time together.
Sam had insisted that men were of a different breed when it came to conducting business, but Cart’s severe mood change was something more than a singular focus on the transaction at hand.
He’d become withdrawn and abrupt—even more so than usual.
It made little sense. Even when she’d been so bold as to express her agreement at meeting again for another afternoon together, he’d said nothing. Showed not even a spark of interest at her suggestion.
She’d fretted that he possibly knew of the vase and that it had been stolen a few months before, but she’d seen no signs of recognition on his face.
Normally, his emotions were clearly conveyed through his mannerisms and facial expressions.
But at the library, he’d donned a mask of expressionless disinterest.
Not disinterest in the vase, but in her.
It had been unwise to be so daring as to step into his arms at Hyde Park. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted to kiss her. What other explanation was there for his cold treatment?
His labored breathing when Payton and Sam had stumbled upon them on the path had mirrored her own. She hadn’t imagined his reaction to their intimacy.
Jude sat between an elderly widow and a youthful—though very hard of hearing—baron. She awaited an opportunity to slip away from the gathering, providing ample time for her to repeatedly go over what had transpired between her and Cart.
If anyone wondered where her sister was, they hadn’t asked, though few in attendance were acquainted with her.
While her twin sister would have spent her evening tittering senselessly over a jest made by one of her dinner companions, Jude had been forced to fairly scream every word to the deaf baron or hold her breath as the elderly widow leaned her way to continually share on dit after on dit of useless information about other party attendees.
All the while, Sam hid in the ladies’ retiring room, wearing a gown that matched Jude’s exactly.
There was nothing for her to do but smile, nod, and act as if the evening were the most enthralling time she’d had in her entire life.
At least, that had been Marce’s sole advice to her sisters on their debut into society.
The only way to make friends and secure a favorable position was to make every person they entertained think they were royalty.
And so her evening had progressed from socializing in the salon with women and men of varying ages and statuses, to a seated dinner of pheasant and duck soup with a lavish vegetable spread that could only be grown in a hothouse far from London.
With only the musical portion of the event left, Jude was counting the moments until she’d be free to disappear into the darker, unoccupied areas of the house.
With the time passing quickly until Marce’s return and Jude’s less than successful sale of the vase—thus far—they’d been forced to steal another piece of art.
This time, it was a painting. It would be far easier to collect coin for.
And that was what Jude needed. She’d witnessed Mr. Curtis collecting yet another missive regarding their ruinous financial status.
When she’d asked about it, he’d deflected her comments of concern and told her that Lady Marce had given him strict instructions to collect any correspondence and deliver it directly to her private bedchambers.
Jude glared at the head of the table, willing their meal to come to an end.
Her task of blending in and going unnoticed was working, even Lady Haversham hadn’t glanced in Jude’s direction since they’d sat down to dine—six full courses ago.
“Miss Judith,” Sir Glassglow shouted, a mere two inches from her ear. “May I request your company during the musical portion of the evening?”
Jude did her best to hide her cringe at his loudly proclaimed request. On the other side of her, the Widow Jenkins smiled like a cat who’d stolen the dinner meats.
“In my day,” the widow leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, her foul breath making more of a statement than her words. “I would do far more than be his companion while a silly, young girl decimated her harp solo.”
Jude looked sharply at the older lady, for once hoping she’d continue. But she only winked as if Jude should know what she would have done forty years ago.
All the ways Jude could punish her twin began to run through her mind: black dye in her hair treatment, tacks in her slippers, crushed onions in her face powder… More than likely, all three; however, an evening of musical treats promised to Sir Glassglow was fitting retribution.
It was past time that Jude not be the one to sacrifice herself in every scheme, all while Sam waltzed and enjoyed her time immensely. There would be no distinguished marquis or rakishly handsome duke for Sam this evening—no, a hard-of-hearing baron it was for her.
Jude looked down at her plate, her dour mood settling firmly around her.
It had been several days since she’d heard from Cart after he’d abruptly ended their visit at the library.
Certainly, he’d departed all of their visits as abruptly, but this time had felt different—his demeanor unlike anything she’d ever seen him exhibit previously.
His shoulders had been tense and he’d refused to meet her gaze.
Not that she had a soft shell, but his treatment—and further avoidance—of her stung.
She’d thought they’d been growing close. She even dared to call them friends.
Especially after their kiss at the park.
Maybe she shouldn’t have endeavored to push the vase on him and found another unsuspecting gentleman instead, one she had no connection to. Her asking price was far less than what the man at the auctioneer’s shop had told her a similar piece would be worth.
She’d acted unbecoming in the park. That must be the reason for Cart’s drastic change in manner.
After she’d stolen the vase, Jude had lived for weeks dreading every knock on Craven House’s door, thinking someone had spotted her leaving Lord Gunther’s townhouse or suspected her in the theft.
But no one had come and her paranoia over being caught had faded so much so that she hadn’t immediately considered Cart suspecting that she’d stolen the vase.
Jude had vowed to wait another day before sending him correspondence. Maybe he was finding it difficult to gather the pounds or he’d found a collector who was interested but needed time to do the same.
“Miss Judith?” the baron asked at her elbow.
The man looked at her expectantly.
He was likely a very kind, attentive man—one that would make the perfect husband for any woman who’d give him a moment of undivided attention, but that was not Jude. Or, at least, that was not Jude this night. She had something important to attain—something she’d be far safer forgetting.
“I would be honored to be escorted into the musical portion of our evening,” Jude said with a bright smile. “You will collect me after you enjoy a drink with the men?”
Sir Glassglow leaned precariously forward, his cravat skimming his soup, to glare at the head of the table. Could it be they both wished for the meal to end swiftly? “As long as you promise to remember my request.”
“I am most convinced our paths were meant to meet this evening, sir,” Jude said with a faint smile. It was enough to pacify the man, for he smiled in return and turned to the young lady on his right. “Miss Orellana, such a wonderful meal this has been.”
Why did it bother her so that the baron was so quick to turn his attention to another eligible female?
Unquestionably because Lord Cartwright only had eyes for her when they were together.
He knew the expressions and mannerisms unique to only her.
He ventured to discuss topics unlikely to be favored by other men of the ton.
He’d never once asked about her stock—her lineage.
Therefore, he had never discovered that she was the illegitimate product of an illicit love affair between her late mother, the proprietor of Craven House, and her father, a peer in high standing.
Every other man she’d met hadn’t been as steadfast as Cart—they seemed of the opinion that she and Sam were interchangeable. A pair…though no better than a single being.
Jude needed to remember that she was not in attendance to socialize—or make any sort of lasting impression.
She was the twin who could blend into the background and go unnoticed when the need arose.
Until the time came, she was to smile, appear charming and demure, and under no circumstances draw undue attention to herself.
This meant hours of discussing the inclement weather patterns of the season, fawning over Lady Ferguson’s newest fabric choice, and nodding like a hen, without a speck of sense in her head.
It was exhausting.
She’d thought acting the unassuming, reserved debutante would be simple—though it took much effort to appear empty-minded and meek.
The only thing that could make the night worse was if someone asked her to apply her female talents to the pianoforte.
That would be the one request doomed to mortify Jude—and Sam.
The baron cleared his voice and nudged her.
Jude focused on the table to see that all the dishes had been cleared while she’d daydreamed, hers included, and everyone was standing in preparation of the men retiring to the study for tumblers filled to the brim with spirits while the ladies rejoined in the parlor for games and musical entertainments.