Chapter 24
Jude sat waiting, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her hair perfectly pinned, and a smile on her face.
She’d meant her grin to be bright and reassuring.
But as the hours passed, she felt it slip from lively and content to anxious and exhausted.
Sam had pointed out the dark crescent moon shaped circles below each of her eyes—the one sign of her fatigue that she was unable to mask.
Slumber, the deep regenerating kind, was impossible to attain when so many things weighed heavily on a person. Her exhaustion notwithstanding, Jude knew she’d made the correct decision—for possibly the first time in a long time.
And she was resigned to accept the consequences.
Lord Cartwright’s words had bounced around in her head all night—intent had little bearing on consequences. It was true beyond any fact that Jude knew.
The morning post had only solidified her decision made the night before.
Cart’s name had been thinly veiled. Unfortunately, Lord Gunther’s accusations and insinuations hadn’t been.
She was thankful her letter had departed in Mr. Curtis’ capable hands before she’d taken a light repast and moved to the front salon to await her fate.
If she’d read the many horrid things Gunther had offered to the gossip columnist as fodder for the scandal-ready beau monde, then she would have paid the elderly man a visit, and…
well…she would have done something she would have had no remorse over.
She was not prone to violent acts of aggression. All the same, Jude had clenched her fist several times that morning and punched it at the empty air in front of her, wishing it was Gunther.
The man had gotten his vase back—and his fifty pounds. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? If she weren’t trying desperately to change her ways, she’d have stolen back into his home and taken the blasted antique again.
Lord Gunther should count himself fortunate for Cart’s intervention in Jude’s life.
She glanced to the ticking clock by the door. Almost noonday.
What was taking so dreadfully long for them to arrive?
She’d planned things perfectly—Sam and Payton had been invited to tea with Lady Chastain and her sister, Mrs. Jakeston.
Garrett had left this morning while all of her sisters were abed and would not return until later in the day.
She’d even sent the housekeeper on a fool’s errand for a plum jam supposedly awaiting Jude at the market.
Mr. Curtis was the only servant present, though he worked in the stables most mornings.
The perspiration at her brow grew thick once more and Jude retrieved her kerchief from her pocket before hastily wiping the moisture away.
Her foot tapped an erratic beat on the floor, the noise muffled by the rug underfoot.
She’d selected her sturdy riding boots with the hard sole. The laces were tied tightly, constricting her ankle. Her frenzied heartbeat coursed through her body, causing her lower leg to ache at the top of her tightly-laced boot.
Closing her eyes, Jude allowed the smells and sounds of her family home to wash over her, to invade and ingrain themselves in her subconscious.
The aroma of warm bread in the kitchen drifted through the house.
A loud creak could be heard every so often as the floorboards settled under the weight of the house.
If she sat very still, Jude could even feel a light draft across her face from an open window across the room.
Everything about her home was safe…secure…and as it had always been.
It was a chaotic home, but one filled with love and loyalty.
The Craven House siblings were known for their banter and bickering, but they were a fiercely loyal group.
Jude would not change that for the world—not for a treasure trove of coins or a fancy title and home or the opportunity to travel the world.
But, there was something worth giving up her home and family for.
Love.
She’d cried most of the night at the mere thought of the word.
Certainly, she loved her family. For sure, she loved her home. And yes, she loved her fancy gowns and mingling amongst London’s beau monde.
It was only in the last several hours that Jude had come to the realization that she loved one thing more than all the rest combined—and that petrified her.
Not the love itself, but knowing she’d caused heartache and pain that would always stand in the way of her claiming that great love.
Because of her actions, that love would be forever out of her reach.
Her gloved hands shook where they were clasped in her lap.
If Marce were here, she’d never allow Jude to do what she was doing. It was her way to swoop in and rescue her younger siblings, even from their own foolish mistakes.
Her sister was due to return home from her trip any day—possibly any minute.
If Jude were going through with her plan, then she need do it immediately.
She needed to confess all her wrongdoings to the magistrate immediately and clear Cart’s name—remove the blame and scandal that would befall his family because of her.
Jude was resigned to let Lord Cartwright go, to never see him again, but he needed to know how much he meant to her. Their entire relationship was not a mistake. She did not regret a moment of it.
If she could go back, she would have fallen in that pond with him—and remained there as they laughed at their social blunder.
She would have invited him to meet her at the library for an afternoon of exploring all the secrets the place held hidden within.
She would have extended an invite to dine with her family, play a round of whist with Payton, and retire to another room with Garrett to discuss current affairs and drink heavy tumblers of fine spirits.
They would have taken to the dance floor at some fashionable matron’s grand ball, turning heads and causing a stir at their regal pairing—Jude with her tall, slender frame and strikingly bright red hair, and Cart with his elaborately tied neckcloth, intelligent air, and artfully combed golden-brown hair.
They would laugh the night away, discussing all manner of things deemed unsuitable for a mere woman.
Others would flock to their sides as Cart told stories of their most treasured acquisitions.
They would be the talk of all of London—not for their wealth or title, but because of their love for one another.
It was all hopes and wishes.
She would never enter a ballroom on his arm. Nor would they travel and see the many wonders of the world together. Neither would they so much as share a meal in each other’s company.
The clock chimed loudly. Twelve times.
Outside, the sun would be directly overhead and the fog of the morning hours would be dissipating.
People would venture out shortly, destined for Hyde Park, Rotten Row, or Bond Street.
Their hours would be filled with selecting the perfect fabric for a new gown, ordering the perfect stationery for letter writing, strolling with acquaintances, and meeting with fellow aristocrats at their fencing clubs.
For so many, their day was only just beginning, but for Jude, her life as she knew it would be ending before long.
She only awaited the knock at her front door—if they even paused to announce their arrival instead of just swarming the house looking for her.
A part of her wanted the wait to be over, an ending to her fate clearly written.
A loud knock finally sounded through the house, a solid fist banging intensely on the door.
They were not going to burst in, after all.
Jude stood, her hands moving down the front of her skirt to smooth out any wrinkles.
Next, she glanced into the tiny mirror on the wall to verify her hair was still properly pinned, a mass of auburn curls secured atop her head with only a few tendrils escaping the knit.
The ache in her ankles faded with her movement.
In the background, the pounding upon the door continued unabated.
A small traveling case sat by the door in case they allowed her to bring anything with her. It held her writing supplies, warm woolen stockings, her brush, and a night shift. Nothing of relative value, but each essential to her—and far more than she deserved to have.
Her eyes watered, but she blinked the tears back.
She would never again awaken in the bed next to Sam or spend her evenings bickering with Payton over a card found suspiciously on the floor.
There were so many things still to learn, such as where Garrett went when he wasn’t at Craven House, or how far Marce traveled each year for her excursion.
And that was only the beginning.
The day would never come when she’d have the time to properly get to know Theodora. From their short encounter, Jude sensed the girl was much like her brother while retaining her own individuality. Gone was her opportunity to meet the formidable Lady Cartwright, his mother.
Cart had barely begun to show her all his many collected treasures.
Her fingers rose to touch her lips and she could almost feel Cart’s mouth pressed to hers, commanding yet yielding to her.
The feel of his hands pressed against her back, holding her close with nothing more than an inch separating them.
His hesitant smile after they’d kissed was truly what had captivated her most—it was as if he’d discovered a new treasure, one worth more than all he’d gathered before.
For a brief time, Jude believed she was that treasure to him.
The one thing a person would give up everything else for.
Love.
Cart was exactly that to her.
So much so, she was willing to give up her freedom to show him how much he meant to her.
The time had come—and the pounding on the door had not lessened, nor would it after what she’d done.
Jude trudged from the salon, pausing before the thick wooden front door.
With a deep inhale, she took hold of the knob, preparing to pull the door wide.
Something in her told her she’d made a terrible mistake, that she should run—leave Craven House behind her and distance herself from the fate that awaited her if she opened the door.
“Judith Pengarden,” a familiar voice shouted from the far side. “Open this door immediately or I shall be forced to break it down.”
Her confusion was quickly replaced by relief as her hand fell from the knob and her shoulders sagged.
It took everything she had not to fling the door wide and jump into his arms.
The relief that initially filled her when she heard his voice faded to trepidation.
Cart wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t meant to witness her further humiliation—maybe he’d come to make sure she got what she deserved.
The idea of him watching the magistrate take her away from her home, likely enjoying her disgrace, wounded Jude to her core. He was not a heartless or cruel man.
Though she’d hurt him deeply. The stark fact made only more glaring with Garrett’s news of Cart’s past. He’d been injured by a man who should have cherished him. His own flesh and blood. Jude couldn’t imagine the emotions that must have overtaken him at Jude’s deception.
She laid the palm of her hand against the solid door as Cart started pounding again.
She wanted to let him in, not only into the house, but also into her life. Bare her soul to him. She could trust him to treat her heart with care, but after all she’d done, how could he expect her to do the same?
This time, she allowed the tears to fall, etching a path down her cheeks. Dripping off her chin and jawline. The lucky ones landing at the collar of her gown, while the rest continued to the floor, small droplets pooling at her feet.
“I heard you walk to the door,” he shouted over the sound of his fist slamming against the door. “Your footfalls are as recognizable as your voice. Open the door, Jude.”
If she opened the door and gave him entrance, she’d never follow through with turning herself over for her crimes—and then he’d by no means see how much she truly cared for him. It was the only way.
“Go away, Cart,” she whispered. When his pounding abruptly stopped, she knew he’d either heard her or sensed she’d spoken.
They had that connection, the pair of them.
Or maybe it was only that he was attuned to her in a very uncanny way.
Jude didn’t understand it—nor did she need to.
She loved him—far more than she loved anything.
There was nothing she wouldn’t give up to confirm that love. “Please, leave me be.”
“I most certainly will not,” he said, his voice returning to normal volume. “You are being irrational and impulsive.”
He knew nothing of what she was thinking or how many hours she’d toiled over her choices before coming to the conclusion she had—far longer than she’d debated stealing that blasted vase or Cart’s family’s painting.
He was the typical man who thought no woman shrewd enough to make a decision for herself about her future.
“You know nothing of my decisions,” she responded.
“You are going to get yourself into far worse trouble if you continue in this manner.”
“Why are you here?”
“To stop you from continuing down this foolish path,” he said. “You are putting yourself in great jeopardy.”
He thought to stop her from continuing in her thievery. That must be it. Did he think her so callous that she hadn’t been gravely affected by how her actions had hurt him? That she could continue her life as if it had never happened—to either of them?
Her hand fell from the door.
“I will not leave,” he said again. “By my estimate, I have at least forty-eight hours until my hunger will become taxing. I can sit on this stoop all day—and night—if that is what it takes.”
Jude envisioned her sisters returning home to find Cart sitting at their entrance. Or worse yet, if he were still there when guests arrived this evening for cards. Her gut told her Garrett would demand he leave long before then.
But none of that would come to pass, for the magistrate would arrive and take her away before the sun set.