Chapter 2 #2
He stopped, his hand on the latch. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he turned back to her, a faint, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Because I couldn’t very well leave you in that stable to die,” he said lightly. “How would I explain that to the constable?”
Despite everything, a small laugh escaped her. “I suppose you have a point.”
He smiled fully this time. “Then we’re even and you’ve given me an excuse to avoid the constable.”
“Even so, I am most grateful to you, Jude.”
He tipped his head in a modest nod. “Sleep now, Josephine. I’ll see to the stable and be back before you can worry again.”
As he disappeared into the rain, the door shutting behind him, Josephine looked down at the pistol in her hands. It was small and elegant, its weight surprisingly reassuring. She wasn’t certain whether it was the weapon—or the man who had given it to her—that made her feel safe.
Jude’s eyes flung open at the faint creak of the floorboard. He reached for the pistol at his side, every muscle tense, his heart thudding once before settling into the steady rhythm of readiness.
The shadows shifted near the hearth, and then he saw her—Josephine—frozen mid-step, her hands raised in surrender, wide-eyed and contrite. “I’m sorry,” she whispered quickly, her voice edged with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was only looking for something to eat.”
Jude exhaled, lowering his weapon. The tension bled from his shoulders, replaced by mild amusement. “You move quieter than most,” he murmured, setting the pistol aside. “I do apologize but I am not used to company here.”
“That is understandable.”
He glanced towards the pot simmering gently over the fire. “I have stew, and—if you can believe it—more stew.”
She smiled. “Stew sounds delicious.”
Jude rose, his boots brushing against the worn floorboards as he reached for a cup. He ladled out a portion of broth and held it out to her. “Do be careful. It is still a little warm.”
She stepped closer and accepted the cup. “Thank you,” she said. “Dare I ask how you slept?”
He gave a short laugh. “Not well. That’s become rather normal for me these days.”
Josephine pulled out a chair and settled herself gracefully, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. “I can sleep anywhere, at any time. My mother says it’s a gift.”
“I take it that means you slept well?”
“Once I did fall asleep, yes,” she admitted. “Though I’ll confess, having the muff pistol beside me offered some comfort.”
Jude bit back a smile. If only she knew the thing wasn’t loaded.
The thought of handing a weapon to a woman he barely knew was ludicrous.
For all he knew, she might have been sent to find him—though his gut told him otherwise.
No, she wasn’t lying. She truly believed he was nothing more than a humble gamekeeper.
And strangely, that knowledge soothed him.
She didn’t see a title when she looked at him. Not a fortune. Just a man.
Jude studied her more closely in the flickering firelight.
Her features were refined but soft and her hair had come loose from its pins, curling gently about her shoulders.
There was something familiar about her, and yet he couldn’t place her.
He’d met dozens—no, hundreds—of Society ladies, each one polished to perfection and eager for a title. But Josephine was different.
She took a small sip of the stew, then glanced towards the window. “The rain hasn’t ceased yet.”
He followed her gaze to where raindrops streaked down the glass like silver threads. “No, it hasn’t,” he replied. “What happens when it does?”
Her expression turned thoughtful, almost resigned. “I will leave.”
“And where will you go?”
She let out a sigh, the sound weary but not defeated. “I don’t know. I imagine there’s a town nearby.”
“There is,” he said, leaning back in his chair, watching her over the rim of his mug. “But it’s a few miles south.”
“Then I’ll walk there,” she replied simply, as though that solved everything.
He nearly smiled. “What then?”
“I suppose I’ll try to send word to my mother and brother. They must be worried sick.”
“Do you have any money?” he asked.
Her lashes lowered, and she shook her head. “No. But surely someone will help me.”
Jude had to look away to hide his grin. “I wouldn’t count on that. The locals here aren’t known for their charity.” He paused, feeling an urge to help her. “Might I suggest another option?”
She lifted her eyes to him, curious. “Which is?”
“The Duke of Ashmoore’s estate lies a mile east. I can see you there myself, make certain you’re received and that they send word to your family.”
Her face brightened. “You would do that for me?”
“I would,” he said, then added with a half-smile, “if only because this cottage feels smaller with two people in it.”
A quiet laugh escaped her, the sound bright against the rhythm of rain. “I would be most grateful, truly. I don’t wish to be any more of a burden than I already am. You’ve already saved my life. I would have frozen last night had it not been for you.”
“Since I did save you, I think I’m owed one question.”
Her eyes flickered with caution. “Only one?”
“One will do.” He folded his arms, pretending to consider. “Have you been presented to the queen?”
Her brows lifted. “I have, many Seasons ago. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity, mostly,” he said, though that wasn’t entirely true. He needed to know who she was, where she came from, and if her presence here was coincidence—or fate.
Josephine looked into the flames. “My father wished to see me presented. He was so ill then, but he refused to stay home. I remember thinking he would collapse at any moment, but he didn’t. He smiled the entire time.”
The melancholy in her tone struck something deep within him. Jude leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s difficult watching someone you love fade away before your eyes.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I wish I could turn back time, even for a single moment, to see him again.”
He nodded slowly. “I feel the same way about my mother.”
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Only the rain broke the stillness, drumming steadily against the roof and the windowpanes.
Jude leaned back in his chair, staring into the fire as his mind began to turn.
Lord Redden. The name echoed faintly in his memory, tugging at something half-buried beneath years of political discussions and social gatherings he’d rather forget.
He’d heard his father speak the name with admiration, and he had died a few years ago.
Could that be Josephine’s father?
Jude rubbed a hand across his jaw, considering. It made sense, but how to ask? Plainly? Casually? Or not at all? What would happen if he were right? Would she deny it? Run? Or worse—turn the accusation back on him for prying?
He decided the direct approach was best. He had little patience for games.
He cleared his throat. “Is your father Lord Redden?”
The effect was immediate. Josephine froze. Then a flicker of alarm crossed her features, quickly replaced by practiced composure. “How do you know that name?”
Jude couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
She straightened, her chin tilting up ever so slightly. “I never said that he was my father.”
“No,” he conceded. “But your reaction did.” He offered her a reassuring glance. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
Josephine pushed back her chair and rose, moving towards the small window. The gray light from outside caught the side of her face, softening the tension around her mouth. For a long moment, she said nothing, just stared out into the sheets of rain. Finally, she asked, “How did you know?”
“I read the newssheets,” Jude replied, leaning an elbow on the arm of his chair. It was only half a lie—he had read them, just not as a gamekeeper.
She turned, one brow arching in skepticism. “Out here? In the middle of the woods?”
He didn’t so much as flinch. “The household staff at the Duke of Ashmoore’s estate save them for me. I collect them when I stop by.” Another lie—smoothly delivered, but it still sat poorly on his tongue.
Her expression softened into resignation. “Then I suppose it’s time for me to leave.”
As if summoned by her words, a gust of wind howled, and the rain began to pound harder against the roof.
“It’s not safe for you to leave,” Jude stated at once, rising to his feet.
“It matters not,” she said, already moving towards the door. Her movements were graceful but resolute.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Wait. Is this because I guessed who your father was?”
She refused to meet his gaze. “Yes. I do not wish to bring trouble to your doorstep.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re a little late for that,” he said. “Nothing’s changed now that I know you’re a lady.”
“But—”