Chapter 5
Dressed in a rich blue gown that was far finer than anything she had ever worn, Josephine stepped out of the bedchamber and into the corridor.
The faint scent of lavender clung to her after her bath, and her freshly pinned chignon lent her an air of composure she did not entirely feel.
She looked every inch a lady again—or nearly so.
The gown, though exquisite, was borrowed, and her slippers, despite the maid’s diligent cleaning, still bore faint stains from the mud and chaos of the previous nights.
As she descended the staircase, her gaze caught on a small gathering below.
Jude stood near the hearth, speaking with a fair-haired young woman whose beauty was strikingly familiar.
The elegant slope of her shoulders, the confident tilt of her chin—Josephine had seen her face before. It struck her all at once.
Lady Luca Dexter.
The diamond of the Season. The very woman who had defied convention by allowing her name to be printed in The London Gazette.
Josephine quickened her steps, her heart hammering in excitement. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Pardon me—are you Lady Luca Dexter?”
The blonde woman turned, a warm smile lighting her features. “I am,” she replied pleasantly. “And you must be—”
“I am no one,” Josephine interrupted, the words tumbling out in a rush. “But you wrote that article exposing the Duke of Brackenford and the murder of his wife at The Chelmsford Asylum. It was brilliant.”
Lady Luca’s smile softened with genuine warmth. “How kind of you to say so. Though I cannot take all the credit.” She inclined her head towards the dark-haired gentleman beside her. “My husband, Luca, wrote the article. I merely allowed my name to be attached.”
Josephine turned wide eyes upon him. “You both did what no one else dared. How long had you suspected the duke of foul play?”
“It was Luca who first grew suspicious,” Lady Luca said. “He invited me to join him in the investigation.”
Lord Luca smiled wryly. “And she proved far too clever to keep out of it.”
His wife laughed softly. “Not everyone in the ton approved of my involvement. There are still whispers, I assure you. Some believe a lady’s name should never appear in print, least of all attached to something so scandalous.”
“They are simply jealous,” Josephine said with conviction. “You have accomplished something remarkable. What you have done for women—what you have shown us—is extraordinary.”
Lady Luca’s expression warmed further. “You are very generous, Lady Josephine.”
At that, Lord Luca inclined his head. “Jude—our gamekeeper—has already informed us of your unfortunate circumstances. Please know that you are most welcome here.”
Relief swept through her, loosening the tension in her chest. “Thank you, my lord. I already feel it.”
“Good,” Lord Luca said. “But perhaps we might continue this conversation over dinner. I confess, I am half-starved from the day’s travel.”
Lady Luca arched a brow, teasing. “You are always half-starved.”
He placed a hand over his heart. “Guilty as charged.” Turning to Josephine, he added kindly, “Now that you are under our protection, Jude may return to his duties. You may wish to bid him farewell.”
Josephine’s smile faltered slightly as she turned towards Jude.
He stood a few paces away, his expression composed yet shadowed with something she could not name.
There was so much she wanted to say—to thank him for saving her, for his kindness, for his steady presence—but the words tangled in her throat.
Jude stepped forward, his voice hushed. “You can trust Lord Luca and Lady Luca. They’ll see you safely reunited with your family.”
Her heart sank a little. “And you? Where will you go?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Back to my cottage, I suppose. Waiting for the next damsel in distress who loses her way in the woods.”
A quiet laugh escaped her. “Then I pity the poor woman who must compete for your attention.”
He looked down briefly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You flatter me, my lady.”
“I speak the truth,” she replied softly. “You have my deepest gratitude for everything you have done.”
He lifted a hand as if to stop her. “It was nothing.”
“To you, perhaps,” she countered gently. “But I shall see that you are compensated for your help.”
“I want no money.”
“Then tell me how I might show my thanks.”
Jude hesitated, his gaze searching hers. He raised his hand slightly, as though to touch her sleeve, then seemed to think better of it. “Promise me you won’t change,” he said. “Not after all this.”
A bittersweet smile touched her lips. “My brother might argue that a little change would do me good.”
He chuckled softly, then his expression sobered. “I have enjoyed our time together, Josephine.”
Before she could reply, Lord Luca’s voice interjected, his tone carrying a note of warning. “As far as Society is concerned, Jude found you in the woods and brought you directly here. We wouldn’t want tongues wagging, would we?”
Josephine’s cheeks burned. “Of course not, my lord.”
Jude’s eyes lingered on hers, the intensity of his gaze making her breath catch. “Take care of yourself, my lady.”
He reached for her hand, bowing low as his lips brushed her gloved knuckles. The touch was brief, chaste—and yet it sent a shiver through her.
“Jude,” Lord Luca said, his voice edged with disapproval. “You forget yourself.”
Jude met his master’s gaze without flinching. “Feel free to dismiss me, then,” he retorted, and turned away.
Josephine watched him go until he vanished into the dim corridor. Her chest ached with something she refused to name. She was a lady. He was a gamekeeper. There could be nothing between them—and yet.
“Shall we adjourn to the dining room?” Lord Luca’s voice drew her back to the present.
She nodded and followed them, her steps light but her heart heavy.
The dining room was grand and warmly lit, the mahogany table gleaming beneath the chandelier. A footman pulled out her chair, and Josephine murmured a quiet “thank you” as she sat.
As she arranged her napkin upon her lap, she turned to Lady Luca. “What did you think when you learned the duke had been transported for his crimes?”
“I was pleased,” she replied, her eyes sharp with conviction. “Though I confess, I wish he had been hung. Alongside his mistress and his son.”
Lord Luca shot her a look of amusement. “My dear wife is not one to temper her opinions.”
“I admire that,” Josephine said earnestly. “I wish I were as bold.”
“Boldness comes with practice,” Lady Luca replied, reaching for her wine. “And please, call me Charlotte. All my friends do. I hope you will count yourself among them.”
Josephine’s lips curved. “Only if you call me Josephine.”
“Agreed,” Charlotte said with a smile. “Jude mentioned you enjoy reading. You must explore our library. I spent hours in there this afternoon. It is divine.”
“I would love nothing more,” Josephine said eagerly. “My brother insists I suffer from reading mania.”
Charlotte laughed. “Then we shall be mad together. It is far preferable to embroidery or any other pursuits.”
“Needlework, painting, riding, shopping…” Lord Luca began in mock protest. “You ladies have plenty of other respectable pursuits.”
“None that expand the mind,” Charlotte retorted.
“I quite agree,” Josephine said. “In truth, I was impressed by the books I saw in the cottage—” She stopped abruptly as Lord Luca’s expression darkened.
His voice was calm but firm. “You must never mention the cottage again, if you value your reputation. Better yet, it would be best if you never mentioned Jude’s name—for your sake and his.”
“Of course. Forgive me. It was a slip of the tongue,” Josephine murmured, lowering her gaze. Heat crept up her neck, mortification blooming in her chest. Lord Luca’s tone hadn’t been cruel—merely firm—but it was enough to make her feel like a child who had spoken out of turn.
Charlotte reached across the table, her expression softening. “Think nothing of it, Josephine. You’ve had a trying few days. All will be well now.”
Josephine managed a smile, though her throat felt tight. “You are very kind.”
But even as she spoke, her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears to retreat, but they refused. The harder she tried to suppress them, the more they threatened to fall. Not here. Not in front of them.
Before she could disgrace herself further, she pushed back her chair. “Excuse me,” she whispered, rising quickly. Her napkin slipped to the floor, but she left it where it lay.
She swept from the room before anyone could protest. The moment she reached the corridor, she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Why was she crying? Lord Luca had not meant to wound her. He had only reminded her of propriety—of the delicate web she now found herself caught within. Yet it all felt too much. Too strange. Too far from the quiet safety of Jude’s cottage.
“Josephine.”
She froze. That voice—deep, calm, achingly familiar.
“Jude,” she said, turning slightly away, her shoulders stiff. “Please, I need a moment.”
His footsteps drew nearer. “What is wrong?” he asked, coming to stand just behind her.
“I am fine,” she said quickly, wiping her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “Truly, it is nothing—just nerves.”
“Josephine,” he said again. “Look at me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
She closed her eyes, her chest tightening. “Because I have been crying, and I do not wish for you to see me like this.”
He let out a quiet sigh. “I have seen you at your worst in the stable. Why should it be any different now?”
She felt the lightest pressure on her arm as his fingers brushed her sleeve, turning her gently. She let him, unable to resist the quiet strength in his touch. When she finally lifted her gaze, she met his—steady, kind, and full of that maddening compassion that made her feel both safe and exposed.