Chapter 5 #3
Jude huffed a laugh. “You know why. Father would never permit it. There are always accounts to review, tenants to visit, obligations to meet. It’s endless. Sometimes I feel as though I’m suffocating beneath it all.”
Luca regarded him quietly for a long moment. “Then perhaps it’s time you did something for yourself. Before it’s too late.”
“It is already too late,” Jude murmured. The words hung in the air, heavy and final. There was truth in his own admission, though he hadn’t meant to speak it aloud.
Luca leaned forward. “You act as though you are being led to the guillotine and not towards a bright future as the next Duke of Ashmoore. Are you really so terribly unhappy?”
Jude stared into the fire, watching an ember fall and die among the ashes. “I don’t know what I am,” he admitted. “Some days I feel trapped—other days, I feel nothing at all.”
“That’s bleak, even for you,” Luca said with an edge of dry humor, though concern softened his tone. “Is that why you escape to the cottage?”
“It’s the only place where I can feel normal. No one bows. No one flatters. I’m just… Jude. Not the heir. Not Father’s successor. Just a man who can mend his own snare and make a dreadful bowl of stew.”
Luca grinned. “Has your rabbit stew improved at all?”
Jude allowed a ghost of a smile. “No. If anything, it has gotten worse.”
“How is that even possible?” Luca teased. “It’s the only dish you know how to make.”
“I don’t see you out there cooking rabbit stew, Brother. And if I recall correctly, Mr. Conklin taught both of us.”
“Ah, Mr. Conklin,” Luca repeated. “The one and only gamekeeper who could outwit Father’s hounds and scold two wayward boys without fear of losing his position. I remember him teaching us how to set traps and live off the land.”
“He was the first person who treated me like a boy, not an heir. He never cared for titles—just effort. I suppose that’s what I liked about him most.”
Luca gave a knowing hum. “And that’s what draws you to the cottage—the simplicity. No expectations, no duties, no eyes watching your every move.”
Jude stood abruptly. “I should retire for the evening.”
But Luca rose with him, his tone gentler now. “Before you go—there’s something you need to hear.”
“What is it now?” Jude asked wearily.
“I still think you should avoid Lady Josephine,” Luca said, folding his arms. “The more time you spend with her, the worse it will be when she leaves. And she will leave, Jude.”
His brother’s words hit like a blow he didn’t want to acknowledge. Jude’s throat tightened. “It will be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Forgive me if I don’t share your confidence,” Luca said. “You’ve never been very good at pretending indifference.”
“I am perfectly capable of maintaining distance,” Jude countered. “I’ve done so all my life.”
Luca gave him a long, assessing look. “Yes, and look how content that’s made you.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Perhaps,” Luca admitted with a small shrug. “But I know what I see. You’re drawn to her and I understand why. She’s courageous, intelligent, and surprisingly kind for someone in the ton. But affection like that, under these circumstances? It can only end badly.”
Jude’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know that? I’m not foolish enough to dream of something impossible.”
“Then let’s ensure it remains impossible,” Luca said evenly. “Charlotte and I can escort her to London tomorrow. We’ll see to her comfort and ensure her safety.”
“For what purpose?” he demanded.
Luca’s expression was deceptively calm. “To spare you further entanglement.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Jude snapped. “She’s under my protection. Mine.”
A flicker of amusement passed over Luca’s face. “See? You’ve already claimed her as yours without realizing it.”
Jude’s temper flared. “You twist everything I say.”
“I only repeat what you reveal,” Luca responded. “And what I see is a man trying very hard to convince himself he feels nothing. But I know that look, Jude. I had it myself not long ago—when Charlotte first entered my life.”
Jude froze, torn between anger and something that felt dangerously close to confession. “It isn’t the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Luca asked. “You both know she cannot stay. Yet you’re already acting as though she belongs here. As though she belongs to you.”
Jude turned away, pacing towards the fire. “You’re mistaken,” he insisted, but even he could hear the hollow ring in his voice. “When her family comes for her, I’ll be relieved.”
“I truly doubt that,” Luca said, moving to pour himself a brandy. “I may not know everything. But I know you. You feel too much, and that is the real danger.”
Jude didn’t answer. He only turned towards the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Luca.”
“Goodnight, Jude,” came the quiet reply.
Jude left the room without another word, but his brother’s warning lingered long after. As he ascended the stairs, he found himself glancing down the hall towards the guest wing—towards her chamber—and cursed under his breath.
Because for the first time, he feared Luca might be right.