Chapter 10 #2
“It makes it no less true,” he said, pushing open the tall double doors that led into the glittering ballroom. “It is a blessing I found you when I did.”
Josephine lifted her chin and swept past him into the bright, swirling room, refusing to acknowledge the prick of hurt in her chest. She didn’t owe him an explanation, and she certainly wouldn’t allow him to dictate whom she could speak to.
Alexander followed, muttering under his breath, and gestured towards the refreshment table where their mother stood, her hands clasped tightly before her bodice.
Josephine approached. Relief flickered in her mother’s eyes the moment she saw her.
“I was so worried,” her mother breathed.
“You needn’t be,” Josephine rushed to assure her. “I was in the library.”
“With a man,” Alexander added, leaning forward as though announcing a scandal.
Her mother’s gaze sharpened. “The man you danced with earlier?”
“Yes.” Josephine kept her chin up, though her heart gave a small pound.
Before their mother could say more, Alexander interjected, “We’ll discuss this later. Lady Gwendolyn approaches.”
Josephine turned, and her heart dropped. Lady Gwendolyn was gliding towards them, tall and slender, her narrow purple mask glittering under the candlelight. Her blonde hair was piled high in elaborate curls, a diamond bandeau perched atop it like a crown.
Josephine resisted the urge to groan. Why did Alexander insist on pursuing her, of all people? Lady Gwendolyn was vain, pretentious, and made a habit of pretending Josephine did not exist.
Alexander bowed deeply. “My lady.”
Lady Gwendolyn curtsied. “My lord.” She shifted her gaze to Lady Redden, her smile tight. “My lady, I must say, I didn’t think a woman of your age could handle wearing such a gown, but you’ve managed.”
Josephine’s mother smoothed down her maroon skirts. “Thank you, my dear,” she replied curtly.
Ah. So Mother wasn’t fond of her either.
But Alexander, of course, noticed none of this. He took Lady Gwendolyn’s hand and raised it to his lips. “You look lovely this evening.”
“I do, don’t I?” she said with a soft laugh.
Josephine very nearly rolled her eyes. Of all the self-centered things to say…
The next set was announced, and Alexander kept hold of Lady Gwendolyn’s hand. “May I have this dance?”
“I was hoping you’d ask,” she simpered.
Josephine watched them walk away before turning to her mother. “Why is Alexander pursuing her?”
“Be nice,” her mother murmured.
“I was,” Josephine insisted. “But he could do vastly better.”
Her mother sighed, a look of sympathy passing over her features. “Just… be mindful. Your brother truly believes himself in love with her.”
“In love?” Josephine nearly choked. “The only thing Lady Gwendolyn loves is her reflection in a looking glass.”
Her mother let out a surprised laugh. “That is awful of you to say.”
“But wholly accurate,” Josephine pointed out.
Her mother composed herself. “She is not the woman I would have chosen for Alexander… but if she makes him happy, who am I to judge?”
A thought struck Josephine. “Who would you choose for me?”
“Oh, that is a challenge.” Her mother tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps Lord Rutland.”
Josephine stared. “Lord Rutland? He lost an eye in the war.”
“Yes, darling, but think of the blessings—his one good eye would never stray to another woman.”
Josephine sputtered. “That is terrible!”
Her mother only laughed. “Tell me, whom would you marry if you had complete freedom? A duke? A marquess—”
“I do not care about titles,” Josephine said firmly. “I want someone I can love with my whole heart. Someone who loves me in return.”
Her mother’s expression softened. She placed a gentle hand on Josephine’s sleeve. “That is what I want for you as well. A life without love is no life at all.”
“How did you know Father was the one?” Josephine asked.
“Oh, that was simple,” her mother said. “He threw a rock at me.”
“He what?”
“Rendered me unconscious. When I awoke, he was hovering above me, completely pale with worry. And I knew he was the man I could not live without.”
Josephine furrowed her brows. “Why did he throw a rock at you?”
“He didn’t mean to. He simply had dreadful aim.”
Josephine shook her head, fighting a smile, then cast her gaze across the ballroom.
Her breath caught.
There—across the room, half-shadowed by a marble column—stood Jude, a drink in his hand, speaking to a man she did not recognize. He looked entirely at ease, as though masquerade balls were his natural habitat.
He must have felt her gaze because he glanced over and lifted his glass to her. Heat flooded her cheeks. She snapped her head away, mortified to be caught staring.
Once the set ended, Alexander returned with Lady Gwendolyn on his arm.
“How was your dance?” their mother asked.
“It was wonderful,” Lady Gwendolyn declared, leaning closer to Alexander. “Your son is a remarkable dancer.”
“I take it he didn’t step on your feet?” Josephine asked.
“Oh, no,” Lady Gwendolyn said sweetly. “He is far too graceful for that.” Her eyes narrowed on Josephine. “Did no one ask you to dance?”
Josephine stiffened. That was not a question but rather an insult. “No,” she replied. “No one did.”
“That is a shame,” Lady Gwendolyn replied. “Perhaps if your mask were not quite so ridiculous, you might be noticed.” Her gaze flicked over Josephine’s gown. “Your dress is… adequate.”
“Thank you,” Josephine said, biting back the retort burning on her tongue. Adequate. She had designed this gown herself. She thought it beautiful.
But Lady Gwendolyn was already looking past her—towards Jude. “It is him,” she murmured.
Josephine’s stomach dropped. Did she know Jude was a gamekeeper? Did she know he didn’t belong at the ball?
Lady Gwendolyn swatted Alexander’s arm. “It is Lord Pendryn.”
“That is impossible,” Alexander said. “He left Town weeks ago. No one has heard from him since.”
“He has returned,” she insisted.
Josephine’s heart hammered. Lady Gwendolyn must be mistaken. Jude was not Lord Pendryn—he could not be. But if Lady Gwendolyn approached him claiming he was the earl…
his disguise—his life—could be exposed.
“Even if it is him,” Josephine said quickly, “we should leave him be.”
“That is easy for you to say,” Lady Gwendolyn snapped. “He pursued me, then abandoned me when everyone expected him to propose.”
Alexander patted her hand. “It has worked out for the best, has it not?”
Lady Gwendolyn’s expression turned solemn. “Yes… but I must see if it is truly him,” she said, starting forward.
Josephine stepped in front of her. “Allow me to speak with him first.”
“Why?” Lady Gwendolyn demanded.
“To ensure it is Lord Pendryn.”
“There is no need.” With a dismissive brush of her skirts, Lady Gwendolyn swept past her. “I would know his bearing anywhere.”
Josephine followed, panic rising in her throat. She had to find a way—any way—to protect Jude.
But Lady Gwendolyn reached him first.
“Lord Pendryn,” she said in a firm, triumphant voice.
Jude turned. His eyes went wide—genuinely wide. “Lady Gwendolyn.”
Josephine stopped dead.
He answered to the name. Why?
“Where have you been?” Lady Gwendolyn demanded. “You toyed with my affections and then vanished!”
Jude flicked his gaze towards Josephine—the briefest, apologetic glance. “Can we speak somewhere private?” he asked.
“No,” Lady Gwendolyn said, her voice rising. “I demand an explanation!”
“I was at my father’s estate,” Jude replied calmly.
Josephine stared at him, cold prickles running down her spine.
This couldn’t be.
If what Lady Gwendolyn said was true—if Jude responded to the title—then she had been terribly, humiliatingly deceived.
An earl. Posing as a gamekeeper.
And she had been made a fool.
Tears burned in the back of her eyes and Josephine spun on her heel, heading for a place that she could be far away from Jude.