Chapter 11
Jude watched Josephine turn on her heel and swept out of the ballroom. His heart lurched. He took a step after her but was stopped by Lady Gwendolyn.
“What do you have to say for yourself, my lord?” she demanded.
Not now. Not her. Not this.
“I do not owe you an explanation,” he said tightly. “Now, please excuse me.”
Her eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint. “You humiliated me.”
He gestured towards the small groups of guests who were not-so-subtly watching them from behind their fans. “I daresay you are doing a rather fine job of that yourself.”
Her lips thinned to a white line. “I had it on good authority that you were going to offer for me.”
He nearly groaned aloud. “Yes, well, I changed my mind.”
He moved to brush past her, but she spun and followed him with more determination than grace.
“You led me to believe you cared for me,” she accused.
“I did,” he admitted, though the words tasted like ash. “But I do not wish to have this conversation now.”
His eyes were fixed on the rear of the ballroom where Josephine had exited.
Lady Gwendolyn grabbed his arm and forced him to face her. “Why won’t you speak to me?”
“Because I need to speak to someone else.”
Her expression darkened with understanding. “Lady Josephine?” she whispered, almost scandalized. “You have replaced me… with her.”
“I did not replace anybody.”
She dropped his arm. “Fine,” she said coldly. “Go scurry after your Lady Josephine. Just know she could never make you as happy as I would have.”
“I doubt that.”
Her chin snapped up. Then, loudly enough for half the ballroom to hear, she announced, “You are a cad, Lord Pendryn! I am glad I learned who you truly were before it was too late.”
Immediately, a chorus of murmurs rippled through the guests. Fans fluttered. Several matrons looked at him as if he’d sprouted horns.
He ignored them all.
He had no time for Society’s nonsense. He needed Josephine. Needed to make her understand. Needed to fix what he’d broken before it shattered entirely.
Jude strode through the ballroom doors and out onto the veranda.
There she was.
Standing at the far edge, mask dangling from her fingers, her back straight, shoulders tight, moonlight gilding her hair. She looked heartbreakingly alone.
“Josie,” he said gently.
She didn’t turn. She only stilled, as if bracing herself.
“I’ve come to apologize,” he began. “I want you to understand why I pretended to be a gamekeeper.”
Slowly—far too slowly—she turned to face him, her eyes luminous with hurt.
“What reasoning could there be?” she asked, her voice trembling despite the steady lift of her chin. “You lied to me. You let me believe something that wasn’t true.”
He lifted his hand in a placating gesture. “If you will let me explain—”
She stepped closer, her nearness silencing him more effectively than a shout. “You humiliated me,” she whispered. “Everyone in your household knew. Your brother, Charlotte—” She gasped. “They must have thought me a fool.”
“No one thought that,” he insisted.
Tears welled in her eyes, catching the silver glow of the lanterns. “How could I have been so foolish?” A tear slipped down her cheek. “And then I believed you tonight. That you came to keep me safe. That, too, was a lie.”
“That was no lie,” he said fiercely.
“Was anything the truth?”
He stepped forward, desperate. “Yes. Yes, it was. When I found you, I brought you into the cottage because you were injured. I feared that if you knew who I was, you’d be forced—forced by circumstance—into a marriage you didn’t want. I was trying to protect you.”
“So you thought the worst of me.”
“It is all I have known,” he admitted, ashamed.
Her tears fell freely now. “I would never have forced you into anything. You saved my life, and I…” Her voice cracked. “I trusted you.”
“Josie—”
“I don’t want to ever see you again.”
She moved to pass him, but he caught her arm, unable to bear the thought of letting her go.
“I’m sorry,” he said, the words scraping out of his chest.
She stood frozen, her head bowed. At last, she whispered, “And I’m sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“For thinking you were different from any other gentleman of my acquaintance. But you are all the same. You lie when it is convenient.”
He gently turned her towards him, his hands trembling. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Well, I’m afraid you have,” she said, staring at the lapels of his coat. “You must have been laughing at me this entire time.”
“I never laughed at you.”
“How could you not?” she demanded. “I mistook you for a gamekeeper. You—an heir to a dukedom.”
“Josie… look at me.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
A sniff. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”
“I have seen you cry before.”
“That was different,” she insisted. “That was when I thought you were my friend.”
He leaned closer, his voice rough. “We are still friends.”
“Friends do not lie to one another,” she said. Her eyes lifted to his, glimmering with pain. “I was such a fool.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It was I who was the fool. I should have told you the truth.”
“But you didn’t.”
He flinched. “Josie, please. You must listen.”
“So you can lie to me some more?” she snapped. “Make me believe you are someone you’re not?”
His jaw clenched. “What would your brother have done had he known it wasn’t a gamekeeper who saved you? Would he have forced you into marriage with me?”
“I would not have allowed it.”
“How could you have stopped it?” he asked.
She lifted her chin with that familiar stubborn fire. “I wouldn’t have let you suffer for my actions. I care for you far too much to do that.”
Her admission hit him like a blow. He sucked in a breath. “I care for you, too.”
She let out a brittle laugh. “I don’t believe you. Quite frankly, I won’t believe anything you say—ever again.”
And before he could speak—before he could breathe—she turned and strode back into the ballroom, head high, every inch the proud, wounded lady he had never deserved.
Jude ripped off his mask, the silk twisting in his fist, and stalked to the railing. He gripped the cold iron and leaned forward, chest heaving.
Blast it.
He should have told her the truth. Should have been honest from the moment he had brought her into his cottage.
But he hadn’t been brave enough.
And now he’d done the one thing he swore he wouldn’t.
He’d hurt Josephine.
He lowered his head in shame.
A familiar voice broke through the night. “So that went well.”
Jude didn’t need to turn to know who the voice belonged to.
Lord Rupert joined him at the railing, his hands clasped behind his back. “I saw Lady Josephine leaving the ball. Presumably with her family.”
Jude said nothing. He had no words. No excuses. No path forward. Only the crushing realization of what he had lost.
“What are you going to do?” Rupert asked.
Jude didn’t lift his head from where it hung over the railing. The cool iron bit into his palms, grounding him in a moment he wished he could escape. “I don’t know what I can do,” he muttered. “I lied to her. It is over.”
Rupert snorted. “So you’re just going to let her walk away?”
Jude straightened. “Do I have a choice?”
“I am not an expert on matters of the heart—”
“I have said nothing about love,” Jude interjected.
Rupert gave him a pointed look. “I know, but I saw the way you looked at her tonight.”
Jude turned away, staring into the dark gardens below. “And how was that?”
“Like a man who’d been searching for something he finally found,” Rupert said. “It was obvious you hold her in some affection.”
Jude’s throat tightened. “I do,” he admitted. Saying it out loud made the truth feel heavier.
“Then do something about it.”
“It is too late.”
Rupert let out an exasperated sigh. “I have two brothers—one married for love, the other for convenience. One is miserable, and the other is disgustingly happy. Can you imagine which is which?”
“I know what you’re trying to do, but—”
“Just hear me out,” Rupert said, speaking over him.
Jude blew out a breath. “Go on, then.”
Rupert’s expression grew earnest. “Lady Gwendolyn hurt you. You have every right to be cautious… but not every woman is the enemy. Some are good. Some are kind. And one of them”—his brow lifted pointedly—“you invited into a cottage in the middle of the woods, despite every possible consequence.”
“I had little choice in the matter. She would have died.”
“I’m not questioning that choice,” Rupert said. “I’m questioning this one.” He stepped closer. “Stand up. Fight. Don’t give up so easily.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It isn’t simple.” Rupert shrugged. “But few worthwhile things are.”
Jude turned to face him fully, frustration simmering. “And why should I be taking advice from you, exactly? You have no wife. You aren’t even courting anyone.”
Rupert’s gaze shifted forward into the dark gardens. “You’re right. I have no desire to fall prey to the parson’s mousetrap.” A faint, wistful smile flickered. “But there is a young woman who has piqued my interest.”
“Oh? And what is she like?”
“Headstrong,” Rupert said immediately. “Kind. Utterly oblivious to how I feel.”
“And how do you feel?”
Rupert exhaled slowly. “That… is a complicated question.” Then he shook his head. “But now is not the time for that. We need to depart before we become bigger spectacles.”
Only then did Jude glance back towards the ballroom doors. Several guests were staring openly, some whispering behind their fans, others craning their necks as if he were a scandal on parade.
Good gads. Could this night get any worse?
He dragged a hand down his face. “Come,” he muttered. “Let’s go around back.”
Without another glance towards the ballroom, Jude stepped off the veranda and strode into the darkness of the night.