Chapter 12
Jude sat in his study, hunched over the desk, his eyes staring blankly at the rows of numbers that refused to stay still on the page. He blinked, once, twice—yet his mind kept wrenching him away from columns of figures and dragging him back to her.
Josephine’s face at the masquerade.
That moment when she realized the truth.
The shock… followed by the hurt… and then the unmistakable glimmer of betrayal.
Botheration. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Why had he ever believed the masquerade’s anonymity would protect him? A mask had done nothing to hide the truth from her. Nor from the ton, who relished the scandal of his unmasking far too much.
He dropped the papers he had been attempting to read. They landed with a dull thud that perfectly matched the heaviness in his chest.
He trusted Josephine.
Even now—when she had every right to despise him—he trusted her.
“Blast it,” he muttered, leaning back and rubbing his temples. “Focus, Jude. Accounts first, guilt later.”
But guilt refused to wait.
Would she ever forgive him? Would she ever look at him with that soft, surprised smile again?
“You look awful.”
Jude jerked his head up. Luca stood lounging in the doorway with that infuriatingly knowing smirk.
“What do you want?” Jude snapped.
“Ah. Back to your usual charm.” Luca pushed off the doorframe and strolled in. “I came to determine whether you were still alive after last night’s spectacle.”
“There was no spectacle,” Jude muttered.
“No?” Luca raised his brows. “Lady Gwendolyn declared you a cad loud enough for the entire ballroom to hear. And the ton thoroughly enjoyed watching you chase after Lady Josephine.”
“I was not chasing,” Jude grumbled.
“Mm. Tell that to the Society page.” Luca slipped a folded paper from his inner coat pocket and tossed it lightly onto the desk. “Not one of mine.”
Jude groaned and leaned back in his chair. “Why did I think I could attend the blasted ball unnoticed?”
“It was a masquerade ball,” Luca reminded.
“Yes—and yet last night was an unmitigated disaster. And now—thanks to Lady Gwendolyn—the ton believes I’m some sort of heartless scoundrel.”
Luca waved a dismissive hand. “Who cares what they think? Your reputation can withstand a few scratches. Unless…” His eyes gleamed. “Unless there is one particular person whose opinion matters.”
Josephine’s face flickered in Jude’s mind, but he shut the image away. “No,” he said far too quickly.
Luca did not look convinced. “How did Lady Josephine react when she discovered you’re not a lowly gamekeeper, after all, but the next Duke of Ashmoore?”
“She was furious.” His throat tightened. “And she had every right. I lied to her.”
“For a good reason.”
“That doesn’t soften the blow,” Jude responded.
“You’re going to fix it,” Luca said. “You always do.”
“I sent her flowers this morning.”
“A promising start. But she strikes me as a woman who requires more than flowers.”
Jude dragged his hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the ends. “I planned to call on her this afternoon, but I keep imagining her turning me away at the door.”
“You will never know until you try.”
Before Jude could respond, the butler stepped inside, holding a silver tray. “A letter for you, my lord.”
Jude straightened. “Bring it here.”
The butler offered the tray, and Jude plucked up the sealed envelope. His brows furrowed as he recognized the handwriting. Breaking the seal, he read—once, twice—before looking up.
“It’s from Lord Redden,” Jude revealed. “He invites me to dine with them this evening.”
“That is excellent news,” Luca said. “A very good sign, indeed.”
“Perhaps. But the invitation is from her brother. Not Josephine—or even her mother.”
Luca sipped his drink. “Still. An invitation is an invitation. What do you intend to do?”
“Go,” Jude said without hesitation. “I must go.”
A slow smile spread across Luca’s face. “I suspected you would.” He set his empty glass down. “Per your request, I looked into Mr. Broderick’s dealings.”
Jude’s attention snapped sharp. “What did you find?”
“More than I anticipated.” Luca crossed his arms. “He owns a collection of properties in the rookeries—taverns, gaming hells, and houses of ill repute. He is a man with… questionable ethics.”
Jude cursed under his breath. “And Josephine said her brother does business with him.”
“I will continue investigating,” Luca promised.
“You have my gratitude,” Jude said.
Luca grinned. “If you will excuse me, I wish to return home to my wife.”
“How is the new townhouse?” Jude asked.
“Smaller than I am accustomed to, but Charlotte loves it. She’s already redecorating every inch of it.”
Jude chuckled. “I, for one, am grateful I am not living under the same roof as a newlywed couple.”
A new voice cut through the room.
“You should already be married, Jude.”
Jude stiffened as his father strode inside, his arms full of books.
Luca gave Jude a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “And with that, I shall take my leave.”
“Coward,” Jude muttered before his brother departed from the study.
The duke ignored their exchange entirely. “Good afternoon, Jude.”
“Father.”
He dropped the stack of ledgers onto the desk. “I brought more work for you to see to.”
“Wonderful,” Jude muttered again.
“I trust you have been working diligently?” his father asked.
“I have.”
“Good. Familiarity with our accounts is essential. The more time you spend with them, the more confident you will be in managing the estate.”
“Do we not have two men whose entire purpose is to manage these matters?” Jude asked pointedly.
“We do.” The Duke of Ashmoore folded his hands behind his back. “And yet you must still learn it.”
Jude sighed heavily.
“Did you read the farming report?” his father asked.
“I did.”
“And?”
“It was boring.”
A rare smile tugged at the corners of his father’s mouth. “That is the correct answer.”
Jude pushed to his feet and stalked towards the drink cart. “Is this truly my fate? Ledgers, meetings, accounts, and more ledgers?”
“Not entirely,” his father replied. “One day, you will take your seat in the House of Lords.”
“It just keeps getting better and better,” Jude said under his breath.
His father’s gaze softened. “I was once you, Jude. I saw no purpose in estate matters. No meaning. Until I met your mother. She made it all worthwhile. Made me worthwhile. You will understand when you—”
“If this is another tale intended to pressure me into marriage,” Jude said, lifting his glass, “please spare me.”
His father smirked knowingly.
And Jude took a very long drink.
“I understand there was an incident at the ball last night involving Lady Josephine Tweedale,” his father said, tone deceptively mild as he flipped open a ledger.
Jude didn’t even look up from his glass. “There was no incident.”
“Good,” his father said. “Because I happen to hold her mother, Lady Redden, in high esteem.”
Jude’s head snapped up. That was unexpected. “You do?”
“Yes,” his father replied. “She was a close friend of your mother’s. A fine woman. I have always admired her.”
Jude narrowed his gaze. Something about his father’s tone—soft, almost wistful—caught his attention. “Are you… interested in pursuing her?”
His father’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, no,” the duke sputtered. “I loved your mother.”
“There is no question of that,” Jude remarked. “But she passed away many years ago. You’re still allowed to live your life.”
“No. Absolutely not.” His father shook his head vehemently. “I would never betray your mother like that.”
“There is no betrayal in seeking companionship,” Jude pressed. “Mother would want you to be happy, not alone.”
His father’s entire body stiffened—just slightly, but enough. “Leave it, Jude.”
Jude leaned back, studying him. Why did the mention of Lady Redden unsettle him so much? Whatever it was, Jude was suddenly curious.
Very curious.
An idea sparked. “I am dining with Lady Josephine and her family this evening.”
His father lifted a brow. “So soon after the ball?”
“Her brother invited me,” Jude said. “And… I intend to go.” He hesitated, then continued casually, “You should join us.”
“I have a great deal of work to see to.”
Jude waved that away. “The work will still be there tomorrow.”
His father frowned, lines deepening across his forehead. “Was I even invited?”
“I will send word that you are accompanying me,” Jude said breezily. “I doubt they’ll object.”
“I don’t know…” The duke shifted his stance, looking genuinely uncertain—almost uneasy.
Jude pointed a finger at him. “It is better than eating dinner alone and retiring to your study by eight.”
His father froze. A flicker of pain crossed his face before he masked it.
Blazes. Jude hadn’t meant to strike a nerve.
But the truth remained. His father had been lonely for a long time. Jude had simply never acknowledged it aloud.
Finally, his father let out a slow breath. “Very well,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “I will accompany you. But only because I do not feel like working this evening.”
Jude’s lips curved into a smile he didn’t bother hiding. “I feel the same way,” he responded.
“Now, how about we work until we depart for dinner?” his father suggested.
His smile disappeared. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
“You did what?!”
Josephine’s voice rang through the study.
Alexander stood with infuriating composure, his hands clasped behind his back as though he’d just announced something perfectly reasonable. “I invited Lord Pendryn to dinner,” he repeated, unruffled by her outrage. “And I have just received word that his father will be accompanying him.”
“You had no right to do so.” Josephine jabbed a finger towards him, her pulse hammering in her ears.
“I had every right,” Alexander said, lifting his chin. “This is my home, and it did not escape my notice that you hold some affection for Lord Pendryn.”
“You would be wrong,” she lied without hesitation.
A smug little smile curved his lips. “I don’t think I am.”