Chapter 13
Jude pulled out a chair for Josephine at the dining table. When she settled gracefully into her seat, he took the one beside hers, leaving only a sliver of space between them. Close enough to feel her presence… but not so close that she’d stiffen.
Still, she stiffened.
He leaned in—only slightly—catching the faintest trace of lavender.
There was too much unsaid between them for comfort. But if he attempted to untangle everything now, she would retreat from him. It was better that he went slow. Gentle. Careful.
Two footmen stepped forward, placing bowls of hot soup before them. Jude unfolded his linen napkin and laid it across his lap.
He had barely reached for his spoon when Lord Redden’s voice cut through the quiet.
“Well,” Redden announced from the head of the table, “shall we discuss the elephant in the room?”
Beside him, Josephine went rigid. Jude felt, rather than saw, the tension roll in waves from her shoulders.
“What are you referring to?” she asked, her voice tight.
Redden leaned back in his seat. “I am referring to the fact that Pendryn was pursuing Lady Gwendolyn and now I am.” He raised a brow at Jude. “I do hope that is not a problem.”
“It is no problem at all,” Jude replied.
Redden nodded, satisfied. “Good.” He reached for his wine glass. “I should note that I intend to offer for the lady.”
Josephine gasped, gripping the edge of the table. “Dear heavens, you cannot be serious.”
“Josephine,” Lady Redden chided softly. “Be kind.”
“I am trying to be,” she muttered. “But I can’t bite my tongue and stay silent on the subject.”
Redden shrugged off her concern. “Regardless of how you feel, I intend to make Lady Gwendolyn my marchioness.”
“I wish you all the happiness,” Jude said, though he felt Josephine’s incredulous stare burning into him.
“So no hard feelings between us?” Redden asked.
Jude shook his head. “None.”
“I can’t believe you let a woman like Lady Gwendolyn go,” Redden continued. “But your loss is my gain.”
“That it is,” Jude answered simply.
The duke lifted his glass. “I am truly happy for you.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Redden snapped his fingers lightly towards the butler. “We should celebrate. Bring out the champagne.”
“You shouldn’t celebrate yet, considering she hasn’t agreed to your proposal,” Josephine remarked.
Redden grinned. “But she will.”
Jude held no bitterness towards Lady Gwendolyn. Neither affection nor resentment. Only the resigned knowledge that he had once been a fool. And gratitude that he wasn’t anymore.
Josephine let out an irritated huff. He glanced at her, his curiosity piqued. Why did she bristle whenever Gwendolyn’s name was mentioned?
Before he could ask, a footman entered with a tray carrying five flutes of champagne.
Josephine immediately reached for hers and took a long swallow.
Jude chuckled. “I would slow down.”
“Why?” she muttered. “I am hoping to forget this night ever happened.”
“Then by all means, drink away, my lady.”
She made a face at the title.
“What is it?” he asked.
In a hushed tone only he could hear, she said, “It sounds strange when you call me ‘my lady.’”
“I feel the same when you ‘my lord’ me.”
A small smile tugged at her lips. “Then let’s promise each other we won’t do that.”
His heart lifted. It was hardly anything—a smile, a shared secret—but it was a start. A crack in the wall she’d built between them.
Perhaps… just perhaps… all was not lost.
Lady Redden clapped her hands lightly. “We like to play a family game during dinner.”
Alexander groaned. “Mother… not now.”
The duke leaned forward, amused. “I am quite interested in this game. Please continue, my lady.”
She smiled gratefully. “We each say something we are grateful for.”
“I’ll start,” the duke offered. “I am grateful to dine with all of you. It has been a long while since I have had a family dinner.”
“I am grateful for Lady Gwendolyn,” Alexander declared proudly.
Lady Redden raised her glass. “And I am grateful for my two beautiful children.”
Jude turned to Josephine, softening his voice. “Dare I ask what you are grateful for?”
She set her spoon down. “Books.”
Alexander looked heavenward. “Not with the books again,” he said, exasperated.
“I find it wonderful that Lady Josephine is grateful for books,” the duke said warmly. “My wife was the same. She had a small nook in our cottage filled with her favorites.”
Josephine’s expression softened. “I think I would have liked your wife very much.”
“I believe she would have liked you, too,” the duke replied, his eyes crinkling.
All eyes turned to Jude.
He wiped the corner of his mouth. “I am grateful for good friends.” Then he added, “Especially new ones.”
Josephine held his gaze longer than he expected… before looking down.
Alexander cleared his throat. “We should eat before our soup gets cold.”
Jude spooned up his soup, savoring the temporary quiet. It didn’t last.
“Do you think Elba will hold Napoleon this time?” Lady Redden asked.
The duke puffed out his chest. “Yes. Every precaution has been taken. He will not escape again.”
“I hope so,” Lady Redden replied. “I am tired of war. If it isn’t the French, it is the Americans.”
“That is hardly a war,” Alexander scoffed. “Blasted Americans. Why do they feel entitled to our land and our men?”
“Fortunately, our soldiers are well trained,” the duke said. “Unlike the Americans.”
“Americans are idiots,” Alexander muttered.
Josephine spoke up, her voice resolute. “I think it is brave, actually. They fought for what they believed in, even against all odds.”
“It did end well for them,” Jude conceded. “But their country is floundering.”
“They are young. Idealistic. I believe they will survive—perhaps even thrive given time.”
Jude lifted a brow. “It sounds like you are sympathetic to their cause.”
“I am,” she answered. “I feel some kinship towards them since women have to hide their intelligence here, for fear of ridicule. We are even told to keep our opinions to ourselves.”
“That is rubbish,” the duke declared. “My wife was never happier than in the midst of a heated debate.”
“Have you ever visited the back room of the circulating libraries?” Jude asked. “Women gather there to discuss politics, philosophy, everything.”
“It’s true,” the duke agreed. “My daughter-in-law, Charlotte, used to attend those meetings.”
As a footman collected their bowls, Jude turned to Josephine. “I would be happy to escort you to the library tomorrow. After our carriage ride.”
“I can see myself there,” she said. “But thank you for the kind offer.”
Alexander’s head snapped up. “You’re going on a carriage ride?”
“We are,” Jude confirmed.
“Perhaps Lady Gwendolyn and I will join you.”
Josephine froze, her eyes widening. “I… uh…”
Jude reached beneath the table for her hand and hoped she wouldn’t snatch it away. He found it, warm and tense, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“What Lady Josephine is trying to say,” Jude said calmly, “is that we would prefer to be alone.” He looked at her, offering a small, encouraging smile. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
Her jaw tightened, but she nodded. “Yes… my dear.”
And though it was strained, though it was awkward—Jude felt hope flicker to life.
“Well then,” Alexander said, “I can understand that sentiment all too well.”
Josephine immediately slipped her hand free of Jude’s beneath the table.
The loss of her touch hit him harder than he expected. She wouldn’t even look at him now. He wanted nothing more than to be alone with her. To explain. To apologize properly. To beg for even a sliver of the trust he’d shattered.
But now was not the moment.
He would have to wait—though every second already felt like a punishment.
Abruptly, Josephine stood, pushing her chair back so quickly that the legs scraped sharply against the floor. All three men rose in response, slightly stumbling over one another in their haste.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice thin. “I… I need to lie down.”
Before anyone could speak, she turned and hurried from the room.
Jude tossed his napkin onto the table with a decisive motion and followed her out, ignoring the questioning looks behind him.
He caught sight of her down the corridor. “Josie,” he called, his voice echoing softly off the paneled walls.
She stopped—but didn’t turn.
He moved closer. “What can I say to make this better?”
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and the sight of them nearly undid him.
“I can’t sit so close to you,” she whispered, “and pretend that everything is all right.”
“Oh, Josie…”
“You lied to me,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Humiliated me.” Another step. “And yet, deep down”—her voice faltered—“I understand why you did it.”
“I did it to protect you,” he insisted gently.
“No.” Her gaze sharpened. “You did it to protect yourself. Do not insult me by pretending otherwise.”
He drew in a slow breath, the truth landing like a stone in his stomach. “You are right.”
She reached him then. Her hand rose and rested lightly against his chest. “I’m sorry that you have been hurt before,” she said. “But you thought the worst of me.”
“That was before I knew you,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “Before I understood the kind of woman you truly are.”
Her lashes lowered, blinking back the tears gathering there. Jude’s heart clenched painfully.
“I wouldn’t have forced you into an arranged marriage,” she said. “I would have protected you… just as you protected me.”
Emotion surged in him—regret, longing, hope, fear. “I’m sorry, Josie. I truly am. Let me prove to you that I am a man worthy of your trust.”
She searched his eyes then, looking for something—honesty, perhaps. Or remorse. Or hope that he could change.
“I don’t know if I can,” she breathed.
“Then come on the carriage ride with me tomorrow.” His voice was low, earnest. “Give me a chance. Let me change your mind.”
“It… isn’t that easy.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t. But it’s a start.”
She hesitated, and then she nodded. “Very well. I can agree to that.”
Relief swept through him and he covered her hand with his. “Come back to dinner with me.”
“I might not be the best company.”