Chapter 15 #2
Josephine turned, startled. “What is?”
“This dinner.” Her mother threw her hands into the air as if the ceiling might collapse atop them. “With the Duke of Ashmoore. We only just dined with him last night. What will people say?”
“Does it matter what they say?”
“No, but…” Her mother paced a step, wringing her hands. “This is madness. What if the Duke of Ashmoore tires of us?”
Josephine frowned. “Why would he tire of us?”
“Or what if I say the wrong thing?” her mother fretted.
Josephine fought the urge to roll her eyes. “And why would you think that?”
Her mother hesitated. “I don’t rightly know. But I do believe this is a terrible idea. Perhaps I should send my regrets.”
“For what purpose?” Josephine motioned towards her mother’s maroon gown. “You look lovely, and your hair is perfect.”
Her mother pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “Why am I so nervous?”
Josephine couldn’t help her gentle smile. “Could it be that you hold some affection for the Duke of Ashmoore?”
“Heavens, no! I loved your father.”
“I don’t dispute that,” she said. “But you can still have affection for the duke.”
Her mother finally stilled, lowering her hands. “I have admired him for a very long time… but that is a far cry from affection.”
Josephine stepped closer and took her mother’s hands into her own. “It is all right to feel something for the duke.”
“I don’t know…” Her mother’s voice trembled. “I would never want to taint your father’s memory.”
“You aren’t and you won’t.” Josephine squeezed her hands. “Trust me.”
Her mother gave a thin, nervous smile. “I feel like a foolish debutante attending her first ball. My stomach is fluttering, and I fear I may say something ridiculous.”
“You will be perfect,” Josephine assured her. “But we must leave if we don’t want to be late.”
They walked down the hall towards the entry. As they reached the staircase, feminine laughter floated from the drawing room.
“Lady Gwendolyn and her mother are having dinner with Alexander,” her mother explained.
A wave of relief washed over Josephine. “Then it is fortunate we are dining with His Grace. I could not endure Lady Gwendolyn for an entire meal.”
As they approached the door, Alexander appeared with Lady Gwendolyn on his arm. Lady Gwendolyn’s smile was bright, possessive.
“You are looking well this evening,” Lady Gwendolyn said sweetly. Too sweetly. “Not every young woman can manage that color.”
“Thank you,” Josephine replied, forcing her lips into a polite smile.
“I understand you are dining with the Duke of Ashmoore this evening,” Lady Gwendolyn added.
“We are,” Josephine answered.
Lady Gwendolyn leaned into Alexander. “I cannot imagine why. His townhouse is so cold and drab. Quite uninviting, really. Perhaps it is the company that lives there. One could not say.”
Josephine inhaled slowly to keep from saying something very unladylike. “Well… good evening, Lady Gwendolyn.”
“Oh, before you go,” Lady Gwendolyn chirped, her smile sharpening, “please inform Lord Pendryn that I am engaged to your brother.”
Josephine’s jaw almost dropped. “That is… wonderful news.” She tried very hard to make her tone sound convincing.
“Yes, is it not?” Lady Gwendolyn preened. “I am fortunate, indeed, that I did not have to settle for anything less than love.”
Josephine nodded stiffly and moved towards the open door, where Dupree waited with one brow faintly raised. “You are most fortunate, indeed,” she said before stepping into the night.
Once the coach door shut behind them, Josephine let out a groan.
Her mother laughed lightly. “I take it you are not pleased with Alexander’s engagement.”
“No,” Josephine muttered. “And you did not seem surprised.”
“I was not,” her mother said. “I offered my congratulations earlier this afternoon.”
Josephine stared at her. “Why her? There are hundreds of young women Alexander could have chosen. Why pick the one who is the most vexing creature in London?”
Her mother offered an understanding smile. “I will agree that Lady Gwendolyn is not my first choice…”
“Or second, or third,” Josephine grumbled.
“… but you need to be nice,” her mother chided. “She will be your sister soon enough.”
“Sister-in-law,” Josephine corrected under her breath, sinking back into the seat as the coach lurched forward.
“Dare I ask why you dislike her so much?” her mother asked.
Josephine pressed her lips together. She did not wish to sound petty, but the memory still pricked. “During Lady Henley’s soiree, I slipped off to the library while you were preoccupied with your friends.”
“Which was not wise.”
“I know,” Josephine conceded, “but that is not the point.” She drew a steadying breath.
“Lady Gwendolyn found me. She was drinking champagne, surrounded by her friends, all of them giggling far too loudly for a library. She approached me and said that if I ever intended to find a husband, I must stop hiding among the books. Then”—Josephine’s voice tightened—“she tipped her champagne onto the book I was reading.”
“That was poorly done.”
“It was a first edition,” Josephine revealed. “She laughed as I tried to dry the pages with my skirts. Ever since then, I have done my best to avoid her.”
Her mother nodded slowly. “Yes… I can see why.”
“Which is why I stepped onto the veranda the night I was abducted,” Josephine shared. “I didn’t want to risk running into Lady Gwendolyn.”
“That was foolish. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to be alone.”
“I needed a moment alone after my last dance partner. Uncle Leroy suggested I go onto the veranda for air. He even offered to go with me, but I turned him down. I didn’t want to take him away from the ball,” Josephine said.
“If he had accompanied me, I wouldn’t have been alone and Mr. Broderick never would have abducted me. ”
Before Josephine could say more, the coach slowed, then stopped before the Duke of Ashmoore’s grand townhouse. A footman hurried forward, placing the step and opening the door with impeccable timing.
Josephine accepted his hand and stepped down, the crisp evening air brushing her cheeks. She folded her hands in front of her and took a moment to admire the residence. Pale stone, tall windows lit from within, the unmistakable elegance of wealth and taste. Very few homes in London matched it.
Her mother looped their arms together and they ascended the stairs. The main door swung open just as they reached it, and they were ushered into the drawing room.
Josephine’s eyes immediately found Jude.
And heavens—he looked unbearably handsome in his black superfine, every line of him straight and proud. He smiled at her—an unguarded, warm smile—and some of the tension uncoiled inside her.
But her brief ease evaporated at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice behind her.
“Good evening, Lady Josephine,” a man said cheerfully. “We meet again.”
Josephine turned and found Lord Luca, with Charlotte on his arm, both wearing wide smiles.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she dropped into a curtsy. “My lord. My lady.”
The Duke of Ashmoore followed them in with a genial expression. “I take it you have already met my son and his wife?”
Josephine dipped her head. “I have, Your Grace. At your country estate.”
“Ah, say no more,” the duke replied, amusement in his tone.
Charlotte stepped forward immediately, clasping Josephine’s hands. “Luca and I feel awful for lying to you, truly. But Jude threatened to withhold chocolate from me if I did not cooperate.”
Jude barked a laugh. “I did no such thing.”
“Perhaps not,” Charlotte allowed, “but I still hope you won’t despise us indefinitely for our part in the charade.”
Josephine lifted her gaze. “I do not hate you. But I imagine you must think me intolerably foolish for mistaking Jude for a gamekeeper.”
“Heavens, no!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I thought it was sweet how you treated him—kindly, and without any notion of who he truly was.”
Jude stepped closer, his voice warm. “No one is judging you, Josie. I was exceedingly convincing as a gamekeeper.” He puffed out his chest in mock pride.
Luca scoffed. “You were far too cocky to be a convincing gamekeeper.”
Josephine couldn’t help smiling at their banter. Then she gestured towards her mother. “Lord Luca, Lady Luca—allow me to introduce my mother, Lady Redden.”
“Lady Luca?” Charlotte repeated with a wrinkle of her nose. “No, no. Please call me Charlotte. It is far easier to say, and I already think of both of you as friends.”
“That is kind of you,” her mother said warmly.
Just then, the butler appeared at the doorway. “Dinner is served.”
Before Josephine could move, Jude was suddenly at her side, offering his arm. “May I escort you to dinner?”
She didn’t even pretend to consider. She placed her gloved hand on his sleeve. “Thank you, Jude.”
As they walked down the corridor, his head dipped closer. “Look behind us.”
Josephine turned subtly, and her breath caught.
Her mother and the duke walked side by side, smiling at each other—smiling—as naturally as if they had been doing so for years.
“Our plan is working,” Jude murmured.
“It is,” Josephine whispered back. “My mother was nearly sick with nerves this evening. I think her feelings run deeper than she admits.”
“Same for my father.”
Josephine’s lips twitched. “You do realize that if they wed, we will be brother and sister.”
Jude stiffened beside her. “Stepbrother and stepsister,” he corrected quickly. “There is a difference.”
“There is,” she agreed.
But as she glanced up at him, Josephine knew her feelings for Jude were nothing like the affection of a sister. If anything, the thought only made her heart beat faster, a flutter she could neither deny nor control.