Chapter 19
Jude paused outside the study door, his palm pressed flat against the polished wood.
His father’s study was the one place in the world where truth had weight—sometimes crushing, sometimes freeing.
Tonight, he prayed it would be the latter.
He needed his father to understand, to be reasonable, to see what Jude saw so clearly: that he loved Josie, and he would never be content until she was his. Until he was hers.
Drawing in a breath, he knocked once but didn’t wait for permission. If he hesitated now, he might never find the courage again.
The room was warm, lit with the low amber glow of the hearth. His father sat in his favorite armchair, shoulders bowed slightly forward, his gaze fixed upon the crackling flames as though seeking answers in the embers.
Jude cleared his throat. “Father.”
His father looked up, startled from whatever thoughts held him captive. “Jude,” he murmured. “I apologize. I was woolgathering for a moment.”
Jude stepped farther into the room. “Anything you wish to share?”
A strained smile tugged at his father’s mouth—more grimace than mirth. “I was thinking about Lady Redden.”
That drew Jude up short. He crossed to the chair opposite and sat. “And what did you conclude?”
His father exhaled slowly. “That I want to offer for her. Tonight. But… I am scared.”
Nothing surprised Jude more than his father’s admission. “You, scared?”
A brief chuckle escaped his father. “Many things frighten me. I simply do not speak of them. And marriage to Lady Redden—well, that is one such thing.”
“May I ask why?”
His father’s gaze dropped to the fire. “Because I loved your mother with my whole heart. And I worry that by marrying another, I dishonor her memory. As though loving again diminishes the love we shared.”
Jude’s chest tightened. “You could never diminish what you had with Mother. Our home was built on your love for her. On her love for you.”
His father swallowed hard. “Then what am I doing, Jude?”
“You are doing nothing wrong,” Jude said firmly. “Mother is gone, but you’re still here. It is time you start living again—truly living.”
“It feels selfish.”
“Mother would want you to be happy,” Jude asserted. “Tell me… does Lady Redden bring you joy?”
For the first time tonight, his father’s smile was genuine. “She does.”
“Then that is your answer.”
His father reached for his glass and took a sip before speaking again. “Should we wait to wed until after you marry Lady Josephine?”
Jude stiffened. There it was—the reason he had come. “That is… what I wish to discuss.”
His father gestured with his glass. “Then talk away.”
Jude hesitated, gathering his courage. “There is an unflattering article set to be printed in The Morning Post tomorrow. About Josie.”
His father’s face tightened. “What sort of article?”
“It will imply that she willingly eloped with Mr. Broderick. To Gretna Green.”
His father lowered his gaze to his drink. “I see. And did she?”
Jude’s temper flared white-hot. “Good gads, no! How could you even ask such a thing?”
His father looked up, his eyes thoughtful rather than accusatory. “This complicates matters,” he said, setting his glass aside.
“I know,” Jude replied. “But I still hope… I still need your support to marry Josie.”
His father studied him, his brows drawn. “Have you thought this through?”
“I have, but—”
His father spoke over him. “You would be marrying a ruined woman. A woman who will be given the cut direct.”
“I care little about that,” Jude snapped.
“You should,” his father countered. “I will support you both, but Society will not. The gossip will be relentless. Cruel. Even if the story isn’t true, the printed word will follow her for the rest of her days.”
“I will protect her.”
“I don’t doubt that,” his father responded. “But protection will not silence the world.”
“Let them talk,” Jude said, his jaw tight. “Come what may.”
His father held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Then I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
Jude eyed his father warily. “Do you truly mean that?”
“I do.”
Relief softened Jude’s shoulders. “I feared you would insist I choose duty over love.”
“Perhaps that is the wise choice,” his father said with a tired smile. “But you have caught me on a rare good night. Just know this path will not be easy. I do not envy you.”
“What of your bill?” Jude asked. “If I marry Josie, the scandal—”
“Let me worry about Parliament,” his father said sharply. “If I were you, I would acquire a special license and be married as quickly as possible.”
Jude’s mouth twisted. “If only it were that simple. Josie refuses to marry me. She says she is trying to protect me.”
“She isn’t wrong.”
Jude tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “My whole life, I have been burdened by who I must become. But with Josie… I’m simply Jude. Not an earl. Not an heir. Just a man.”
“Then you must fight for her.”
He huffed. “I am fighting.”
His father raised a brow. “No, you are here talking to me. You should be telling her these things.”
The truth of that struck Jude like a blow. But he still had one more question he had to ask. “And what if she still refuses me?”
His father leaned back in his chair. “Did you know your mother turned down my first proposal?”
Jude’s head snapped towards him. “No. I didn’t.”
A wistful expression softened his father’s features. “She had no wish to become a duchess. She was much like your Lady Josephine. She was fond of books and wary of attention. It took a great deal of begging on my part to convince her she was all I desired.”
Jude absorbed that, surprised.
“Your mother became a magnificent duchess,” his father continued, his voice thickening. “Kind. Compassionate. Fearless when defending those Society overlooked. She defied every expectation, and she carved her own path.”
Jude rose, needing movement, and wandered towards the mantel. “Mother was beloved by many.”
“Yes,” his father agreed. “But not at first. Do you know what the Society pages said? That I had married a quiet little debutante. That she was unremarkable. That she would fail.” He paused. “She proved them wrong.”
Silence filled the space between them.
Finally, Jude asked, “Do you think… it could be the same for Josie?”
His father let out a slow breath. “I don’t know. Eloping with a man—”
“She was abducted.”
“Does it matter to Society?” his father asked. “She was still alone in a coach with a man who was not her husband.”
Jude closed his eyes against the unfairness of it.
But when he opened them, the firelight caught something new in his father’s eyes—something like belief.
“And yet,” his father said quietly, “I have seen the way you look at her. If anyone can survive the gossip… it may well be the two of you.”
Before Jude could respond to his father’s last confession, the study door creaked open. Glover stepped inside with his customary immaculate posture.
“My lord,” the butler intoned, “Lord Rupert has requested a moment of your time.”
“Send him in,” Jude ordered.
His father rose slowly from his chair. “And that,” he said, “is my cue to leave.”
“Thank you, Father.” Jude hoped that those three words carried even a fraction of what he felt. Gratitude. Relief. Love.
The duke rested a hand on Jude’s shoulder, his grip warm and steady. “Choose wisely, Son. Life is hard, even when you have the right woman by your side.”
Jude swallowed. “I will.”
His father gave a final nod. “I am going to rest before joining Lady Redden for dinner.” And with that, he turned towards the door just as Rupert entered.
“Your Grace,” Rupert said, inclining his head respectfully as he and the duke passed one another.
When the door closed behind the duke, Rupert’s formal expression melted into a smug grin. “I have come bearing news.”
Jude crossed his arms. “Which is?”
Rupert sauntered farther into the room and helped himself to the nearest chair.
“I paid a visit to the editor-in-chief of The Morning Post and explained—in very clear terms—the folly of printing such rot about Lady Josephine. I told him that if he chose to proceed with that fabricated story, he would make enemies of very important people… including the future Duke of Ashmoore.”
Jude arched a brow. “Did that sway him?”
“Not in the slightest,” Rupert replied. “I threatened a suit for slander. He still wouldn’t budge.”
Jude exhaled, turning away, staring into the hearth’s orange glow. The fire snapped loudly. “Thank you for trying.”
Rupert stretched out, draping an arm over the chair. “I left feeling rather defeated. Until I returned home and mentioned the situation to my father.”
“What of him?”
Rupert’s grin sharpened. “It seems that one of his subsidiary companies owns The Morning Post.”
Jude blinked, then straightened fully. That was… unexpected.
Rupert continued, clearly enjoying the storytelling. “After I pleaded your case—quite eloquently, I might add—Father agreed to intervene. He paid a personal call to the man who oversees the newssheet.”
Jude’s pulse quickened. “And?”
Rupert’s grin widened into pure triumph. “And you need not fear. The story will never see the light of day. At least not from The Morning Post.”
Jude let out a shaky laugh, sinking into the armchair opposite Rupert, relief washing over him. “What if Broderick goes to another newssheet?”
Rupert waved a dismissive hand. “It would do him little good. The two most-read newssheets in London are The Morning Post and The London Gazette—which, if memory serves, your brother owns.”
A stunned, incredulous sound escaped Jude’s throat. “Is this truly happening?”
“It is,” Rupert said with a smug satisfaction only he could manage. “I assure you.”
Jude leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the tension bleed out of him. “How can I thank your father? And you?”
“No need to thank me,” Rupert said, amused. “But as for my father—well, he does love being thanked. Preferably with brandy.”
Jude’s lips quirked. “That, I can do.”