Page 14 of A Troublesome Circumstance

“I do,” he admitted.

Her gaze fell to her hands. “I envy you that. My brother and I used to be close, too, before he inherited our father’s title. Now his life revolves around the estate, and duty leaves little room for… affection.”

“Duty can be a shackle, if one allows it.”

“I could not agree more.”

For a few minutes, silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire. Then he surprised her by saying, “Forgive my boldness, but I’m astonished you’re not wed, given that you’ve had more than one Season.”

Josephine stiffened. “You sound just like my brother,” she remarked. “He’s grown weary of financing failed Seasons and has tried to marry me off more than once. I’ve refused each time.”

“I find that difficult to believe,” Jude said. “A lady as beautiful as you must have suitors lining up at her door.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “You are kind, but most of my suitors are interested in my dowry, not me. I would rather remain a spinster than be tolerated by a man who doesn’t love me.”

“Ah,” he murmured, his eyes thoughtful. “You seek love, then?”

Her chin lifted slightly. “Yes,” she said with quiet conviction. “My parents had a love match. I would accept nothing less.”

“I admire that,” he said after a pause.

“Most don’t,” she confessed. “They think me foolish or romantic. I’ve had offers from men who see me as little more than a prize to display.”

He inclined his head. “I understand more than you might think. I wish for the same—a marriage like my parents’, built on love rather than convenience.”

Her lips curved faintly. “Then we are in the minority.”

“Perhaps,” he said, meeting her gaze. “But that doesn’t make us wrong.”

The tension in her shoulders eased. She let out a small sigh. “The ton finds me odd. I prefer a library to a ballroom, and most gentlemen don’t find that appealing.”

“You are an avid reader, then?” he asked, a trace of a smile returning.

“I am,” she admitted. “Much to my brother’s dismay. He’d prefer I were married by now with a half-dozen children in the nursery.”

“Then it is fortunate,” Jude started, “that your fate is yours to decide and not his.”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Few things in life ever are.”

The wind moaned outside the cottage walls, brushing against the shutters like a restless spirit. The chill in the air crept closer, and Josephine rose from her chair to fetch the wool blanket folded neatly at the end of the bed. She wrapped it around her shoulders and returned to her chair.

“And what of your father?” she asked, curiosity threading her voice. “Are you close with him?”

Jude rubbed the back of his neck, his expression distant. “We have a complicated relationship,” he admitted. “He wants me to rise up and be the man I’m meant to be.”

Her brows drew together. “And you are not?”

He gave a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t know what I am. I fear that I’ll fail and that I’ll never live up to his legacy.”

Josephine studied him for a long moment. The firelight cast sharp planes of gold and shadow across his face, emphasizing the tension in his jaw, the weight in his eyes. He spoke with such quiet honesty that it stirred something in her chest.

“So you let fear control you?” she asked gently.

He exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “Yes… no. I don’t know,” he said, his voice rough with self-reproach. “You haven’t met my father. He’s a force to be reckoned with. A man admired by many. And I…” His voice trailed off, the rest lost to the fire’s crackle.

She leaned forward slightly. “You are his son,” she responded simply.