Page 27 of A Troublesome Circumstance

“None that expand the mind,” Charlotte retorted.

“I quite agree,” Josephine said. “In truth, I was impressed by the books I saw in the cottage—” She stopped abruptly as Lord Luca’s expression darkened.

His voice was calm but firm. “You must never mention the cottage again, if you value your reputation. Better yet, it would be best if you never mentioned Jude’s name—for your sake and his.”

“Of course. Forgive me. It was a slip of the tongue,” Josephine murmured, lowering her gaze. Heat crept up her neck, mortification blooming in her chest. Lord Luca’s tone hadn’t been cruel—merely firm—but it was enough to make her feel like a child who had spoken out of turn.

Charlotte reached across the table, her expression softening. “Think nothing of it, Josephine. You’ve had a trying few days. All will be well now.”

Josephine managed a smile, though her throat felt tight. “You are very kind.”

But even as she spoke, her vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears to retreat, but they refused. The harder she tried to suppress them, the more they threatened to fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

Before she could disgrace herself further, she pushed back her chair. “Excuse me,” she whispered, rising quickly. Her napkin slipped to the floor, but she left it where it lay.

She swept from the room before anyone could protest. The moment she reached the corridor, she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, stifling a sob.

Why was she crying? Lord Luca had not meant to wound her. He had only reminded her of propriety—of the delicate web she now found herself caught within. Yet it all felt too much. Too strange. Too far from the quiet safety of Jude’s cottage.

“Josephine.”

She froze. That voice—deep, calm, achingly familiar.

“Jude,” she said, turning slightly away, her shoulders stiff. “Please, I need a moment.”

His footsteps drew nearer. “What is wrong?” he asked, coming to stand just behind her.

“I am fine,” she said quickly, wiping her cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “Truly, it is nothing—just nerves.”

“Josephine,” he said again. “Look at me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She closed her eyes, her chest tightening. “Because I have been crying, and I do not wish for you to see me like this.”

He let out a quiet sigh. “I have seen you at your worst in the stable. Why should it be any different now?”

She felt the lightest pressure on her arm as his fingers brushed her sleeve, turning her gently. She let him, unable to resist the quiet strength in his touch. When she finally lifted her gaze, she met his—steady, kind, and full of that maddening compassion that made her feel both safe and exposed.

“I said something foolish at dinner,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mentioned the cottage, and Lord Luca—he wasn’t unkind, only… stern. He reminded me that I mustn’t speak of it again.”

“He wasn’t wrong,” Jude responded.

“I know, but I was embarrassed,” she said, blinking back fresh tears.

“So you cry when you’re embarrassed. Duly noted.”

She gave him a mock glare, though her heart softened at the familiar ease between them. “I am not good at lying, that’s all.”

“Oh, I’m well aware that you’re a terrible liar,” he said lightly. “It’s one of your more endearing qualities.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. “And what if I make another mistake, and the next person isn’t as forgiving?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “Then you’ll learn. You’re clever enough for that. But for now, I suspect you’re more tired than you realize and hungry, too. Things will seem less dire after a good meal.”

“And if they don’t?”