Page 37 of A Troublesome Circumstance

Luca arched a brow. “Mother would disagree.”

Jude’s eyes narrowed. “Do not bring Mother into this.”

“Why not?” Luca asked. “Mother taught us love, compassion and forgiveness. She would not want you to let one woman turn your heart to stone.”

“Lady Gwendolyn was not merely a mistake,” Jude bit out. “Had I married her, I would have been miserable for the rest of my days.”

“But you didn’t marry her,” Luca reminded him.

“Only because I overheard her speaking to her friends,” Jude said. “Laughing. Gloating. I heard my name on her lips and realized, for the first time, what I truly was to her—a means to an end.”

Silence fell. The only sound was the faint rustle of leaves in the wind.

Luca stepped forward and placed a hand on Jude’s shoulder. “Then let her remain in your past. Do not let her poison your future.”

“That is easy for you to say,” Jude muttered, brushing his brother’s hand off his shoulder. “Excuse me. I’ve had quite enough of your pity for one morning.”

Luca’s voice followed him. “I am not pitying you.”

Jude gave a humorless laugh. “Your actions betray your words.”

“The only one pitying you is yourself.”

The words hit their mark, though Jude refused to let it show as he walked away. He did not pity himself. He refused to. If anything, he was furious—with himself, with Lady Gwendolyn, with the absurdity of it all.

How had he been such a fool?

He had believed in her sweet smiles, her soft words, her promises. He had thought himself in love, but it had all been an illusion. He had fallen for a woman who never truly existed. And in doing so, he had revealed far too much of himself to someone utterly undeserving. His hands curled into fists. Fool.

Perhaps Luca was right. He should return to his cottage and forget about Josephine altogether. It would be the prudent thing to do. He had no intention of pursuing her, but he could not deny how he enjoyed her company. Her laughter, her quick wit, her unfeigned curiosity.

And that was precisely what made her dangerous.

When he’d been with Josephine, he had not thought of Lady Gwendolyn—not once. The old bitterness dulled, replaced by something quieter, something perilously close to hope.

He stopped walking, standing in the wide clearing that looked back towards Ashmoore Hall. Sunlight broke through the trees, falling across the estate’s pale stone façade. It would be so very easy to walk back inside, to see her one last time—perhaps under the pretense of civility, to wish her well.

But he knew himself too well. If he looked upon her again, if he saw her eyes soften when she smiled, he might never find the strength to walk away.

He was still debating when a voice cut through his thoughts.

“You there.”

Jude turned, instincts sharpening.

A man was approaching from the road—a tall figure with dark hair, a long, narrow face, and a straight nose. His coat, a deep green superfine, fit his frame perfectly, his waistcoat and buff trousers equally fine. Everything about him screamed wealth and self-importance.

The stranger’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you work there?” he asked, nodding towards Ashmoore Hall.

Jude studied him warily. “What is it to you?”

The man straightened, his tone shifting from casual to clipped. “I am looking for someone. A young woman who was in a terrible accident. I was informed she might be residing here.”

A prickle of unease slid down Jude’s spine. “I know not what you speak of.”

The man withdrew a coin from his pocket and held it out as if tossing scraps to a beggar. “I think you might. A little coin often jogs a man’s memory.”

Jude did not move. “You’d do well to move along.”