Page 41 of A Troublesome Circumstance

“Before we go,” she said, turning to her mother, “there is someone I wish for you to meet.”

Her mother, who had been fussing with her cloak, looked up in mild surprise. “Someone?”

“The man who saved me,” Josephine explained. “He found me wandering in the woods after the carriage overturned. He brought me here and ensured my safety.”

Her mother’s expression gentled. “Then I would very much like to meet this man and thank him properly.”

Josephine’s heart gave a hopeful flutter. She turned and made her way back towards the drawing room. The moment she stepped through the threshold, she froze.

The room was empty. The curtains fluttered faintly with the breeze from an open window. But Jude was gone.

Her mother’s voice floated from behind her. “Well? Where is this man of yours?”

Josephine swallowed, her throat tightening painfully. He’s left me again.

Forcing her features into polite composure, she turned and said evenly, “I was mistaken. It seems he has already returned to his duties.”

Alexander’s dry tone carried little sympathy. “You wanted us to meet a servant?” He shook his head, exhaling impatiently. “What a waste of time. Come along, Josephine. It’s time we departed.”

His words stung, more than she cared to admit. She looked once more towards the open window, half-hoping Jude might reappear. But there was only silence.

Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest.

She drew herself upright, trying to ignore the hollow ache that spread through her. It is better this way, she told herself firmly. He is a gamekeeper. You are a lady. Whatever foolish feelings you harbor, they cannot—must not—be indulged.

As she followed her family from the room, she blinked back tears and lifted her chin. She would return to London, to the life she had always known. But deep down, she knew the truth. She was leaving more than Ashmoore Hall behind. She was leaving a part of her heart.

Jude lingered in the shadows of Ashmoore Hall. From where he stood, half-hidden by the ivy-covered pillar, he watched Josephine’s coach rattle away. Each turn of the wheels carried her farther from him, and though he told himself it was for the best, the hollow ache in his chest said otherwise.

This was how it should be. She would return to her world and he to his. Their paths had crossed only by cruel chance. Best not to imagine what might have been if she had known who he truly was.

Still, he couldn’t quite shake the memory of her eyes—earnest, unguarded, seeing him rather than the title he carried or the burdens that came with it. No one had ever looked at him that way.

He straightened his shoulders. Sentiment was a luxury he could not afford. There was work to be done.

Stepping from the shadows, he crossed the wide front steps. The great door opened before he reached it, and Glover, ever the efficient butler, inclined his head. “My lord.”

“Send four armed riders after Lady Josephine’s coach,” Jude ordered, his tone clipped, leaving no room for question. “They’re to remain unseen unless needed. Should anything happen, I want word sent here immediately.”

“Yes, my lord.” Glover hesitated, then added, “A messenger arrived earlier with a letter from His Grace. You will find it in your study.”

Jude gave a brief nod. “I’ll see to it at once.”

The familiar corridors swallowed him whole—portraits of long-dead ancestors staring down in silent judgment. He could almost hear his father’s voice echoing through the marble halls, reminding him of duty, of legacy, of expectations he had no heart to meet.

When he entered his study, he halted.

Luca sat in his armchair, brandy in hand, a faint, knowing smile on his lips. “I had a feeling you’d come creeping in sooner or later,” his brother drawled.

Jude’s mood soured instantly. “What do you want, Luca?”

“Only to welcome you back to your usual charming self,” Luca said lightly. “I take it Lady Josephine’s departure restored your pleasant disposition?”

Jude ignored him and crossed to the desk. The letter bearing his father’s seal lay atop the pile of correspondence. He broke it open, scanning the neat, uncompromising handwriting. By the time he finished, his jaw had tightened.

“Well?” Luca prompted, swirling his drink.

“Father wants me to return to Town,” Jude muttered, crushing the paper in his fist.