Page 44 of A Troublesome Circumstance

“—will hold,” Jude interrupted. “I’ll make better time on horseback. And if my father insists on meddling further, remind him that I am returning to Town, per his command. He doesn’t get to dictate how I arrive.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

Jude’s defiance ebbed the moment the words left his mouth. He suddenly felt bone-weary, as though every argument, every burden, had settled across his shoulders at once. He moved to the bed and sank down heavily onto the feather mattress. “I am tired,” he murmured, pressing a hand to his temple.

“Would you care to rest?” Stevenson asked, already stepping forward. “I can finish the packing later.”

“Yes. that would be best.”

Stevenson crossed the room and pulled the drapes closed. “Rest up, my lord,” he said before bowing and leaving the room.

The door clicked shut, and silence settled in.

Jude lay back, staring up at the carved canopy above him. He had thought himself safe here—hidden from expectations, from gossip, from the suffocating charade of the ton. But solitude had offered no peace, only emptiness.

Tomorrow he would return to the life he had tried to escape. He would resume his duties, balance ledgers, and wear the mask of composure that Society demanded.

It was what was expected of him.

And yet, he dared hope for something more.

8

Josephine sat rigidly in the coach, her gloved hands clenched in her lap as the countryside rolled by in a blur. The rhythmic rattle of the wheels did nothing to soothe her temper. She did not even attempt to hide the disdain that twisted her features—Alexander did not deserve the courtesy. How dare he think she had left of her own accord with that loathsome Mr. Broderick? She had been abducted, for heaven’s sake, yet her brother looked at her as though she were the author of her own disgrace.

The silence inside the carriage was stifling until her mother’s soft, carefully pleasant voice broke through.

“The roads are rather accommodating for this time of year, are they not?”

Josephine turned her gaze from the window to her mother’s delicate features. Lady Redden’s tone was far too bright, far too intentional. It was the voice she used when smoothing feathers, and Josephine knew precisely whose feathers she meant to smooth.

“Yes, quite so,” Alexander replied, his expression perfectly composed. He was humoring their mother, of course. He always did.

Josephine’s patience snapped. “How dare you think I eloped with Mr. Broderick?” she demanded.

The faint smile vanished from her brother’s lips. “What were we supposed to think, Josephine? You went out onto the veranda and then vanished. There was no word. No note. Only your absence.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “That tends to happen when one is abducted.”

Alexander’s brow furrowed as though she were speaking nonsense. “When Mr. Broderick told me you shared a mutual affection, I made it clear that any union between you would be unacceptable.”

Her jaw dropped. “Mutual affection?” she echoed in disbelief. “I have never—ever—felt anything of the sort towards that man.”

“Come now,” Alexander said, his tone maddeningly reasonable. “I have seen the way you look at one another.”

“Then you must need spectacles,” she shot back, her temper rising. “I have never been able to abide his company.”

“You’ve always been cordial to him,” he countered.

“Because he is your friend and business partner,” she retorted. “I endured him out of politeness, not preference.”

Alexander muttered something under his breath—something that sounded suspiciously like, “Likely story.”

Josephine wished for her fan, purely so she might throw it at him. Her fingers curled into fists instead. “You are a jackninny.”

“A what?”

“A jackninny,” she said with full conviction. “I am so upset that I have invented a new word to describe you.”