Page 81 of A Troublesome Circumstance

He would have to wait—though every second already felt like a punishment.

Abruptly, Josephine stood, pushing her chair back so quickly that the legs scraped sharply against the floor. All three men rose in response, slightly stumbling over one another in their haste.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice thin. “I… I need to lie down.”

Before anyone could speak, she turned and hurried from the room.

Jude tossed his napkin onto the table with a decisive motion and followed her out, ignoring the questioning looks behind him.

He caught sight of her down the corridor. “Josie,” he called, his voice echoing softly off the paneled walls.

She stopped—but didn’t turn.

He moved closer. “What can I say to make this better?”

Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and the sight of them nearly undid him.

“I can’t sit so close to you,” she whispered, “and pretend that everything is all right.”

“Oh, Josie…”

“You lied to me,” she said, taking a step towards him. “Humiliated me.” Another step. “And yet, deep down”—her voice faltered—“I understand why you did it.”

“I did it to protect you,” he insisted gently.

“No.” Her gaze sharpened. “You did it to protect yourself. Do not insult me by pretending otherwise.”

He drew in a slow breath, the truth landing like a stone in his stomach. “You are right.”

She reached him then. Her hand rose and rested lightly against his chest. “I’m sorry that you have been hurt before,” she said. “But you thought the worst of me.”

“That was before I knew you,” he replied, his voice hoarse. “Before I understood the kind of woman you truly are.”

Her lashes lowered, blinking back the tears gathering there. Jude’s heart clenched painfully.

“I wouldn’t have forced you into an arranged marriage,” she said. “I would have protected you… just as you protected me.”

Emotion surged in him—regret, longing, hope, fear. “I’m sorry, Josie. I truly am. Let me prove to you that I am a man worthy of your trust.”

She searched his eyes then, looking for something—honesty, perhaps. Or remorse. Or hope that he could change.

“I don’t know if I can,” she breathed.

“Then come on the carriage ride with me tomorrow.” His voice was low, earnest. “Give me a chance. Let me change your mind.”

“It… isn’t that easy.”

“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t. But it’s a start.”

She hesitated, and then she nodded. “Very well. I can agree to that.”

Relief swept through him and he covered her hand with his. “Come back to dinner with me.”

“I might not be the best company.”

“Your presence alone is enough for me,” he assured her.

She glanced back towards the dining room door, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I suppose I can endure one dinner with you.”