Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  “You are an astute man, Lord Cartwright,” Jude grinned, returning her hands to her lap.

  Chapter 7

  Lord Cartwright was clearly the most incisive man she’d met to date. On most occasions, she and her twin were still able to fool their siblings into thinking one was the other, as long as they didn’t speak. However, he’d noticed something that Jude hadn’t even thought of as a tell, as Payton would refer to it. That little tick or subtle gesture that allowed an opponent to know if his adversary was bluffing.

  She wondered if he were too smart for the ruse she and Sam were playing. Namely, the fire they’d been juggling since stealing that bloody vase. It was almost as risky keeping the antiquity under their roof as it was to get rid of the thing. Jude had insisted the piece be disposed of properly, to a home where it would be treasured—no harm coming to it. Sam had insisted it wasn’t a dog or a child, but a piece of clay. Jude knew it as art. Something she’d studied and taken great pleasure in for most of her life.

  “Tea should arrive shortly,” Jude ventured, breaking the silence.

  “I am not parched, but thank you.”

  Jude couldn’t quite understand Cart’s odd behaviors. It was as if he were completely unaware of social niceties one moment and spouted random etiquette passages the next. Though not of the upper crust, Marce had instructed her siblings in all aspects of proper society—Lord Cartwright, as an earl, should be well versed in social decorum.

  “What I mean to say,” he said, “is a cup of tea would be much appreciated.”

  “May I ask you a question, my lord?” She’d always been of the mindset that if one wanted answers, one needed to ask questions. When he nodded, she took a deep breath and asked, “Are you new to London—and society?”

  His brow furrowed in thought. “No, I have lived in London most of my life, with only a short spell away at university, and some time at my country estate when I was younger.”

  “And your title, is it newly acquired?” She’d started her line of questioning, so she might as well ask all she wanted before Sam returned with their tea.

  “No, my father passed many years ago, before I reached my majority.” He leaned forward as if the change in topic were a comfortable one and not one of loss and sorrow. When her own mother passed, Jude had been young, as well—unprepared for a life without parental guidance. “I went away for schooling and then university, only returning once I’d fin—“His eyes squinted nervously. “Once I’d completed the allotted coursework allowed. I returned to my family’s home in London thereafter.”

  “Very interesting.” In fact, it was not all that interesting, rather quite the norm. “I have resided in London my entire life.”

  “Pity,” he sighed. “There is much beautiful countryside in England.”

  “So I have heard.” Jude thought quickly, trying to steer the conversation back to his expertise. “When did your curiosity in art and antiquities start?”

  Jude felt the question subtle and coaxing—undoubtedly the direction the conversation needed to go for this visit to be deemed a success.

  “I cannot say for certain,” he said, his voice growing deeper with comfort at the subject. “I have always admired history and the sciences—and with that came an interest in those things important to those topics, namely, artifacts, books, and the like. And you? If memory serves, you expressed a strong liking to antiquities, as well.”

  The conversation, while immensely agreeable to Lord Cartwright, was now unsettling to her. Jude meant to prod him about his collection; specifically, what pieces interested him most, not discuss her views on the subject. Though they could likely converse for hours about the many works of art Jude admired. “I am fairly uneducated on the matter in truth, but find I enjoy inspecting objects of a certain age and quality.” The only thing untrue in her statement was the part about being uneducated. Her room housed over fifty books pertaining to art, historical items, and museum collections—so many, that Sam often complained about Jude’s tendency for clutter. “I am only a lady who finds herself with spare time and chooses to amuse herself with pursuits of a historical nature.”

  “Oh, come now,” he said, swatting his knee as if what she’d said were hilarious. “One either has the gift for collecting or they do not. It is a passion I find great pleasure in and…” He paused, searching for the right words, possibly losing his train of thought. “If you find the same, then there is no need to diminish your aptitude for the matter, especially with me.”

  “Very well put, my lord.” And the opposite of what she’d expected a man of privilege to say about an educated woman. “I do find myself lacking a counterpart who enjoys speaking on the subject of antiquities. What do you find yourself more enamored with, books, vases, or possibly…paintings?”

  He grinned, the corner of his mouth turning up as he relaxed into his chair. “I cannot select one.”

  “No? Even I find I prefer certain items over others,” she pushed.

  “If I had to select one…” His eyes sparkled in merriment, obviously enjoying their discussion, and Jude told herself to also be at ease. Lord Cartwright had thus far been a kind man. Besides, she’d met many men who could not hold a conversation past what their last meal had included. “I do enjoy books, but my true interest is in items of great historical relevance; a chalice from the great Knights Templar, or a rug that once adorned a great palace far away.”

  Their conversation should improve Jude’s spirits, yet she paused at taking advantage of Lord Cartwright—as unsuspecting as he was.

  “You must come to my townhouse and see my collection,” he offered. His eyes grew round as he realized what his request insinuated. “What I mean to say—“

  “My lord.” Jude held up her hand, cutting another apology short. “I know you do not mean anything untoward by your invitation.” Though a part of her wondered what the man would be like without his overly starched necktie and tendency to converse only about intellectual matters. Without his crutch—take away what made him comfortable, maybe his linen shirt for instance—what would he say? Or better yet, do?

  His hands would likely be tender when they touched her, so used to holding delicate things.

  Jude looked away, her cheeks burning with her scandalous thoughts.

  With a quick shake of her head, she refocused on Cart, who stared at her intently, awaiting her response while she undressed him in her mind. And in all the time they’d been alone, the door all but closed, he hadn’t once looked away from her face.

  If her face wasn’t suitably reddened already, then it surely was now.

  “My lord.” Jude concentrated, not allowing her eyes to wander once more. “I would much enjoy seeing all you’ve collected.”

  She’d never been the young woman to entertain inappropriate thoughts about men she’d only recently been acquainted with. Or men she’d known longer, for that matter. It was always Sam who had a wandering eye worse than any rakehell. If this was how much Sam had to fight against her natural instincts every time she laid eyes on a pretty face, then heaven help Jude because Cart cut a dashing figure—and had an intellect to match.

  “Ah, that is very well.” Abruptly, Lord Cartwright stood. “I will bid you farewell, Miss Jude. Until next we meet again.”

  Jude popped to her feet, shocked by his sudden rush to depart. “At a future date.”

  “Well, yes.” He looked at her as if she’d said the most obvious thing. “I am certain it is not proper for you to call on me the very same day I visited you.”

  It was a jest, a play on his words from the gathering at Lady Haversham’s. She wanted to tell him exactly that, however, he bowed and was already moving toward the door.

  “Allow me to show you out,” Jude called, catching up to him as he crossed the room.

  She almost collided with him when he stopped in his tracks and turned back toward her.

  “I was only just shown in by Miss Payton. Your home has no winding corridors, nor hidden doorways. I c
an find my way out without fear of getting lost. Do not fret.”

  Jude hadn’t feared any such thing and lacked any idea of how to respond.

  And so, she moved around him and pulled the door open for him to depart.

  “Thank you, Miss Jude.” She thought him on the verge of bowing again—which was entirely unnecessary. She should curtsey to him, not the other way around. “I have had a lovely visit. Unfortunately, I must fetch my mother and dear sister from the modiste’s shop. I mustn’t be late. I will send word with my directions and an agreeable date presently.”

  He fled the room and headed straight toward the foyer, taking a left turn when necessary, easily retracing his steps, leaving Jude with more questions than answers about the man. She hoped “a future date” coincided with “an agreeable date”, not that she had any other choice.

  His demeanor had been off balance most of their visit, except when they’d spoken of his precious antiquities. It had been much the same as the garden party. When he discussed things of import to him, he was a man at ease, confident and strong. However, when things strayed to other subjects, he was not as composed.

  The echo of the front door closing had reached her only moments before Sam rushed into the room, no tea service in sight.

  “So?” she asked, throwing her hands to her hips.

  “So, what?” Jude was not ready for her sister’s knowing stare—a blush likely still stained her cheeks. All she wanted was time to think through her response—and her scandalous musings—in regards to Lord Cartwright. The last thing Jude wanted was to discuss it all with her twin.

  Sam’s expectant look turned to one of confusion. Just as quickly, she seemed to work something out in her own mind, but pushed it aside before continuing, “Do you think he will be willing to purchase the vase? How deep are his pockets? We must fetch a handsome price if you insist on sticking to your declaration of no more thievery.”

  The vase…of course, Sam was making reference to the vase and nothing more.

  Her twin had no idea of the disgraceful fantasy that had played through Jude’s mind during Lord Cartwright’s short visit—nor did Jude plan to tell her. It was one thing that belonged to her and her alone. Not like their shared room or their shared pearl-handled brush and comb set or their combined dressing closet.

  No, Cart was Jude’s—and only hers.

  Though no one need know that she’d labeled him thus.

  Confident Sam hadn’t any notion of her uncouth feelings, they set about planning Jude’s visit to Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.

  “He has invited me to his home to view his collection.” She should feel proud of the progress she’d made, considering not long ago she was sitting in a dank room facing exposure for her misdeeds, only to be rescued by her siblings. And shortly, with any luck, she would give Marce enough coin to satisfy any debt her sister owed.

  Jude and Sam sat close together with their voices lowered, afraid to garner the attention of Payton.

  A loud bang brought both women back to their surroundings as the front door slammed shut and the bolt was thrown.

  Jude and Sam were on their feet and rushing to the entry before either exchanged a word. Their home was peaceful and serene during the daylight hours, for the most part, so an unexpected arrival sent all the siblings into action at a moment’s notice.

  Entering the foyer, Mr. Curtis stood with his back to the front door and a small woman recoiling from the elder man’s reach, her hands covering most of her face.

  “Mr. Curtis,” Sam called quietly as Jude rushed to the woman. “Jude and I can handle this.”

  “It be only proper to send for Lord Garrett with Madame Marce gone on errands.”

  “That is not necessary,” Jude argued. She wrapped her arm lightly around the woman’s shoulders and steered her toward the kitchens in search of a bite to eat and a cool drink. “Were you followed?” Jude asked as they walked slowly down the corridor.

  “I do not think so.” She removed her hands from her face and Jude took in the cruel realities of her situation. One eye was already bruising a deep purple and her lip was split, the blood now dried. “I am sorry for all of this…it is only that I had no other place to go.”

  “You came to the right place.” Sam followed closely behind them.

  “What is your name?” When the woman seemed apprehensive about sharing the information, her eyes darting around as if she were cornered, Jude continued, “Only a first name, so we know what to call you.”

  “Kathleen.”

  “It is nice to meet you, Kathleen,” Jude said as they entered the kitchen. “I am Miss Judith Pengarden. My sister, Marce, runs Craven House. Please, have a seat, and we will get you a clean cloth to wash your face and some refreshments.”

  Sam pulled out a stool that sat at the long, rough table used by Cook to prepare the meals. “Sit here.” Jude’s twin busied herself by retrieving a cloth and dipping it in a basin of warm water sitting on the stove.

  “Kathleen.” Jude pulled out the stool next to the woman and sat, staring her directly in the eyes—one already swelling shut. “Who did this to you?”

  Marce had spent many hours lecturing her younger siblings on the proper questions to ask when women arrived at Craven House. Who did this? Do you have any place to go? What can Craven House do to help you? Most women came with a plan in mind, but lacked the monetary means to put their plan in motion.

  “Take this.” Sam held the cloth out to Kathleen and set a plate of bread and cheese at her elbow before retreating to the far side of the kitchen. They’d also been taught not to overwhelm anyone who came for help—and Jude was by far the friendlier sister.

  Kathleen pressed the wet material to her eye. Jude sensed she’d been struck before and knew the pressure would reduce the swelling. Her other hand, already stained by dried blood, swiped at her busted lip.

  “My maid,” she mumbled. “She told me you could help me.”

  “Of course, Kathleen.” Jude felt the familiar heartbreak cast a shadow over the room. No matter how many women and children she saw physically or emotionally abused and mistreated, it never failed to pull at her heartstrings and reinforce how fortunate she was. “Do you need a place to stay? A post with a good home?”

  “Neither of those things.” She shook her head and hissed at the pain it caused. “I need to be away from London as soon as possible.”

  “Do you have a place to go?” Marce had immeasurable connections within and outside of London proper. If Kathleen were fearful of someone or something, then Jude had a list of people she could contact—places the woman would never be found until she was ready. Even Lady Haversham, Jude’s and Sam’s patroness, allowed women and children to stay at her orphanage when the need was urgent. “If not, I can find a suitable place for you.”

  “No, that will not be necessary.” Kathleen’s voice was low and she spoke slowly to avoid splitting her lip open once more. “My sister has a home with her husband and children near Windsor. It is only…I do not have the funds to pay for transport.”

  “We can help with that,” Sam said from her place across the room. “We can even replace your tattered dress and get you a warm woolen coat before you go.”

  Jude and Kathleen glanced down at the woman’s attire as if noticing the blood that marred the front and her ripped sleeve for the first time.

  Kathleen’s chin bent down and her shoulders sagged. The woman clearly felt discomfort at her situation.

  “Sam,” Jude called to redirect everyone’s attention. “Please check the mail coach’s schedule for today. I will allow Kathleen some space to bathe and don a new dress for her journey.” Next, Jude turned to their newest ward. “Does your sister know to expect you?”

  “I have written to her of my need to be away from Father…” She’d said too much, allowing her words to fade.

  “Very good,” Jude said. “Our housekeeper will take you to change while I collect enough coin for your passage to Windsor.”

/>   Darla appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, likely having been notified by Mr. Curtis of the woman’s arrival. “This way,” Darla motioned.

  Kathleen slid from her seat, hugged Jude tentatively, and fled the room behind the housekeeper.

  “Jude.” She looked up to see the concern in Sam’s eyes. “You have a call to make. I can handle this.”

  “No.” It was important that Jude see this through. It was her lot in life—to help Marce in any way she could. “I only need collect the money from Marce’s office and you can take her to the station while I continued on to Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.”

  Sam wrinkled her nose as she tapped her finger against her lips in thought.

  “Everything will be as it should, I promise,” Jude said, attempting to convince Sam. “Please, find the coach schedule while I get the money.”

  “Fine.” Sufficiently convinced, Sam departed the kitchen after Darla and Kathleen, with Jude close behind.

  Sam hurried to the front of the house while Jude headed for Marce’s office—and the chest where she kept money in case of emergencies. She also used the stash for the butcher, the candle maker, and the daily market purchases.

  The box sat behind Marce’s small white desk on a shelf, surrounded by books on fashion and decorum. A book on peerage was even present. The chest itself was adorned with gaudy sea-green adornments pasted to the wooden frame. Anyone entering the room would think it housed nothing more than female knickknacks and useless novelties. Jude and her sisters knew better.

  Popping the lid, Jude peered inside—a gasp leaving her lips. Barely enough coin to pay Kathleen’s fare with some left over for a meal at an inn along the way sat in the bottom of the box. Things were far more dire than even Jude had realized. Their card nights at Craven House were less and less popular as the years passed. The gentlemen of the ton discovered the Craven House of Madame Sasha’s time was not returning—no more women of loose morals, endless spirits, or other depravity under Marce’s roof.