“Lord Cartwright, may I ask you a question?” Jude needed to remind herself why she was here; specifically, to assess the possibility that Cart would be willing to purchase the vase—or better yet, find a buyer for her. But that all hinged on his knowledge and if Jude could overlook the trouble Cart would be in if he were found in possession of the stolen artifact.
He looked up from where he’d stooped to grab an obscure-looking pipe. “Certainly. I expected nothing less. We are both cultured minds seeking to expand our horizons.”
Jude averted her stare, finding it hard to look him in the eye, knowing she’d come to deceive him. Or maybe it was hard to meet his gaze because she hoped he’d see through her ruse and call her on her deceitful plan. Either way, he was a kind—if not unsuspecting man—who didn’t deserve what she and Sam had planned for him.
But there were things more important than her own integrity—her family and their home. Jude remembered Marce’s empty chest in her office. Candles to keep Craven House lit. Food to keep the hunger away. And a bit of coin for the butcher and baker was welcome, too.
But that would not be possible for much longer if she didn’t sell the vase.
In all likelihood, Lord Cartwright would never know her deception. He would acquire the vase and keep it hidden here in his study—or broker a buyer who would see the item’s worth and keep it secreted away for fear it would be taken and returned to Lord Gunther.
“Jude…errrr. Miss Jude.” Cart returned, sitting in the chair next to her, the pipe in hand. “You had a question for me.”
Jude kept her hesitation at bay long enough to ask her question, made all the worse by the open smile he gave her. “You say you are not only a collector but also research and locate pieces of worth for others similar to us.” She was unsure if she emphasized us for his benefit or hers—as if she were anything like him. She did not deserve to be in such a man’s company. “I have a vase, gifted by a friend from an old estate in Manchester. It was buried in a stable. It is quite old, but not what I tend to gravitate toward.”
His brow rose in interest and Jude knew she’d captured his attention with the mystique around the piece.
“I was wondering if it is something you’d be fascinated with.” Jude paused, her ability to lie to someone she’d come to respect hampering her. If Cart weren’t so adept at deciphering between her and her twin, Jude would have agreed to let Sam come in her place. “I only want it to belong to someone who will appreciate its beauty and rarity.”
“What do you know of it?” Enthralled, Cart scooted forward to the edge of his seat—so far that Jude worried he’d tumble to the floor at her feet. “I admit I am very taken by pieces of obscure history.”
“It is certainly obscure. I have been unable to find out much about it—though it seems to adhere to the traits of the Greek Geometric period. The way the vase is shaped and the painting technique match exactly what I’ve researched. But it is in excellent condition.” His eyes widened at her use of the correct terminology. She’d allow him to think she’d obtained it through reputable means, all the better if Cart were to discover it was stolen—very recently. She would claim ignorance. And pray he showed her mercy. “I will have to check with my sister to inquire if she, indeed, would like to be rid of the vase, but—“
“Do not take my silence as reluctance,” he said, his head nodding. “I would very much like to see it. Maybe I can help you date the piece—not that I am overly learned in vases, but I have the appropriate knowledge to research further and a connection at the British Museum.”
Her first reaction was horror at the mention of having the piece assessed by someone at the British Museum—for that would surely call to question her possession of the vase. “Oh, there is no need to bother someone as important as an expert at the museum, but possibly I can bring it for your appraisal?” She in no way wanted him to research the vase too heavily. It was her wish that he’d purchase the vase—or send her in the direction of another collector who’d be interested. It was a delicate matter; one she was already regretting drawing Cart into.
“Certainly.”
Jude knew she’d crossed another line. Much like the last several lines she’d crossed, she did it with her eyes closed. It had been a shock to be apprehended, spending the entire night locked in that dank room. That alone should have been enough to send Jude on a straight path, one that did not include her and Sam risking their respective freedom.
“And what have you here?” Jude nodded to the forgotten pipe in his hands, changing the subject away from anything having to do with the British Museum. “Is it a musical instrument?”
His responding smile told her she’d guessed correctly, though she’d never seen or read about such antiquities.
Cart held the piece out for her to take.
“It is very light,” Jude said, holding it at arm’s length. She turned the pipe this way and that, unsure how it was used—or what sound it would make. It was comprised of about eight wooden tubes harnessed together with a thin piece of twine and another long, narrow wooden strip. “How old is it?”
“It is a Greek panpipe or syrinx, commonly used by shepherds during a time of great lore,” he whispered. “Many say it was crafted by the Greek god Hermes.”
“This exact panpipe?” she asked in disbelief. “It does not appear any older than a hundred years—at most.” She handed it back, terrified she’d drop it or worse…
“I have only recently acquired it.” He gently set the pipe on the desk before them. “But I can assure you, though the seller boasted of the piece’s age, it is likely no more than five hundred years old.”
Jude gulped. Five hundred years? It was difficult to imagine anything being that old, though the vase was centuries older.
A clock chimed somewhere outside the study they sat in, startling them both.
Jude pushed the feeling of unease away, but Cart seemed unable to uncoil his stiffened shoulders.
“Miss Jude. What plans have you tomorrow?” He stood as he asked the question, moving to return the pipe to its cabinet.
His continued peculiar behavior had her scrambling to keep up with his topic changes.
She searched her memory for what tomorrow would consist of for her. Jude was fairly certain she hadn’t agreed to attend any functions with Ellie, nor had she received word from Lady Haversham about routs. “I believe I will be taking a turn in the park with my sisters.”
“Lovely,” he said. “I shall meet you there. Which park and at what time?”
“Ummm…” If this were his strange way of asking her if she’d accompany him to the park, then it was certainly an odd one. “Hyde Park—“
“Of course,” he interrupted her. “My mother and sister often take in the fresh air at Hyde Park.”
“I suspect around half past five, my lord.”
“That is agreeable to me.” He moved toward the door, signaling their visit was at an end. “I will promptly arrive at Hyde Park at the predetermined time of half past five. I will be on foot—I do hope you will accompany me for a stroll.”
“As long as it doesn’t end in a like manner as our last stroll,” Jude teased. When his face blanched, she regretted her words. “I am jesting with you—and if it puts you at ease, we shall take a path far from any water.”
“The odds are not in favor of such an occurrence happening again,” he replied. “Also, I will endeavor to keep watch of my footing in the future.”
He leaned precariously close to her and, for a split second, Jude thought he meant to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut…and she waited.
But nothing came.
Creaking open one eye, she noticed he brushed at the sleeve of her gown.
“A piece of dirt, likely from the pipe, fell to your gown.” She looked down to see nothing there. “But it is gone now.”
“Why, thank you, my lord.” Her breathing returned to normal as she continued to look down, unable to meet his stare. She truly must gain her wits when
around him.
“Do you know the way out?” When she raised her eyes from the floor to answer, she noted he stared at her lips—maybe they’d had the same thought moments ago.
His dismissal was direct, a quality Jude normally preferred in others. But with Lord Cartwright, their connection was unclear. She’d certainly pictured his lips on hers. Every so often, she caught him staring at her longingly. But in times like this, he appeared cold and disinterested.
She could not blame him, as neither had made any move to clarify what was currently transpiring between them. Were they two individuals who shared a common interest, or a couple finding a reason to spend time with one another?
Jude thought over that exact question as she stood to depart Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.
The only thing she knew for certain was that she was playing with fire—for all Lord Cartwright’s unassuming manner, he was an astute man, and unlikely to overlook Jude’s transgressions if discovered.
Chapter 10
Cart breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he heard the door shut behind Jude. It had been his plan to show her all type of antiquities in his possession—an intellectual wooing, if you will. The pair of them finding a mutual affection based on common interests…that would lead to more. More of what? Cart hadn’t thought that far, which was evident in his almost disastrous visit. The hour had passed so quickly, he’d lost track of time.
If he were lucky—not that Cart took much stock in luck—but if he were, Jude was not currently being accosted by Lady Cartwright as she left Cart’s townhouse.
Overall, his time with Jude had gone as well as could be expected.
Returning to his desk, Cart sank into his chair and placed his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, flipping the ends over his ears. A stroll in the park…tomorrow at half past five. He opened his appointment log to see that he had a meeting at two in the afternoon. He was free after that.
Very good, he thought.
It was not often he ventured out for any fresh air or exercise beyond what was necessary to meet with someone, such as the garden party with Lord Barton. Even during his time at Eton, Cart did not take to archery or riding as most of the students did. It was far more beneficial to his future that he use the library and other educational services offered. Years after his requested departure from the university, Cart still longed for the quiet hours surrounded by books of learning with access to scholars in any given field of study.
Cart was resigned to spending an increased amount of time outdoors if it was something Jude partook in regularly.
“Simon Montgomery!” Lady Cartwright swept into the room, snapping Cart from his daydreaming of Miss Jude—an irrational waste of time, to be sure. His mother, dressed in the height of fashion, or at least what had been fashionable five years prior, discarded her wrap and handbag on the seat Jude had vacated not long ago. “A carriage was departing as I arrived home. Did I have a caller?”
He remained silent, deciding whether he should deny any knowledge of a caller.
“Oh, you were locked in here and didn’t hear a thing,” she said, answering her own question and providing Cart with a way out of correcting her. No one corrected Lady Anastasia Cartwright, especially her own children. “It is not healthy, all this stale air and musty books.”
Cart removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, a headache taking hold at her shrill proclamation. Nothing his mother hadn’t said before. Though, somehow, her words rang truer than before. Maybe it had been unwise of him to dedicate so my years to his studies, the search for his family heirlooms, and his quest to collect. Could it be his overwhelming need to hunt and gather was due to everything he held dear being stripped from him without any type of warning?
It was only in his nature, a personal correlation between his identity and his need to possess, which drove him to crave the tangible. It was something about himself he’d never felt the need to question.
And Cart still hadn’t the time to question why he felt the way he did…it simply was.
Especially when his mother had him pinned by her unrelenting stare.
“I will need an increase in my allowance,” she said, obviously irritated to have to repeat herself and beg her son for coin. “I have incurred unforeseen expenses that I simply cannot neglect.”
“Another new dress—or possibly a hat much like the many you currently have sitting unworn in your dressing chamber?” The ache behind his eyes intensified. Cart had no clue why he argued with her over expenditures. He would give her the coin regardless of the frivolous nature of her desires. It was the ruin they’d settled into. She badgered him about his ineptitude, blaming him for his uncle’s deceptions. And he pretended to be the penny-pinching, ungrateful son, who would cast his aging mother out of his home if he could pull himself away from his studies long enough.
It was exhausting—and Cart yearned to be rid of the charade.
If not only to relieve himself of undue pressure but also to put Theo at ease. She didn’t deserve a mother and brother who were constantly at war over trivial things. Purchasing a new dress and parting with coin that could buy an entire meal was not as monumental as Cart and his mother made it out to be.
“Mother.” Cart gave in. The time it would take arguing over the increase in allowance was better spent working. “My apologies for my insensitive comment. How much will you be needing? I will have it delivered to your chambers when I return after my appointment—or, if you prefer, I can send the funds directly to settle your account.”
“Handle my affairs as if you are my keeper?” She was affronted by his offer, further maddened by his gall—when in truth, he only sought to help her. “Do have it delivered to my rooms. Besides, I find myself longing for travels. I have been in this crowded town too long. It is time I see a bit of what lies beyond London.”
At that moment, Cart would have agreed to deliver it to St. James’ or Buckingham Palace to end this. He would do anything to not see the accusing stare or hear the accusation of his negligence that led to her throwing herself at his feet for funds in the first place, though traveling—especially outside London—had been something she’d been vehemently against for many years. “How much will you need?”
Her chin notched up, showing her disdain for her place in society. “I am confident twenty-five should be enough.”
It was almost her entire monthly allowance. “I will collect twenty-five shillings.” Cart would not admit he did not possess that amount lying about his study.
“Pounds.”
Cart’s eyes narrowed and his throat constricted. “Pardon?”
He wondered if his hearing were worsening along with his eyes, for he’d most definitely heard her incorrectly.
“I am requesting twenty-five pounds.” She pronounced the words slowly, as if he were an infant still working to grasp the English language.
His butler didn’t make that amount per year. “Have you lost your mind?”
With that amount of coin, she could travel to the Orient—or farther—and live for years without wanting for anything.
Her face reddened and she stomped her foot, much like Theo had done when she was younger—before growing out of such childish ways of self-expression. “It is my money,” she shrieked. “Your father promised—“
“It belongs to the Cartwright Earldom,” Cart corrected.
“Which I am as Lady Cartwright,” she countered.
“Mother.” Cart massaged the back of his neck to lessen the gathered tension. “Most days, I find it difficult to scrape together twenty-five shillings. Where do you suggest I find twenty-five pounds?”
“Sell something.” It was always her answer. She never offered anything of value belonging to her to sell, however.
“If you still have your jewels close, I can select a few pieces and have your funds by day’s end.”
“You shall not sell my things,” she huffed, waving her arms wildly about his study. “Since you are responsible for the
financial crisis we are in; why not be rid of all the useless things I see you toting in here daily?”
How she could blame an eighteen-year-old boy for their family ruin was incomprehensible. He’d spent more years than he cared to admit knowing he was responsible for his family’s financial woes—countless nights assessing what he could have done differently to foil his uncle’s plans and innumerous days spent trying to gain back all of what his family deserved. Yes, his mother blamed him for all their troubles, but it was nothing compared to the culpability he laid at his own feet.
Cart hadn’t yet reached his majority when his father passed. His uncle was appointed as his guardian until Cart finished his studies. His mother had been the one present while Julian Montgomery, his father’s only sibling, pilfered every penny from the estate—and his treachery ran far deeper than that.
“I have worked tirelessly—for years—to restore our family’s wealth and possessions.” Cart slammed the palm of his hand on the desk, rattling his neatly organized quills. His mother’s eyes widened and she gasped at his uncharacteristic display of emotion. “And every day, you find joy in telling me how it will never be enough for you—never be restored to what we once had.”
Lady Cartwright crossed her arms and glared at him, as if challenging him to prove he could ever be enough for the Cartwright title.
“Have it your way.” He wasn’t giving in, only seeking to use the situation to his advantage. “I agree to dispose of one of my antiques, however…” He let the words trail off, not wanting to jump straight into his compromise with her as she’d likely spot his manipulation. “In exchange for the twenty-five pounds, you will not take Theo with you but allow her to attend a school of my choosing—away from London.”
Thief Steals Her Earl Page 10
