“Do not say that, Simon.” Jude was unsure where that had come from. She had used his given name as opposed to his preferred shortened title. She wanted to prove to him that they knew one another past the point of formalities or even socially acceptable pet names. She wanted to believe she knew him deeper than that—and that he recognized her depth at the same level. “We have been far more than that…our kiss—“
“Do not dare hurl that back in my face. You have already made it clear that it was another mistake you regretted. I suppose you are going to claim I took advantage of you, ruined your chances of a favorable match.”
“Of course not.” That had never crossed her mind. “I would never—“
“Then what about the kiss?” he asked. “Was it as false as everything else? It would not surprise me if you planned the entire ordeal, laughing behind my back with your sisters at the gullible way I reacted to your attentions.”
“They know nothing of it.” Jude needed him to believe her, to understand everything that had happened between them. “It was a moment for us and us alone.”
“So, I am not worthy enough to mention to your family?”
“You are talking in circles, Cart,” Jude said. “If I mention our kiss to anyone, it is because I seek to ensnare you in a marriage trap, but if I don’t share the news of our kiss, then I am embarrassed by our association.” Her head was spinning, so much going through her mind. There was far more than she’d be able to share with him in the time they had.
Cart’s head fell to his palms. He scrubbed his face as if he could brush away all that had happened, but he couldn’t…and they both seemed to gather that undeniable fact.
“You cannot have it both ways.” Jude took a step toward him, hoping he’d let her close. She needed to be near him—more than she needed anything in her life…ever. “Tell me what I can do to fix all of this.”
“You can do nothing,” he said, dashing all her hopes. “Lord Gunther plans to ruin my reputation. No more will I be trusted to do the one thing I love, the one thing that brings me ultimate happiness.”
“He cannot do that.”
“He undoubtedly can, Judith,” Cart seethed.
“How? He knows nothing.”
“I tried to help you,” he admitted. “I drafted a note requesting the fifty pounds in exchange for the vase. I collected the fifty pounds from Lord Gunther and then, mysteriously, the vase reappeared in his home.”
“But—“
“And now, Gunther thinks me a fraud and a lord not worthy of his place.” Cart’s shoulders sagged, the gravity of the situation finally bearing down on him. “He will ruin me—my family.”
“You are not a fraud, Cart,” she said.
“I know that, but he does not.”
“It is a misunderstanding…”
“No,” Cart said, clenching his fists at his sides as he moved toward the door. “It was another mistake. I thought I could help you—save you from yourself…but I was gravely mistaken. And the only ones who will suffer are me and my family.”
“No.” Jude shook her head back and forth with such force she became lightheaded. “I did not mean for that to happen. I did not intend for any of this to happen.”
“Sometimes intent has little bearing on consequences. You will do well to take that bud of wisdom to heart, Miss Judith Pengarden.”
“Do not go.” Jude tried to step before him to block his departure, anything to keep him here—and talking. If only they continued to discuss everything, it would work out, and they could reach an understanding. “Please, Simon.”
But he navigated around her.
“What is going on here?” Garrett asked from the now open doorway. “I thought I threw you out earlier.”
Her brother stood, blocking Cart’s retreat as he eyed the pair.
“Garrett, please,” Jude pleaded. “Allow us some privacy to speak.”
“I will do nothing of the sort—“
“Do not fret,” Cart cut in. “I have nothing further to say and will take my leave. Good day to you both.”
Jude watched as Garrett stepped aside and allowed Cart room to pass by him before he moved back to block her from chasing after him.
“Move, Garrett.” Jude pushed against his chest, begging him to permit her to follow.
“No, let him depart.”
Jude pounded her fist against her brother’s chest, her frustration turning to a deep-seated ache within her, threatening to consume her entirely if she weren’t able to stop Cart from leaving. Unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks as she laid her head against Garrett’s shoulder, her fight draining from her.
Her brother stroked her hair as she cried, her shoulders shaking with each wrenching sob. “Shhhh,” he soothed. “All is not lost.”
He had no notion what had transpired between her and Cart, but his words did lend her comfort. If Cart never forgave her, at least she had her siblings and Craven House. Though Jude wouldn’t give up. She would make Cart hear her out.
Jude cringed when she heard the front door slam as Cart left.
She couldn’t help but fear she’d never see him again, never have the chance to explain herself further. The way things were left was not the sole thing she wanted him to remember if they never crossed paths again.
As the moments dragged on, Jude calmed, her tears drying up and her sobs lessening. The sounds of Craven House’s nightly card tables invaded Marce’s private receiving room, bringing with it the reality of where Jude was and how she’d mucked everything up. It also brought the sense that she could fix things with Lord Cartwright. It would take work.
Something she rarely shied away from.
Lifting her head from Garrett’s shoulder, she said, “Thank you. I am sorry you were privy to my moment of weakness.”
“My dear sister,” Garrett said, pushing her to arm’s length so he could stare directly at her. “That was not weakness but the starting point of a growing strength within you.”
It seemed every man she encountered this day was full of wisdom while she struggled to grasp the simplest notions.
“Now remind me again, who was that man?” Garrett frowned. “And how are you acquainted with him?”
“His name is Simon, Lord Cartwright,” Jude confessed. It was so much like Garrett. He didn’t remember Sam naming Cart just hours ago. “We met at Lady Haversham’s garden party not long ago.”
“Why do I get the notion that you care for this man as more than a mere friend…?” His voice trailed off, expecting a response but not pushing her to admit anything immediately. She remained silent. “It is not my intention to pry, but as the eldest male family member, it is my duty to see that no harm comes to you.”
Jude giggled, permitting the last of her hopelessness to fade as the sound filled the room.
“Oh, you think I am jesting?” Garrett asked, his brow knitting as he stood a bit taller and gave her his most serious glare. “I am very much concerned with your future, Judith.”
“My future.” She stifled another laugh. “If there is one other Craven House member whose life is in more shambles than mine, it is you, Garrett. As you can see, we are in no position to help one another.”
He broke eye contact and stomped to the windows. “This is no joke, Jude. I understand I have never been the most solid and sturdy member of this family, but, damn it, you are my sister. If he hurt you, then I will avenge your honor.”
Avenge her honor, Jude pondered. Did she have any honor worth avenging?
“It is I who hurt him.”
“Not you,” he disputed, swinging back to face her, an utter expression of denial on his face. “You are kind, thoughtful and, by far, the most compassionate of us all.”
It was exactly those qualities that had gotten Jude in the position she was in.
“Be that as it may,” she continued, “it is all my fault.”
“What did you do? Maybe I can help? Not fix everything, but offer advice.” He started pacing again. “I
f Marce were here, she’d know how to solve all of this.”
“I do not know even where to begin with all I’ve done to cause Lord Cartwright harm.”
“How about his most serious grievance with you…” he prodded. “We can start there.”
“I stole from him.” Jude moved farther into the room and plopped down on the lounge facing the hearth. “Not directly, though I tried that, as well, but he found me in possession of a painting belonging to his family. I also lied to him. About several things.”
“That was what he took back this morning?” His nostrils flared with his agitation. When Jude nodded, he continued, “I cannot believe all this has been happening right under Marce’s nose. She is going to be so enraged at your actions. Why would you ever think you could escape trouble?”
“It has all been a terrible thing—“
“You’re bloody right it has,” he seethed. “What do you need that kind of money for?”
“It was to help Marce pay the debts she owes for Craven House,” she confessed, happy that Garrett must now finally understand why she did what she did. “If I sold the painting, I would have given the money to Marce.”
“Whatever led you to believe Marce needed you to put yourself at risk?” he asked, stunned.
“The notices have been arriving for unsettled debts,” she said. How could he not see that what she’d been doing was for all of them?
“Where do you think Marce is right now?” He recoiled, his eyes holding no emotion, his anger having fled at some point to be replaced by contempt. When Jude shook her head, he continued, “She is collecting on a debt owed to her and will make right with everything as soon as she returns to London. You have overstepped yourself and created much trouble, Judith.”
His continued use of her full name brought tears to her eyes once more.
A tear fled down her cheek and she held back a sob. She’d unintentionally hurt so many people she cared for.
“You said he is Lord Cartwright—an earl, correct?” His demeanor softened once more as Jude fought to hold her emotions back.
“Yes. Do you know him?” The question escaped on a cry.
Garrett kept quiet as he pondered the name, a frown creasing his face as he tapped his chin with his forefinger. “Not personally, but, yes, I remember hearing something about his family several years ago.”
“Well?” Jude glared, waiting for him to continue.
“I do not know for certain,” he said, sitting on the lounge next to her. “…and I’d need to speak with Marce to be sure, but I believe the papers were full of rampant gossip about his uncle stealing off for France not long before Lord Cartwright’s majority—bleeding the estate’s coffers dry before his departure. I believe while the man was away at university, his uncle sold off precious family heirlooms, furniture, and even a property not entailed to the Earldom, if the gossip rags are to be believed.”
If Jude’s heart could sink further than it already had, it was likely lying at her feet at this moment.
“It is said his estate was on the brink of ruin and he was facing debtor’s prison for his uncle’s misdeeds.”
Cart had had everything taken from him without his knowledge or the opportunity to defend himself or his title—and Jude had done the same.
“No,” she sighed.
“Yes, it is only recently that he has begun to restore his family name and holdings,” Garrett mused. He set his hand on hers, squeezing it gently. “There is word that he has taken on a paying position to do that.” Normally, her brother would scoff at the notion of a gentleman of the ton being associated with the working class. Now, she only heard sadness in his tone.
And Cart was going to lose everything he’d worked to accomplish because of her.
He had every right to despise her.
Chapter 23
Tainted Bloodline.
Cart read the headline for the fifth time, unable to process how any reputable news source would write such a scathing story—about him. It was disgusting, it was degrading, and worst of all, it held some truth.
Tossing the morning post aside, Cart picked up his fork and pushed the cold, forgotten food around on his plate. He should eat something. He was famished, but couldn’t bring himself to take so much as a bite when he arrived home the previous evening. He could feel his stores of energy within his body depleting with each breath he took. He’d been so frustrated with the situation, with Jude, that he hadn’t slept at all.
He’d gone over and over how he’d been so oblivious to her deceptions. After all these years being back in London after his father’s passing and his uncle misuse of the estate, Cart thought he would have noticed something was wrong. He should have been able to stop Uncle Julian from destroying all his ancestors had built, but the truth was plain before him. Much like with Jude, Cart would have been completely ignorant to his uncle’s activities.
Maybe his bloodline was tainted, or more accurately, he was tainted.
He set his fork down and a maid appeared out of nowhere to collect his dishes, still piled high with Cook’s usual morning meal.
Lord Gunther had been justified in distributing the details of the vase’s disappearance and reappearance. That it meant Cart was named as the antiquities contractor who was charged with finding the vase was unfortunate, especially since all the sordid details pertaining to the ransom note and money demanded for the vase’s return were also included in the story. All of London was likely reading the story as if it were a modern day crime tale, complete with the vase’s mysterious reappearance at Lord Gunther’s townhouse. The only part the post did not see fit to report on was that the ransom money had been returned to Lord Gunther. Suspiciously, that tidbit of information had been left out entirely.
He could only imagine the shame this would bring upon his family—Theo especially. Cart had been interviewing boarding schools for her to attend until her coming out season. The chance that any school in good standing would accept her now with the family’s scandalous past—and present—was unlikely. She was an innocent in all this.
Curse Jude for setting her sights on him, for drawing him in with her brilliant mind and, mostly, for making him believe he could have more following their kiss.
It was not all her doing, though. Cart knew that much.
His irrational behavior and impaired judgment may have been the direct result of their association but he was responsible for his own actions and reactions. He had never been that randy fool who threw caution to the wind and seized the day, his father used to say. His life had been one of study, learning, reflection, and action, but he’d lost sight of that where Jude was concerned.
And he would suffer the consequences.
“Simon!” Lady Cartwright screeched, sailing into the dining room.
Cart wished he’d kept his plate to busy himself during her tirade.
“I have received a note this morning.”
“Oh,” Cart said, a serene expression masking his dour mood. “Do tell me more.”
“You will not believe this,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. A servant jumped forward to pull out her chair and another set a dish with toasted bread and marmalade before her. She did not so much as pause to show her appreciation. “My attention and attendance are no longer required at Chrissely’s House. Can you believe that, Simon?”
He racked his brain for what Chrissely’s House was, though its name did not even vaguely sound familiar.
“My charity for the salvation of impure women of dubious standings,” she said around a bite of bread. “They cannot do this. I assure you, I will be a force to be reckoned with. If they think to dismiss me with no grounds after my many years of service, dedication—and money—they are mistaken.”
“My money,” Cart mumbled. It was an insult his mother didn’t deserve. “Besides, you were only telling me a fortnight ago that you plan to depart London after the season.”
“Your father’s money,” she refuted. When Cart only snorted, grab
bed the post, and feigned disinterest, Lady Cartwright huffed. “At any rate, I cannot fathom what I have done to deserve the dismissal. My husband—your father—was a powerful man. You”—she looked at her only son, a pained expression on her face—“are an earl, as well. They cannot do this to me, no matter what my future plans are.”
Her meaning was not lost on Cart. His own mother still saw him as a failure, a man not worthy of the Cartwright title. She thought him a dimwitted, gullible, easily swayed man without the sense needed to lead his family.
Once she set eyes on the morning post, all her accusations would be grounded in fact, at least where society was concerned.
“What do you suggest?” she queried, sipping her tea.
She never asked for his opinion, let alone assistance with an actual dilemma she was trying to solve. “What do I suggest about what?” Cart played as if he were uncertain of what she spoke.
“Chrissely’s House,” she said. Her teacup returned to the table, the delicate china hitting the saucer with more force than usual. “I have half a mind to write a contemptuous letter of rebuttal and send it to each of the chairwomen. That would show them I am not one to trifle with.”
A small part of him longed to agree and allow her to draft the letters and send them off with much fanfare, but it would only hurt Theo further. “Mother, are you not involved with several other charities of equal import?”
“Why, yes,” she scoffed. “What sort of fashionable lady would I be if I did not use my influence to help the less fortunate?”
“What sort, indeed?”
“You are not taking this seriously, Simon.” She set her intense stare on him. The same look would have sent him cowering under his bed as a youth, but now he felt only pity for her. “I am trying to set forth a favorable example for Theodora, well, as favorable as possible on the measly allowance you allot to me.”
“You know we are both on a similar allowance—I can argue you far outspend me and Theo combined.” His pocketbook was likely to suffer further when his mother left for her travels. Cart shook the paper to straighten the crease and located a story he’d been reading before noticing the article naming Lord C_wright as the man Lord Gunther had found disfavor with. Thankfully, they hadn’t printed his name in its entirety, but it was certain to be enough for many to guess at whom the post alluded to. “Besides, you have done nothing, it is I who have offended the powers that be in society and gained us a mention in the post.”
Thief Steals Her Earl Page 22
