Thief Steals Her Earl

by McKnight, Christina

  The room grew silent. And still. No sound of his mother chewing her meal, sipping her tea or grasping her table knife to stab him. For the last, he should feel fortunate. Not that a knife to his hand would be amiss, as it would at least give him a measure of distraction.

  “What have you done to tarnish this family further?” she seethed.

  Her words were no more than a whispered accusation. Far more dangerous than when she loudly proclaimed her allegations to anyone who would listen. This question was meant solely for him, not for those around them to ponder all the shameful things Cart had done.

  If he were wise, he’d leave the post for her to read and walk from the room. He could maybe spend the day at White’s in their reading room. They hadn’t obtained new, worthwhile reading stock in months, but the distance would prove wise when his mother began her assault on his character. The disdainful looks he’d receive at White’s would be no less brutal than his mother’s onslaught of cruel claims.

  On the other hand, running away may very well suit him best—not to his gentlemen’s club, but farther away. Outside society’s reach and far from Lady Cartwright. Certainly then, people would forget him and the mockery he’d made of himself. With time, Theo’s connection to Cart would become blurred and the ton would forget her association with him. By the time she was presented to society, he would be a distant memory for everyone involved. The last lingering remembrances of a commonly held name, but nothing more.

  “Do not make me ask you again, Simon Montgomery,” she hissed. “You may very well be Lord Cartwright, an earl in your own right, but I am still your mother—and the matriarch of this family.”

  His mother? Cart wanted to laugh at the term.

  How nice it would have been to have a mother after his father had died suddenly. She hadn’t even sent for him at Eton.

  How reassuring it would have been to have his mother by his side when he found out about his uncle’s duplicity. Lady Cartwright had treated him with outright scorn since his return from university—her plans to journey outside of London, no matter the cost to him, were worth the peace to his household.

  How he’d delight in a mother who would commend his many accomplishments in restoring the family coffers. Yet his mother continued to think her only son a dullard, a man not fit to take the helm of the Cartwright legacy.

  He was innocent in everything Lady Cartwright held him accountable for.

  His Uncle Julian’s siphoning from the Cartwright estate had likely started long before Cart’s father passed away. Though he’d pored over every estate ledger since his return from Eton, Cart had seen no entry embellished or any funds taken without authorization by his man of business.

  But still—everything had been gone.

  And the only person left to take the blame was Cart.

  He was beyond tired of taking the blame. Utterly exhausted. There was not a person in all of England who’d cast the culpability of his family’s ruin on a mere boy, which was what he’d been when it had all occurred.

  It had to stop.

  “Here, you can read for yourself, Mother.” He calmly folded the post with the shaming article front and center before handing it to Lady Cartwright. “But, keep your venomous outbursts about my suitability as an earl to yourself. I am uninterested in your wallowing and self-pity over your cursed relations.”

  Cart made to stand, a servant appearing to pull his chair back. He should feel victorious, vilified for finally speaking his mind to his mother instead of cowering in her presence.

  Instead, he felt empty—and alone.

  Not a single soul to call friend.

  He was dead set against bringing Theo into any of this, as he knew the strained living arrangements did not escape her notice as it was.

  As if conjured from his very thoughts, his younger sibling entered the room, her nose pressed so close to a book that she nearly collided with Cart as he attempted his dignified retreat from the dining area before his mother finished reading the article detailing his downfall.

  “Simon,” she called, not bothering to look up to see if he was even in the room. “There is something dreadfully wrong—“ She ran into his outstretched palm. “Oof!”

  “Slow down, puppet,” he said. “What can you find dreadfully wrong in a book”—he tilted the book up to see the cover—“that’s nearly a hundred years old?”

  She gave him a knowing smile, as if proud to find something erroneous in a book Cart had studied a dozen times. “This, look here.” Theo pointed to the page before her, lowering the book so Cart could inspect what she’d been reviewing. “See this map?”

  “Yes, it is a map of England, done by Robert Morden around 1695.”

  Her narrowed look told him she was impressed by his skill at pinpointing the name of the mapmaker in questions. “Do you see anything off about this page?”

  “Heavens, Theo,” he sighed, lifting the heavy book of maps from her outstretched hands. “It is a map, likely traced from the original by one of Morden’s many assistants.”

  “Please, take a closer look, Simon,” she pleaded, her excitement at finding something unique showing in her voice.

  His mother hadn’t seen fit to berate him as yet, so Cart took a closer look at the map, following the edge of England all the way around. He briefly inspected the name of each shire, followed by the outlying areas including the channel. Nothing seemed amiss—or maybe it was that he’d been overly distracted of late. It only followed suit that his mind was not as sharp as it had once been.

  Whatever Theo meant for him to find, he could not spot it. “I give up, Theo. What have you found?”

  “Look!” Her small index finger landed on the bold script across their great country…and it was labeled Angland. She giggled in triumph at her keen observation skills. “I can hardly believe this.”

  “Something our dear Simon didn’t notice?” Lady Cartwright fairly cooed from the table behind him. “Oh, Theodora, do pull your head from the clouds—if it weren’t for me, we’d be living in the poorhouse.”

  “Mother,” Cart warned. They’d agreed long ago to keep their animosity between them and out of hearing range of Theo. “Theo, that is fascinating!”

  “My lord?” Squires called from the doorway. “This just arrived for you.”

  On the silver platter, a single cream envelope was perched. No writing to signify whom it was from.

  “It arrived by courier only moments ago,” Squires answered Cart’s unasked question. “The man did not indicate a response was needed and left before I could ask his direction.”

  “Thank you, Squires.” Cart lifted the letter from the platter.

  “Lady Theodora, your languages tutor has arrived and awaits you in the schoolroom.” Squires tucked the empty tray under his arm, bowed, and departed the room, likely returning to his post at the front door.

  “Puppet,” Cart said, tugging on her loose plait. “Hurry now to your studies.”

  With a quick smile, Theo bounced from the room, overjoyed to have impressed Cart.

  “Simon?” Lady Cartwright called from the table.

  He glanced over to see his mother still studying the post. “Yes?”

  “I think it best you find a school for Theodora with all haste.”

  “I agree, Mother.” For the first time in many years, they were in agreement on something. “I will increase my efforts to locate a school for Theo.”

  “Very good, and with this new development, it may be for the best if I distance myself from London with similar haste.”

  Cart walked from the room, his disbelief over his mother conceding to a boarding school for Theo only overshadowed by her last words: distancing herself from London—and very soon.

  Her disapproval of him was so ingrained in her every action and thought, he’d lost sight of their bond—a bond that he’d considered irrevocably broken years before.

  And now she would leave him to his own follies—abandon him to repair the damage he’d done by his
association with Jude. For once, he agreed it was something he deserved.

  Cart continued to his study, the letter almost forgotten in his hand when he looked down and saw the missive addressed not to him, but the magistrate.

  Chapter 24

  Jude sat waiting, her hands resting lightly on her lap, her hair perfectly pinned, and a smile on her face. She’d meant her grin to be bright and reassuring. But as the hours passed, she felt it slip from lively and content to anxious and exhausted. Sam had pointed out the dark crescent moon shaped circles below each of her eyes—the one sign of her fatigue that she was unable to mask.

  Slumber, the deep regenerating kind, was impossible to attain when so many things weighed heavily on a person. Her exhaustion notwithstanding, Jude knew she’d made the correct decision—for possibly the first time in a long time.

  And she was resigned to accept the consequences.

  Lord Cartwright’s words had bounced around in her head all night—intent had little bearing on consequences. It was true beyond any fact that Jude knew.

  The morning post had only solidified her decision made the night before. Cart’s name had been thinly veiled. Unfortunately, Lord Gunther’s accusations and insinuations hadn’t been. She was thankful her letter had departed in Mr. Curtis’ capable hands before she’d taken a light repast and moved to the front salon to await her fate. If she’d read the many horrid things Gunther had offered to the gossip columnist as fodder for the scandal-ready beau monde, then she would have paid the elderly man a visit, and…well…she would have done something she would have had no remorse over.

  She was not prone to violent acts of aggression. All the same, Jude had clenched her fist several times that morning and punched it at the empty air in front of her, wishing it was Gunther.

  The man had gotten his vase back—and his fifty pounds. Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? If she weren’t trying desperately to change her ways, she’d have stolen back into his home and taken the blasted antique again.

  Lord Gunther should count himself fortunate for Cart’s intervention in Jude’s life.

  She glanced to the ticking clock by the door. Almost noonday.

  What was taking so dreadfully long for them to arrive?

  She’d planned things perfectly—Sam and Payton had been invited to tea with Lady Chastain and her sister, Mrs. Jakeston. Garrett had left this morning while all of her sisters were abed and would not return until later in the day. She’d even sent the housekeeper on a fool’s errand for a plum jam supposedly awaiting Jude at the market. Mr. Curtis was the only servant present, though he worked in the stables most mornings.

  The perspiration at her brow grew thick once more and Jude retrieved her kerchief from her pocket before hastily wiping the moisture away.

  Her foot tapped an erratic beat on the floor, the noise muffled by the rug underfoot.

  She’d selected her sturdy riding boots with the hard sole. The laces were tied tightly, constricting her ankle. Her frenzied heartbeat coursed through her body, causing her lower leg to ache at the top of her tightly-laced boot.

  Closing her eyes, Jude allowed the smells and sounds of her family home to wash over her, to invade and ingrain themselves in her subconscious. The aroma of warm bread in the kitchen drifted through the house. A loud creak could be heard every so often as the floorboards settled under the weight of the house. If she sat very still, Jude could even feel a light draft across her face from an open window across the room.

  Everything about her home was safe…secure…and as it had always been.

  It was a chaotic home, but one filled with love and loyalty.

  The Craven House siblings were known for their banter and bickering, but they were a fiercely loyal group.

  Jude would not change that for the world—not for a treasure trove of coins or a fancy title and home or the opportunity to travel the world.

  But, there was something worth giving up her home and family for.

  Love.

  She’d cried most of the night at the mere thought of the word.

  Certainly, she loved her family. For sure, she loved her home. And yes, she loved her fancy gowns and mingling amongst London’s beau monde.

  It was only in the last several hours that Jude had come to the realization that she loved one thing more than all the rest combined—and that petrified her.

  Not the love itself, but knowing she’d caused heartache and pain that would always stand in the way of her claiming that great love.

  Because of her actions, that love would be forever out of her reach.

  Her gloved hands shook where they were clasped in her lap.

  If Marce were here, she’d never allow Jude to do what she was doing. It was her way to swoop in and rescue her younger siblings, even from their own foolish mistakes.

  Her sister was due to return home from her trip any day—possibly any minute. If Jude were going through with her plan, then she need do it immediately. She needed to confess all her wrongdoings to the magistrate immediately and clear Cart’s name—remove the blame and scandal that would befall his family because of her.

  Jude was resigned to let Lord Cartwright go, to never see him again, but he needed to know how much he meant to her. Their entire relationship was not a mistake. She did not regret a moment of it.

  If she could go back, she would have fallen in that pond with him—and remained there as they laughed at their social blunder. She would have invited him to meet her at the library for an afternoon of exploring all the secrets the place held hidden within. She would have extended an invite to dine with her family, play a round of whist with Payton, and retire to another room with Garrett to discuss current affairs and drink heavy tumblers of fine spirits. They would have taken to the dance floor at some fashionable matron’s grand ball, turning heads and causing a stir at their regal pairing—Jude with her tall, slender frame and strikingly bright red hair, and Cart with his elaborately tied neckcloth, intelligent air, and artfully combed golden-brown hair. They would laugh the night away, discussing all manner of things deemed unsuitable for a mere woman. Others would flock to their sides as Cart told stories of their most treasured acquisitions.

  They would be the talk of all of London—not for their wealth or title, but because of their love for one another.

  It was all hopes and wishes.

  She would never enter a ballroom on his arm. Nor would they travel and see the many wonders of the world together. Neither would they so much as share a meal in each other’s company.

  The clock chimed loudly. Twelve times.

  Outside, the sun would be directly overhead and the fog of the morning hours would be dissipating. People would venture out shortly, destined for Hyde Park, Rotten Row, or Bond Street. Their hours would be filled with selecting the perfect fabric for a new gown, ordering the perfect stationery for letter writing, strolling with acquaintances, and meeting with fellow aristocrats at their fencing clubs.

  For so many, their day was only just beginning, but for Jude, her life as she knew it would be ending before long.

  She only awaited the knock at her front door—if they even paused to announce their arrival instead of just swarming the house looking for her.

  A part of her wanted the wait to be over, an ending to her fate clearly written.

  A loud knock finally sounded through the house, a solid fist banging intensely on the door.

  They were not going to burst in, after all.

  Jude stood, her hands moving down the front of her skirt to smooth out any wrinkles. Next, she glanced into the tiny mirror on the wall to verify her hair was still properly pinned, a mass of auburn curls secured atop her head with only a few tendrils escaping the knit. The ache in her ankles faded with her movement.

  In the background, the pounding upon the door continued unabated.

  A small traveling case sat by the door in case they allowed her to bring anything with her. It held her writing supplies, warm woolen stocking
s, her brush, and a night shift. Nothing of relative value, but each essential to her—and far more than she deserved to have.

  Her eyes watered, but she blinked the tears back. She would never again awaken in the bed next to Sam or spend her evenings bickering with Payton over a card found suspiciously on the floor. There were so many things still to learn, such as where Garrett went when he wasn’t at Craven House, or how far Marce traveled each year for her excursion.

  And that was only the beginning.

  The day would never come when she’d have the time to properly get to know Theodora. From their short encounter, Jude sensed the girl was much like her brother while retaining her own individuality. Gone was her opportunity to meet the formidable Lady Cartwright, his mother.

  Cart had barely begun to show her all his many collected treasures.

  Her fingers rose to touch her lips and she could almost feel Cart’s mouth pressed to hers, commanding yet yielding to her. The feel of his hands pressed against her back, holding her close with nothing more than an inch separating them. His hesitant smile after they’d kissed was truly what had captivated her most—it was as if he’d discovered a new treasure, one worth more than all he’d gathered before.

  For a brief time, Jude believed she was that treasure to him.

  The one thing a person would give up everything else for.

  Love.

  Cart was exactly that to her.

  So much so, she was willing to give up her freedom to show him how much he meant to her.

  The time had come—and the pounding on the door had not lessened, nor would it after what she’d done.

  Jude trudged from the salon, pausing before the thick wooden front door.