Jude reddened, bowing hastily, before moving out of the way of the shop door. Mr. Beaumont opened it, going inside. The others started following him. When Evelina’s brother was passing him, he stopped, giving him an odd look.
“You know, it is not proper to gaze through a shop window at my lady sister,” said the gentleman, raising his eyebrows. “You can return to the carriage and wait for her there.”
Jude gaped at him. “But Lady Evelina wanted me to stay here to carry her boxes back to the carriage, milord.”
The man gazed at him with contempt. “I have given you a direct order, my man. I do not give a deuce what my sister has asked you to do. I can carry her boxes if needed. Off you go.”
Jude’s colour deepened, but he bowed again, doing what the gentleman asked. His face was still burning as he walked back to the carriage.
He had been put in his place, well and truly. The humiliation of it was like poison circulating through his bloodstream. Those fine gentlemen didn’t even see him as a fellow man. He was just a servant. And fine gentlemen could talk to servants anyway they pleased. Gentlemen like that could take a whip to him if they were inclined. He was not far above a dog or a horse to them.
The vast chasm between the social classes had never particularly bothered him before he had arrived at Bosworth Manor. He had never really thought much about it at all. But then, back in Shrewsbury, he had never had many dealings with the ton. But now, he realised the truth of it: he was expendable, just another face amongst the multitude of servants who existed to do their bidding. And not everyone in the ton were as sweet natured as Evelina.
Jude reached the carriage. He knew he was being foolish. How did he expect them to act towards him? But still, it rankled. At least the Duke, Evelina’s father, usually had a kind word for him. But he didn’t like her brother at all. He realised why the gentleman wasn’t well liked at Bosworth and why Evelina didn’t much like her brother, either.
His face darkened. And hereallydidn’t like Mr. Beaumont, her fiancé. His hands balled into fists at his side. The thought of Evelina with that man made his skin crawl. The thought of that man touching her intimately one day soon filled his heart with impotent fury. He couldn’t bear it.
Jude’s heart flipped, thinking about her shuddering in his own arms, her face transfused with pleasure as she slowly reached the final fulfilment. It had been hard stopping himself from making love fully. He wanted to love her so thoroughly it took her breath away. He had wanted her badly in that moment and only concern for her, and the consequences of doing such a thing, had stopped him.
He gazed back at the shop with a sinking heart. Her menfolk had come to claim her. Mr. Beaumont was amongst them now. The gentlemen were all as thick as thieves. And he had no place within that world.
He and Evelina had no place in the world together.
Those gentlemen had wealth, privilege and position. The world was made for them. He was supposed to look up to them. But he had spoken the truth to Evelina the other day: her betrothedwasn’tfit to wipe her boots. He didn’t deserve her at all. And that was the tragedy of all of it.
Chapter 29
Evelina placed her napkin on her lap, gazing around the dining table. Her stomach tensed. Her father and Richard had decided to throw an intimate dinner party; a party consisting of just the three of them, plus her new fiancé and his parents.
She studied the dinner guests covertly. Mr. Beaumont was seated to her right, but his parents were across from her. Sir Henry had insisted upon pouring her father’s best claret into the crystal wine glasses himself, before passing them to everyone.
Lady Beaumont, his wife, was smiling inanely at nothing in particular. Evelina studied her gown, which was rather ostentatious, swamped in frills and bows. Her own mother had always said that Lady Beaumont had no sense of innate elegance at all. And it seemed that the lady’s taste was growing worse as she grew older.
Evelina took her wineglass from Sir Henry. She knew she was being overcritical about Lady Beaumont, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t really care all that much about the lady’s appearance or the way she chose to dress. What she cared more about was the fact that Lady Beaumont was superficial and vain and her eldest son had inherited those characteristics.
Her gaze fell on him. Mr. Beaumont was done up like a dandy this evening, as if he were attending a fashionable London soiree rather than a sedate mid-week dinner party in the country. Her face burnt as she thought about how her fiancé and her father and brother had ambushed her at the modiste yesterday. It had been so embarrassing.
Mr. Beaumont had strode into the shop like he owned it, demanding a seat and watching her as the dressmaker worked on her gown. He had watched her as if he were looking at a horse he was considering buying, being primped for sale.
Her father and brother had milled around the shop while they waited, but Mr. Beaumont had sat there watching the modiste at work the whole time. For the life of her, she couldn’t work out why they had bothered making the trip into town just to do this. It had puzzled her for the rest of the fitting.
By the time she emerged from the changing room, Richard had become impatient.
“Do not tarry, Evelina,” he rapped.
She had gaped at him. “I want to make some purchases.” She glanced out the shop window. Jude wasn’t there. “Where is the coachman? I asked him to wait to carry my boxes.”
“I dismissed him,” said her brother, looking bored. “He was gaping through the window at you like a fish. You should be more careful of that.” He frowned, turning to their father. “You should watch that one, Papa. He has only just entered service at Bosworth. Who knows what the man’s character is like?”
“You think the man is questionable?” Mr. Beaumont had asked, frowning. “Hewasstaring through the shop window, now that I think about it.” He paused, turning to Evelina. “He is the servant in the play with you, isn’t he? The one playing Prince Charming to your cinder girl?”
Richard’s face had darkened. “That coachman is in the village pantomime, playing the lead opposite you, Evelina?”
“Yes,” she had said, her face afire. “What of it?”
Her brother hadn’t replied immediately. He had just kept gazing at her with an inscrutable look upon his face, before turning to their father.
“You should keep a closer eye on her, Papa,” he said, shaking his head. “The fact that she isactingin this pantomime at all is questionable. But the fact she is mingling freely with people of all classes while doing so is more alarming. She is not chaperoned there.”