The duke frowned deeply, taking a sip of his wine. He had the same look he wore when he and Evelina were playing cards, or chess, and he was trying to figure out his next move. He fixed Sir Henry with a sharp look.
“You are acquainted with the coachman?” he asked in a mild tone. “I was not aware you even knew who he was, Sir Henry. What is this about his father?”
Sir Henry’s jaw dropped. He looked confused. Evelina watched him closely. He was acting strangely, and he was clearly in his cups, but was he so befuddled he was making up this up entirely?
“Oh, it is nothing,” said the gentleman, his eyes flickering. “I talked to him briefly the other day when I noticed he was new to Bosworth. That is all.” His face reddened. “He must have reminded me of someone, and I was confused.”
The duke kept staring at him, not blinking. Sir Henry grew uncomfortable beneath the scrutiny of his gaze, looking hastily away. His son rolled his eyes impatiently.
“Why are we talking about that rake?” he asked, his lips thinning. “Do you not think it enough that I have been cuckolded without bringing it up at the dinner table?”
There was an ominous silence. Evelina gazed down at her plate, her face burning, feeling another wave of anger crash over her. She supposed that her fiancé’s pride had been offended. That was the only explanation for his anger over any of it. It wasn’t as if Mr. Beaumont had any strong feelings towards her, not enough for him to duel at dawn, at any rate. The idea was laughable.
She thought of his wandering eye, the way he always flirted with the ladies, relishing being the centre of attention. Another wave of anger swept over her. Why was she being treated like a fallen woman when he would be applauded for having as many lovers as he liked, and probably did? It was just another of the double standards that existed in her world. She was beginning to despise it thoroughly.
She took a deep breath, picking up her wineglass, gripping the stem so tightly it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter. Her fiancé was glaring at her with his glassy eyes. She felt a shiver of foreboding run down the length of her spine. It seemed Edward Beaumont wasn’t happy with her at all.
She took a sip of her wine. He had probably been cajoled into honouring the betrothal by his ambitious father. A duke’s daughter was still a prize catch, even if she had a murky past.
But that didn’t mean that the son was happy about the situation. In fact, she would swear he was greatly displeased. And that didn’t bode well for their future together. Would he make her pay for her transgression after the wedding?
Her heart hit the floor again. She didn’t think she could feel more miserable about the whole situation, but it seemed she could. She hadn’t been expecting to find any happiness with the gentleman anyway, but he had the power to make her life an utter misery once he was her husband.
Papa couldn’t protect her any longer than. His dominion over her would end as soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate. She would belong to her husband, not her father. God help her.
Oh, Jude, she thought again, in complete despair.My one and only love. What am I going to do?
***
The streets of Shrewsbury were dark and dismal as Jude walked quickly through the centre of the town, watching snowflakes fluttering onto the ground. He gazed around dolefully. Nothing seemed to have changed during his brief absence from the town. It was exactly the same as it had always been.
He put up the collar on his jacket, digging his hands into the pockets to ward off the cold. His stomach growled ominously as he walked past a street pie seller, the aroma wafting towards him enticingly. He stopped, groping in his pocket, for one of the few coins he had left, buying a pork pie. He wolfed it down as he kept walking towards the house at the end of the street.
He stopped outside it, gazing up at a candle burning in a window. It was a cheap lodging house he had once lived in for a while, many years ago, run by a middle-aged widow. Mrs. Hopkins was taciturn, grumpy, and volatile, but she ran a good, clean house. There weren’t any bedbugs in the mattresses or rats shimmying along the rafters. And her rooms were very cheap, which was exactly what he needed at the moment.
He groped in his jacket pocket again, taking out his remaining coins and counting them. He had enough to purchase two nights' accommodation and some food to get by. Tomorrow, he must be up at daybreak, seeking work. Any work.
He would lug bags of flour or sweep out chimneys if he must. Anything to get him through until he found a permanent job somewhere. Anything that would feed him and make sure he wasn’t sleeping rough on the streets.
He felt more miserable than he could ever recall. He was homeless, jobless, and desolate. It didn’t help that it was only a few days until Christmas on top of everything else. A Christmas he would spend alone, as always, while families around him celebrated. It had never particularly bothered him before, but now, standing on the cold stoop of this house with snow falling around him, he felt the loss unbearably.
His mouth tightened as he thought of the wages from Bosworth Manor that had been denied him. They would have come in handy. But there was no point wallowing about it now. Bosworth Manor was gone. It was his past, and this was the present.
He took a deep breath, knocking on the door. He heard Mrs. Hopkins’s small dog yapping madly behind the wood immediately, but it seemed to take forever for the owner of the house to open the door.
“Mrs. Hopkins,” he said, trying to give her a winning smile. “It is Jude Huxley. I boarded with you a few years back.” He took another deep breath. “You wouldn’t happen to have a room? I can pay for two nights up front.”
The woman peered at him suspiciously, trying to quieten the dog. “You are calling very late,” she said slowly. “I don’t usually rent out rooms at this hour.”
“Please,” he said. “I have just arrived in town and have nowhere else to go tonight. Even if it is just for the night, it would be appreciated.”
The woman gave a heavy sigh, before widening the door, letting him enter. Jude felt a pang of relief as he stepped inside. Within five minutes, they were climbing the rickety stairs to a small room, and he was throwing his bag down, sitting on the lumpy bed.
He ran a hand over his face wearily. He was so tired he could barely think straight. It had been a long, upsetting day, and not what he had expected at all when he had awoken this morning.
He pulled off his boots and jacket before climbing into the bed, pulling the thin blanket around his shoulders. It was bitterly cold in the room, and the blanket did little to ward it off. He knew he would be shivering for the entire night, but it was better than the streets.
He stared at the opposite wall, seeing nothing in the darkness. His heart clenched in sorrow and pain. His last image of Evelina in the window at Bosworth Manor was haunting him. It was all he could see in his mind’s eye.