Thief Steals Her Earl Read online

  And a new dress or two for them all would be appreciated, especially since Lady Haversham had been so kind as to sponsor their societal debut.

  Jude huffed. It was a trivial, selfish thought, especially when she was perched on a splintered bench with her head leaning against a grime-covered wall in a room that hadn't been properly swept in Lord knew how long.

  From somewhere outside the cell, Jude heard loud, angry voices. They were muffled by the wall and door separating her from other parts of the building housing her, but the aggression in the dominant voice was unmistakable.

  Jude would prefer a large hole open in the room and swallow her, as opposed to the force of nature currently headed her way. Only moments would pass before the ire presently unleashed on the night watchman who dared keep Miss Judith Pengarden locked in a room, would be refocused on Jude herself.

  “I will not stand for this, Garrett,” Marce, Jude’s eldest sister and only motherly figure, bit out harshly as a key was slid into the lock. “I will have this door opened at once or I will bring the fires of Hades down on this establishment.” Marce’s emphasis on the word left no doubt in anyone’s mind what her family’s matriarch thought of the night watchman and his lodgings.

  “Dear sister,” Garrett coaxed. “The man is only doing his job, earning a respectable salary while keeping the night streets free of vagabonds.”

  “Judith is most certainly not a vagabond.” Marce’s voice rose three octaves until it was almost a shrill scream. “Now, release her at once or I will be forced to call on Lord Haversham or Lord Chastain. I am certain you know both the earl and the duke. They will quickly settle all this once and for all.”

  Jude could picture her sister stamping her foot, her fury intensifying with each word.

  No one dared defy Marce—not at Craven House or anywhere else she’d witnessed her sister in action.

  “Ma’am,” the night watchman stammered, clearly resigned to following Marce’s orders. “My apologies for the mistake. The alarm was sounded and the butler in the household gave a description matching Miss Judith’s appearance.”

  “And when you found nothing incriminating on her person, you decided the best course of action was to lock her up for hours in this flea-infested room? Most certainly not proper accommodations for a woman of her status.”

  “Calm yourself, Marce.” Garrett attempted to soothe his sister’s wrath. “I know Mr. Newman would not purposely apprehend an innocent young woman.”

  “I can assure you it was not—“ Newman tried unsuccessfully to interject.

  “I will not calm down.” The door was wrenched open, its hinges groaning in protest at the swift movement. “If one hair on her head is harmed, I will have you drawn and quartered!”

  Marce, her blonde hair falling down her back unrestrained and her coat buttoned down her front, stormed into the room with Garrett close on her heels. The night watchman remained outside, likely knowing it’s safer for him to stay out of Jude’s eldest sister’s reach.

  “Again,” said Mr. Newman. “I was also worried about her being out late at night. She could have been set upon by any sort of unsavory character. She was without a chaperone and was unwilling to give me any information about herself beyond your direction, Lord Garrett.”

  Jude would have laughed at the use of Garrett’s name spoken so formally, but that would draw Marce’s attention far sooner than Jude was prepared for.

  Her sister may be vehemently protective of her siblings, but that in no way meant she coddled them.

  “That will be all, Mr. Newman.” Retreating footsteps sounded as the poor man heeded Marce’s curt dismissal. But with his retreating steps, Marce’s concern also fled. “What exactly were you doing wandering London at midnight?”

  Jude knew better than to speak. It was a rhetorical question meant to keep her silent, for Marce was in no way finished talking.

  “I can tell you where you were not last night. You were not attending the Buckhams’ soiree with Lady Haversham and Mrs. Jakeston, as you should have been. You also did not arrive home with Samantha. I dare say you did not so much as depart with your twin at the start of your evening.” Marce’s brow rose, daring Jude to refute her. “What do you have to say for yourself, Judith Pengarden?”

  Marce only used the siblings’ full names when trouble was afoot and she knew it could tarnish their family—as much as their scandal-ridden clan could be tarnished where they hung on the fringes of London’s proper ton.

  “Is there something you’d like to hear from me?” Jude retorted, any calm she may have achieved disappearing.

  It irked Jude to no end that Marce viewed her as a mere child—always the girl in plaits and kid boots—not a mature, educated woman, old enough by society’s standards to marry and start her own home and family. However, here Jude sat: in a dank room when any proper lady should be abed, accused of stealing into the home of a member of the beau monde.

  And all because she was attempting to help her family.

  Garrett stepped between his sisters. “I beg the both of you, finish this conversation in a less public,” he paused, looking at the filth overtaking the room, as if seeing it for the first time, “and certainly more hygienic, place. After Jude is allowed a hot—very hot—bath to cleanse this awful stink from her.”

  Mockingly, he brought a loose tendril of her hair to his nose and sniffed, disgust masking his teasing nature.

  She swatted at his hand and allowed her curl to fall from his grasp.

  Jude looked to her sister, silently pleading for Marce to take Garrett’s suggestion.

  Marce’s narrowed stare said she wasn’t convinced they need move their conversation. “I have a mind to leave you here.”

  “Leave me here?” Jude gulped.

  “Leave her here?” Garrett said at the same time.

  “Why not?” Marce set her hand on her hip as she stepped around her younger brother to face Jude once more. “I am unsure what you—and likely Sam—are up to, but I will not allow you to run about London with no regard for the consequences. Both for you and our family as a whole.”

  “I despise when you speak rationally.” Jude crossed her arms and stood, signaling her desire to depart. “It would be best to return home before we are spotted leaving a place of such ill repute.”

  “Thank you for thinking of someone and something other than your own pleasures,” Marce said before turning on her heels and leaving the room with as much fanfare as she’d entered it. She left Garrett and Jude staring blankly at one another. “Come along, you two.”

  The comment stung, but the truth in Marce’s words was undeniable. Her sister may not admit when she needed help, but Jude’s actions were risky and not as thought out as she’d hoped. It was highly likely Jude would never be adept at such things. Thankfully, she had no interest in repeating her actions. Not until their financial situation became increasingly dire, at least.

  She vowed to refocus on being rid of the vase and not entangling herself in any more harrowing escapades about London.

  “I have no doubt your reasoning for tarrying about after the midnight hour is very compelling, yet less than savory.” Garrett took Jude’s elbow and guided her from the dirty room, both of them squeezing through the doorway. “Sam’s note of warning did not find me abed either.” He winked with his words, letting Jude know he was concerned about her but would not pry—as he loathed his siblings prying into his affairs.

  Jude turned rounded eyes on her elder brother—the lone wolf of a family full of females. She’d often wondered what occupied his many leisurely hours, but her need to respect his privacy outweighed her interest.

  “Do not dally.” Marce’s call floated down the long corridor leading to the front of the establishment, her sure footsteps keeping time. “I have no qualms about leaving the pair of you to secure your own transport home.”

  Jude allowed Garrett to walk her down the hall as she suppressed a sigh at her sister’s ire.

  The situa
tion seemed drastically less dreadful now that she was among the free again.

  She and Garrett nodded to the watchman as they crossed the threshold into the cool morning air. A little bird chirped in the tree bordering the front walk.

  “You will owe her answers when you arrive home,” Garrett confided.

  “I am aware.”

  “I hope you have thought up a plausible explanation in your hours spent locked down.”

  “I have not,” Jude said.

  Both remained quiet as a man came down the path before them. The stranger removed his hat and nodded to Marce in greeting. If her sister issued any response, it was too quiet for Jude to hear.

  “Good morn,” the man greeted Jude and Garrett, a grim smile on his face as he looked away. His hair fell across his forehead at the movement, but he quickly brushed it aside. As he did, Jude noticed the youthfulness of his face.

  She glanced over her shoulder as the man pushed his spectacles farther onto the bridge of his nose and strode into the night watchman’s home, his trousers and coat wrinkled as if he’d either slept in them or was against bothering his valet this early in the day.

  “And to you, good sir,” Garrett called as the door closed behind the man, her brother’s shoulders lifting as he steered Jude toward their waiting carriage. It was very much like Garrett to puff his chest when faced with a gentleman of peerage, something he longed to be but had given up on years before—the forgotten younger son of a deceased lord.

  Garrett’s horse stood tethered to a post nearby.

  Jude’s heart sank. “You will not return to Craven House with us?”

  “I fear not, mop,” he said, handing her up into the carriage where Marce was already arranging her skirts. “I have much to attend to.”

  Marce chuckled softly from inside. “I’m certain he does.”

  He turned a peeved look at their eldest sister inside the dim conveyance before continuing, “However, I will be round this afternoon to discuss…things.”

  Jude hoped they could discuss “things” without her present, for she was certain she would be excluded from any and all talks of punishment due her.

  “I shall be canceling my trip,” Marce said when Jude seated herself across from her. “There is something afoot and I will not let this family go to ruins in my absence.”

  There was certainly something happening, but it was far more concerning than Sam’s and Jude’s antics.

  “It is one week, Marce.” Garrett entered the carriage, his own transport forgotten as he motioned Jude to scoot over and allow him room to sit.

  Their sister left her siblings for only one short week every year. Sometimes it was immediately following the holiday season, other times it was during the summer months, but she always returned a bit lighter in nature. They’d come to relish the short time Marce was gone, never asking her destination. But Payton—Jude’s youngest sister—had assumed for years that Marce traveled to Bath for several days of rest before returning to her obligations. Jude’s sisters envied Marce’s travels, thinking they were excluded from something enjoyable, but Jude could only imagine the weight on her sister’s shoulders. She cared for so many—receiving nothing in return. If she sought a few days to live a normal, carefree life then Jude could not blame her for taking it.

  Many days, Jude wished she had the fortitude to do the same.

  Take her life and future into her own hands, provide for herself instead of partaking in what Marce worked tirelessly to provide for them. Instead, she’d been told continually that at her tender age, she was still to be taken care of. Far too young and innocent to take on any further responsibilities.

  And that had led to finding another way around Marce’s ban on Jude being anything more than a debutante—protected, sheltered, and treated as a delicate thing.

  A way to help support their large household and push the debt collectors back. One time. That was to be the end of it, but when they’d been unable to sell the stolen vase, they’d had to alter their plans slightly, which included Jude taking the Bible leaves.

  Another failure and setback for them.

  “I can handle things at Craven House in your absence.”

  Garrett’s declaration snapped Jude back to the present.

  “That is not necessary,” Jude snapped. “We are of an age to care for ourselves.”

  “In a fashion similar to last night?” Marce asked. “I think not.”

  “Then it is settled—“ Garrett started.

  “Nothing is settled,” Marce refuted, turning a sharp look on the pair. “I no more trust you to keep Craven House from burning to the ground than I trust the twins. It’s bloody insane, but I think Payton has a better handle on herself than the lot of you.”

  “Payton?” Jude and Garrett said at the same time, once again.

  “Do stop doing that,” Jude hissed at her brother. “People will think you and I are more closely related than Samantha and me.”

  “Is that so awful?” he teased. “I am undoubtedly more attractive than she.”

  “We look identical, you cad!” Jude felt her temper rising as it did on most occasions when she and Garrett were in the same place.

  “Then I will be the pretty twin.” Garrett fluttered his eyes, his long lashes being one of his most notable features—if not as manly as he’d like. “I am certain to have many offers for my hand. Our dear eldest sister will be fighting off my hungry suitors!”

  Jude swatted at him and he hurriedly scooted out of her reach on the bench seat, fluttering his hand as if fanning the heat from his face.

  His actions were at odds with his purely masculine, deep chuckle at his lark.

  It only took a moment for her annoyance to fade and a smile to appear.

  He jested with Jude constantly. She should feel honored to have their only brother’s undivided attention so regularly when he rarely noticed Payton or Sam, but that also meant he kept better watch over her.

  He loved his sisters, but Jude especially. Though he was a man about town, he never went long without visiting Craven House, no matter how often Marce insisted she did not need his concern over their well-being.

  “You two will certainly send me to an early grave with your mischief,” Marce declared, her voice thin with exhaustion.

  The trio settled into a companionable silence as their carriage traversed the bustling morning streets. A footman followed with Garrett’s mount. Each was lost to their own musings as the carriage found its way quickly home.

  Mr. Curtis opened the carriage door with a flourish befitting a man half his age.

  “M’lady.” He bowed to Marce as she exited, his back creaking with his effort. “This missive came for ye when ye was out.”

  “Not another one,” Jude heard Marce mumble. “This has to stop.”

  “You will rectify this shortly, will you not?” Garrett asked as he stepped down and turned to assist Jude. But she rebuffed his assistance and he turned back to Marce. “I do hope this is the last time.”

  “For all of our futures, I certainly hope so.”

  Jude hopped down from the carriage, snapping a quick glance at the letter before it disappeared into the folds of her sister’s gown. The envelope was labeled as clearly as the others Jude had seen: Notice: Delinquency—Funds Due!

  She couldn’t help but feel she’d been privy to a conversation that was not meant for her ears.

  In that instant, Jude regretted her decisions for the night, yet at the same time, knew the ends justified the means. She must remember she was, indeed, helping Marce and everyone who called Craven House their home. Though she needed to focus more on not getting caught if her great measures were to help and not hinder everything her family had worked so hard for.

  Chapter 2

  Simon Montgomery, the seventh Earl Cartwright—Cart to anyone who knew him personally—stepped through the front door of his London townhouse.

  “Good morn, my lord,” Squires, his butler, called deafeningly to him before cl
osing the door with a slam louder than his greeting. “Your mother seeks your attendance in—”

  “Simon!” Lady Anastasia Cartwright, his mother, screeched from her private salon before the poor man could finish. “Thank heavens you have returned.”

  Cart nodded to his elderly butler and quickly patted his shoulder. Squires had been employed by the Cartwright Earldom since Cart was in his mother’s womb. His mother had sought to have the aging servant replaced on many occasions, but the funds were simply not available to hire another butler.

  Thankfully, Cart’s mother would rather have a new gown than a younger servant.

  He squared his shoulders, preparing himself for the inquisition he feared was to come.

  Lady Cartwright was as formidable as the great storm of 1703, but Cart would not allow her to drive him far off course. She was vexing, to say the least, but they did not have the coin to maintain another residence, either in town or the country.

  Cart took a deep breath and pasted a smile on his face before entering his mother’s salon. His morning had been a trying one, but there was no reason he could not put on a brave face.

  The sight before him when he entered the room turned his smile into a most disagreeable frown.

  “What is all this, Mother?”

  Lady Cartwright had a large table moved to the center of her salon and upon it, in neat, orderly rows, were all her jewels—emerald necklaces, teardrop pearl earrings, a line of brooches, a diamond bracelet. The sheer number of gems with the morning sun gleaming off them from the open window was blinding.

  The answer to all their prayers lay before him.

  Jewels enough to line the Cartwright coffers anew.

  “Mother,” Cart sighed, attempting to hide his exasperation. “What are you doing?”

  She turned a dour look to her only son, but quickly returned to her task. She held a pencil nub in one hand and a paper in the other.

  Leaning in, he noticed the paper, and several more just like it, covered in notes.

  “I am cataloguing all the Cartwright valuables.” Her exasperation mirrored Cart’s, as if any earl would know that when someone broke into your home, the first thing one should do is count the silverware and light sconces.