Fortuna Lockhart was not a name he knew, but that didn't change anything, and didn't surprise him. What did surprise him - besides her curtsy, a little, a formality that felt fussy and out of place in the circles he was used to these days - was that she seemed to know him. "You did?" Jude said belatedly, brow creasing in confusion at the way she said recognised him, which did not tend to mean 'read your name in angry letters to the Prophet editor' and so forth. Perhaps she'd passed him by at a rally, or handing out leaflets somewhere, he considered, glancing back over at her, or - but there was the hint of a smirk on her face.
"Not from that magazine article, I hope?" He asked despairingly, with a frown and a slight huff of dread. Not that he'd have known about it, if he had not already been treated to his friends' amusement over it earlier in the week. And not that he cared in the slightest about what sort of 'bachelor' society deemed him, but if it were what he was to be known for for the foreseeable future, Jude was much less amused. But surely seemingly sensible, working women had neither time nor inclination to read that rubbish?
"Not from that magazine article, I hope?" He asked despairingly, with a frown and a slight huff of dread. Not that he'd have known about it, if he had not already been treated to his friends' amusement over it earlier in the week. And not that he cared in the slightest about what sort of 'bachelor' society deemed him, but if it were what he was to be known for for the foreseeable future, Jude was much less amused. But surely seemingly sensible, working women had neither time nor inclination to read that rubbish?
