OTHER TITLES BY MELANIE DICKERSON
Medieval Fairy Tale Series
The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest
Fairy Tale Romance Series
The Healer’s Apprentice
The Fairest Beauty
The Captive Maiden
The Princess Spy
The Merchant’s Daughter
The Golden Braid
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Melanie Dickerson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Waterfall Press, Grand Haven, MI
www.brilliancepublishing.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Waterfall Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503950511
ISBN-10: 1503950514
Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
April 1811. London, England.
Mr. Nicholas Langdon wasn’t supposed to be here.
Miss Julia Grey blinked, but he was still standing across the room from where she sat at the pianoforte.
It was the first party of the Season, and several of her aunt and uncle’s guests surrounded him. And in spite of the recent wounds he’d sustained fighting in the Peninsula, he looked as handsome and whole as he had the last time she’d seen him, a year and a half ago.
Just then, Miss Phoebe Wilhern, Julia’s cousin, turned and saw him—and gasped loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the room. Phoebe’s face turned pink, and the hand she lifted to cover her overjoyed smile never quite reached her mouth.
Julia stood to go to Phoebe, to admonish her not to make her feelings so obvious. Julia had spent the last year and a half trying to help Phoebe forget her infatuation with the faraway army officer and think of other things besides her obsession with Mr. Langdon.
“Do sing for us, Miss Grey.” Mrs. Caldwell hovered by Julia’s elbow, smiling. “We all know you play exceeding well, but we insist on hearing your heavenly voice.”
Julia hesitated, but she wanted to draw attention away from Phoebe. She chose some music while her cousin was still staring at Mr. Langdon, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide. Phoebe was never very good at hiding her feelings, and her infatuation with Mr. Langdon showed all over her face. Thankfully, he was talking with Mr. Hugh Edgerton and didn’t seem to notice her.
Julia began playing and singing, staring at the sheet music to make sure she didn’t forget the notes. When she glanced up again, Phoebe was standing in front of Mr. Langdon and talking to him.
When Julia finished the song, polite applause erupted.
“Won’t you play my favorite song?” an elderly guest entreated, leaning on his walking stick and plucking the song he wanted from amongst the sheets of music. “You played it so well several months ago, as I recall.”
She longed to go to Phoebe and urge her not to expose herself to gossip. Instead, she said, “Of course.”
Mr. Langdon looked as though his shoulder wound had healed. He’d also suffered a leg wound. Would he have a limp?
He nodded politely to Phoebe and walked away. No limp, but Phoebe gazed forlornly at his perfectly straight, retreating back.
Phoebe had been Julia’s constant companion since Julia was six years old and Phoebe was four. And although Phoebe was impulsive, she did listen to Julia’s admonitions—usually. If Julia told her a man had an insincere countenance and a bad reputation, Phoebe refrained from flirting with him. If Julia advised her to take a shawl because the air was chilly, Phoebe would comply. Then, in the middle of their walk, Phoebe would invariably exclaim, “Julia, if you had not reminded me to bring a shawl, I would have been miserably cold,” and spontaneously embrace her.
A few days before, Julia had confided in Phoebe about Mr. Richard Barrington, who she had thought might ask her to marry him, but he had suddenly shifted his preference to a girl with an inheritance of ten thousand pounds. With a fierce look, Phoebe said, “I can’t imagine any man not falling in love with you, Julia. Mr. Barrington must be an utter fool.”
Julia’s heart had swelled with love for the affectionate girl.
And now, feeling she had little choice, Julia played the old gentleman’s requested song and hoped her cousin wouldn’t do anything too impulsive or indiscreet.
Nicholas Langdon surveyed the room where the dancing would take place. Young ladies in gauzy dresses of pale pink, blue, yellow, and white floated about like butterflies. It was a lovely sight to one who had been isolated from his home country, across the sea with only his fellow officers and soldiers in the Peninsula for almost a year, followed by months of convalescing here in London.
And he could not help noticing Miss Grey seated at the pianoforte, playing and singing with the voice of an angel.
As he dwelt on Miss Grey’s sweet, demure expression, her dark curls that caressed her cheeks, and the brightness of her eyes, Edgerton approached him with a glass of brandy in each hand.
“You’ve been gone too long, Nicholas.” Edgerton handed him one of the glasses. “You’ve forgotten that Miss Grey has no dowry, and you’ve only your officer’s pay.”
Nicholas cut a warning glance at his old school chum.
“Now, don’t look at me like that. I saw you staring at her.” Edgerton gave him his customary snide grin.
He’d forgotten how much he disliked Edgerton’s caustic opinions.
“Miss Grey is only after the wealthiest husband she can catch,” Edgerton continued. “See her smiling at Dinklage? He’s a whey-faced imbecile, but he has fifteen thousand a year.”
She wasn’t exactly smiling at Mr. Daniel Dinklage. She only acknowledged him with a nod, since Dinklage had been staring at her.
“Thank you for the warning, Edgerton, but I hardly need it.” Nicholas was well enough acquainted with mercenary young ladies that he wasn’t likely to attach himself to one too soon. He’d had his heart crushed and his ego bruised two years ago and didn’t intend to go through that again.
“Her cousin is the one you should be thinking of.” Edgerton nodded slightly to his right, bringing Nichola
s’s attention to Miss Wilhern, who was staring at him with eyes as big as teacups.
“I won’t be here long enough to think of anyone. I’m to sail back to the Peninsula in a week to rejoin my regiment.”
Miss Wilhern seemed to regain her composure and dipped a slight curtsy. Now he had to acknowledge her, so he bowed in her direction. She started toward him.
“She has a dowry of twenty thousand,” Edgerton said softly. “And since you have only a week to enjoy such flirtations, I shall leave you to it.” Edgerton’s smug face turned away as he headed in the opposite direction.
Nicholas greeted Miss Wilhern, careful not to express peculiar regard, lest she think he was singling her out. He remembered her as a girl who used to make calf eyes at him and try to talk with him at every opportunity before he went off to war.
Miss Wilhern inquired after the shoulder and leg wounds he had sustained in his last battle and then expressed her heartfelt thanks for his courage and valiant service, on behalf of herself and every man and woman in England. She immediately followed that with her sincere gratitude to God for saving him and bringing him back, whole and well enough to venture out tonight.
He had to admit, her enthusiasm was gratifying. Perhaps Edgerton was right: he should be more interested in Miss Wilhern than Miss Grey. A girl with twenty thousand pounds and an obvious infatuation with him was, by definition, attractive.
He asked her to dance the first dance and then excused himself to find something a little less robust to drink. He didn’t want to be stumbling about the dance floor because he’d drunk too much.
Edgerton was pouring himself another glass of brandy. Several other men were standing nearby, talking and drinking, including the host, Mr. Robert Wilhern.
A deafening sound exploded behind him. Nicholas spun around. A servant was bending to pick up a heavy glass decanter he had dropped on the floor.
The memory of being shot flashed through his mind, the sudden sharp pain of a bullet tearing through his shoulder. At the same time, his horse had reared, causing Nicholas to fall to the ground and break his leg.
His heart was pounding inside his chest, while everyone else was ignoring the incident; indeed, they had already completely forgotten it.
He concentrated on slowing his breathing as he thrust away the vivid memory, stuffing it into the corner of his mind. He tried to focus on the party and its guests. After being in a war, battling for his life, and seeing death all around him, such a gathering as this was almost surreal, the standing about doing nothing, dressed in fine clothing, striving to appear wealthy, fashionable, and important.
“You are fortunate in Miss Wilhern’s attentions.”
Edgerton had not seemed to notice his brief moments of panic, but the man’s voice was too loud, and Nicholas noticed Miss Wilhern’s father cutting his eyes at him—to gauge Nicholas’s reaction to Edgerton’s statement, no doubt. Nicholas took a sip of his weaker port wine rather than replying. He was about to excuse himself and go back to the music room when Edgerton asked him, “What will you be about this next week, while you are furloughed and unfettered? You could come to the club with me tomorrow.”
Edgerton would be at the gaming tables, no doubt. What was the appeal of betting thousands of pounds on the roll of the dice or the suit of a card?
“I’ve a task, a favor for a fellow soldier, to carry out tomorrow.”
Edgerton raised his brows. “Oh?”
“A soldier who was in the battlefield infirmary with me. Before he died, he gave me something and asked me to deliver it to a relative here in London.”
“How interesting.” And Edgerton truly looked as if he meant it. “What was your brave friend’s name, if I may ask?”
“Richard Beechum.”
Edgerton stood strangely still, his mouth going slack as his eye twitched.
“You knew him?”
Edgerton shifted his feet and shook his head slightly. “Me? No. Not I.”
His reaction seemed a bit odd, and so did the look on Wilhern’s face as he glanced their way, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching.
“So.” Edgerton cleared his throat. “This Beechum had a token for his sister, perhaps? A special watch fob to give to his father?”
“No, it was a diary. He asked me to take it to someone I’ve never heard of. But of course, in dying for his country, he deserves to have this small favor done for him.”
“Oh yes, of course! Of course. You’re a good man, Nicholas. None better. You will do the thing. It will get done. We’d better get to dancing. I hear the music starting.”
They both moved toward the larger room where the dancing would commence.
If Julia knew Phoebe, she would soon want her to switch to a livelier tune, something she and the guests could dance to.
Sure enough, when Julia sang the last note, Phoebe caught her eye and winked. Phoebe spread the word that they were about to begin a reel. While several guests paired up to dance, Julia found some appropriate music. Happily for Phoebe, Mr. Langdon had asked her to dance; they were standing up together at the head of the line.
Julia felt a flutter of excitement for Phoebe, who looked triumphant in her pale-blue dress ornamented with ribbon and lace.
Mr. Langdon’s snow-white neckcloth stood out against his dark hair, and he was fashionably dressed in dark-gray breeches and waistcoat, black Hessian boots, and a black double-breasted frock coat.
Julia’s mind raced as fast as her fingers. Would Mr. Langdon break his own rule and dance with Phoebe more than once? Or would Phoebe get the first dance with him, only to watch him dance with every other girl in the room for the rest of the night?
Even though Mr. Langdon was of above-average height, he moved gracefully. He was nothing like his older brother, whose countenance was less serious, almost careless. His brother, Jonathan, was also stouter and more pale complexioned, a perfect contrast to Mr. Langdon’s dark hair and skin, brown eyes, and crow-black brows. Their grandmother was from Spain, and her heritage had made its presence known in the younger son. Mr. Langdon was handsome, Julia had to admit, and though he appeared somewhat reserved, he had expressive brown eyes.
Phoebe certainly wasn’t the first girl whose heart had been captured by him—nor was she likely to be the last.
Julia watched how he interacted with Phoebe. He did not look overly friendly as he danced with her, although he engaged in conversation with her and appeared attentive as they waited their turn in the round.
He had not been as fortunate as one might have assumed in his choice of wife, however. Two years ago, his fiancée had thrown him over for a wealthier, older man. A betrayal like that would make some men bitter, and, at the very least, cautious.
When the dance ended, Mr. Langdon gave Phoebe a quick nod and then turned and seemed to be asking Julia’s friend, Miss Felicity Mayson, to dance.
When the next dance was over, he asked another young lady. Phoebe, meanwhile, also danced with other partners. She stared too much at Mr. Langdon, but Julia was proud of her for not trying to flirt with him. Indeed, she had little chance to, as he danced every dance.
Julia remained busy playing for the lively crowd. Everyone looked to be having a good time, even Phoebe.
Everyone, that is, except Miss Sarah Peck, who sat in the same position all night, near Julia and the pianoforte. Julia took a moment here and there to speak to Sarah, but she had no time for real conversation. No one else said a word to her, as though her station as a governess made her invisible.
Julia had paused to choose some new music when Mr. Langdon suddenly approached Sarah with Julia’s aunt, Mrs. Wilhern, by his side. Her aunt introduced them, and Mr. Langdon asked Sarah to dance.
Julia was so gratified at his kindness, her breath hitched in her throat. Perhaps Mr. Langdon was more worthy of Phoebe’s high regard than Julia had thought.
Sarah smiled for the first time since the party had begun as Mr. Langdon gave her his full attention for the duration of the dance.<
br />
Sarah came back to her chair with color in her cheeks. Julia couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked the young governess to dance.
But perhaps his actions had been calculated to charm. Some men’s only obvious purpose in life was to make conquests of silly young females, although Mr. Langdon didn’t seem to be that type.
Julia had heard nothing but praise from Phoebe’s lips since she’d first met him two years before. His fiancée had jilted him for the older Mr. Tromberg, which resulted not only in making Mr. Langdon eligible again, but also making him the object of romantic sympathy—just the sort to make young girls’ hearts flutter. He’d had his pick of dance partners that Season.
Then, during Julia and Phoebe’s second Season, Julia had heard just as many lamentations from Phoebe, for Mr. Langdon had been sent away to the Peninsula to fight with General Wellington. Now that he was back, Phoebe was no doubt hoping to gain his attentions, and affections, before he must return to his duties as a lieutenant in the Peninsula campaign, fighting Napoleon.
Julia’s hands hovered over the piano keys to start the next dance tune. “Excuse me, Miss Grey.”
Mr. Langdon stood at her side with a young lady. “May I introduce someone to you? Miss Grey, this is my younger sister, Leorah Langdon. She would be delighted to play if you would do me the honor of dancing with me.”
Realizing her mouth was hanging open, Julia closed it and addressed his sister. “I am much obliged to you.” She stood and gave Miss Langdon her place at the instrument while quickly donning her gloves.
Turning to Mr. Langdon, she placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her toward the dance.
Was he also trying to make a conquest of her? But in the small crowd, perhaps he was afraid of running out of partners and did not want to break his rule of never dancing with the same young lady twice in one night.
Julia was fond of dancing, but rather than focus on enjoying a dance with an agreeable partner, she should be thinking how she might direct Mr. Langdon’s interest toward Phoebe. She might never have a better opportunity, and Phoebe would never forgive her if she did not take every possible occasion to help her win Mr. Langdon.
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