Julia forced herself to hold her head high as she slipped away and found a small sitting room. The window facing the street was not latched, so she crossed to the other side and opened it, letting the cool night air take the sting out of her cheeks.
Am I so alone and unloved? Destined to be a governess?
Beneath Phoebe’s station, her aunt had said. She felt her face grow hot again. No wonder few men asked her to dance and none ever came to call on her. No doubt their families had warned them about young women like her, without dowries, desperate to make a good match. Certainly Mr. Dinklage’s mother would make sure he did not pursue her.
Julia stared at the carriages going by on the street below. She pressed her hand against the window sash, letting the damp night air distract her. The lanterns and streetlights blurred as smoke from nearby chimney fires stung her eyes.
A tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away and took out her handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.
“Here you are.”
Julia twisted around to find Mr. Edgerton behind her, almost touching her he was so close.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” She tried to move away from him, but she was trapped between the window pressing into her back, the desk beside her, and Mr. Edgerton in front of her.
“Forgive me for startling you.” Mr. Edgerton’s face was mostly in shadow, but his white teeth flashed in the pale light. “Are you well, Miss Grey?”
“Yes, of course. Only getting a bit of air.” She tried to brush by him, but he moved closer and pressed her arm with his hand.
“You are upset about what your aunt said.”
“I—I am well. I am sure my aunt . . .” She intended to say, “I am sure my aunt meant well,” but that was not true. She did not think her aunt could have meant anything good by what she had said. She tried to think of something to say that would cause Mr. Edgerton to move out of her way, but the lump in her throat prevented her from speaking.
“I am very sorry.”
He had taken her silence as an admission of her pain, as an invitation for pity. But the way he was touching her arm and preventing her from leaving the room made her heart beat uncomfortably. There was something in his pale eyes that put her on her guard.
“Excuse me,” she managed to say. “I need to go, to return to the party.”
He let go of her arm and moved aside enough to let her pass. But then he grasped her arm again. He whispered, “You do not deserve to be treated badly.”
The look in his eyes reminded her that if anyone saw them alone in the unlit room, her reputation would suffer.
She pulled her arm out of his grasp. “I thank you for your kindness, but I have been away from the party too long.” She turned and walked out of the room and into the hall.
She moved toward the ballroom and the safety of the crowd, the pounding of her heart stealing her breath. Unable to face the roomful of people yet, she slipped into the smaller room where a servant was serving lemonade to the ladies.
Mr. Edgerton’s words and manner had been a direct result of what her aunt had said. He had not said or done anything particularly unseemly, but following her into the empty room, drawing so close to her, and touching her arm . . . a gentleman would not do such things to a lady who was respected and well connected, unless he intended to make an offer for her—or had nefarious intentions. Mr. Edgerton’s debts made marriage to her impossible. Her stomach churned. Had her aunt’s words made her vulnerable to men with immoral intentions?
She had always behaved with the utmost decorum. She was never indiscreet, never said things that could be misconstrued, and had always tried so hard to be above reproach. And now this.
This night was going terribly wrong.
CHAPTER FIVE
The guests were still dancing, the musicians still playing, as if her world had not just been turned upside down. She reached for a cup of lemonade, fighting to control her breathing, to push down her humiliation and compose her thoughts.
Felicity Mayson stood in the doorway. As soon as she saw Julia, she motioned for Julia to follow her to an unoccupied corner of the room. “I’m sorry for what your aunt said,” she whispered.
Julia’s heart sank. “I suppose everyone in the room heard her.”
“Not everyone. But she was very wrong to say what she did. She must be jealous of you, and I suspect it’s because you are so much prettier than Phoebe—and the fact that Mr. Langdon looks a great deal more at you than at Phoebe.”
Julia shook her head. “No, no. I don’t know why my aunt said those things, but Mr. Langdon isn’t interested in me any more than he’s interested in Phoebe.”
“I’ve seen how he looks at you, Julia. I think it quite possible that she noticed it too.”
Julia was holding her cup of lemonade so tightly the delicate porcelain was likely to break. She loosened her grip and shook her head again. “I don’t think there was any malice intended, Felicity.”
Felicity’s blond brows drew together. “I don’t believe she could say such things without at least some intentional malice.”
“But if that is true . . .” Then her aunt did not have Julia’s interests at heart and was not to be trusted.
Felicity gave her head a slight shake. “We won’t argue the point, but you should get back out there and see if you can win Mr. Langdon. You’d be silly not to at least try.”
Julia stared at her friend. “Win him?” First Sarah Peck, now Felicity. “I am quite sure Mr. Langdon never gave a second thought to me, except as someone to dance with.”
“Perhaps. But remember when he got his sister to take your place at the pianoforte so he could dance with you?”
That was surprising. “He was being charitable. He also asked Sarah Peck to dance that night. He was simply afraid of running out of dance partners. My aunt has nothing to worry about, because I have nothing. Why would he ever choose me over Phoebe?”
“You’re more beautiful, and you have much more sense and talent. There is no comparison.”
“But she is more expressive and sociable. Everyone loves Phoebe.”
“Mr. Langdon doesn’t. Haven’t you ever noticed that your cousin’s eyes are small and her chin is rather weak?”
Julia shook her head. “I am not one whit prettier than my cousin. You are only saying these things because you are my friend, but I do not wish to speak ill of my cousin.” Phoebe had always been a very pretty girl, had always garnered more compliments than Julia, but that could have been because Julia was only the poor relation, and no one wanted to promote the poor relation over the favored daughter. Phoebe’s eyes were a trifle small, but she was still very lovely.
“Julia, I understand, but you are too modest. You are quite the handsomest girl wherever you go.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re so sweet.” To me, but not to Phoebe.
“Believe me or not, but don’t give up your chance at happiness because of Phoebe and Mrs. Wilhern. Don’t take your loyalty too far, Julia.”
“And why shouldn’t I be loyal? They took me in when I was an orphan, educated me, and gave me everything. Where would I have been without them?” Julia felt the tears well in her eyes and took a deep breath to dispel them.
“I am only trying to say that you mustn’t let them treat you like you have no feelings—don’t look now, but Mr. Langdon is walking toward us.”
Julia’s whole body stiffened.
“Miss Mayson. Miss Grey.”
Julia turned to face him as Mr. Langdon gave them a small bow.
“Mr. Langdon.”
“Miss Grey, would you favor me with the next dance?”
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Langdon nodded and excused himself.
“Oh, Julia!” Felicity clasped Julia’s wrist. “He would never go looking for Phoebe to ask her to dance.”
He would never have to.
Julia’s mind was awhirl with conflicting thoughts. The music for the previous dance wa
s ending, so Julia gave the servant her cup. Remembering Mr. Edgerton’s earlier behavior, she whispered, “There are some things I must tell you. Will you be home tomorrow?”
“I shall wait for your visit with bated breath.”
Julia went to join Mr. Langdon for the next dance.
Placing her gloved hand in Mr. Langdon’s firm grip, she let him lead her onto the dance floor. This would be like any other dance with any other agreeable partner. She would enjoy the music, enjoy the dance, and focus on keeping her thoughts off her aunt’s embarrassing speech. Thank goodness the dance was a reel, so they would be moving too quickly to engage in conversation.
Julia concentrated as she skipped and skimmed over the polished floor, trying to appear as if she were enjoying the activity, still unable to return the gazes of the other ladies and gentlemen who may have heard what her aunt had said. She avoided Mr. Langdon’s eye too, at first, but eventually relaxed and nearly forgot, for a few moments, about her earlier humiliation.
He cut quite a dashing figure, straight and tall and yet graceful in his movements. He grasped her hand firmly to spin her around or to hold her hand high while she turned. He seemed almost to be studying her, and yet, not in an intrusive way.
Julia only hoped Phoebe was dancing with someone at this moment and that Felicity was wrong about him paying attention to her and inciting her aunt’s jealousy. Such an idea must be ludicrous.
When the dance was over, Mr. Langdon bowed and thanked her. “Dancing agrees with you,” he said.
Julia must have looked confused, because he said, “The activity brings out your smile and a healthy color in your cheeks, in a very becoming way.”
Julia stared at him, unsure how to respond. She didn’t want to be suspicious, but a sick dread rose up inside her. She would not have thought his words amiss on any other night, but tonight . . .
“Thank you. You are very kind. Please give my regards to your sister, Leorah.”
“You may give them to her yourself, for she is just behind you.”
Julia turned and found herself face to face with Mr. Langdon’s younger sister. They exchanged civilities, with Leorah regretting that she wouldn’t have the privilege of hearing Julia play and sing tonight. “You and my brother dance so well, it is a pleasure to watch you.” They discussed which dances were their favorites. Leorah declared she liked a Scottish reel best, and Julia the cotillion, though she enjoyed all types.
The next dance began, and Mr. Langdon asked Phoebe to be his partner. Thank goodness. Julia loved her cousin and wanted what was best for her, and she hoped Mr. Langdon might grow to care for her. After all, it would be a suitable match on both sides. And Mr. Langdon asking Phoebe to dance might help Julia’s aunt to no longer suspect that he felt an attachment to Julia.
As Julia and Leorah stood politely discussing various safe topics, Julia intermittently watched Phoebe, remembering what Felicity had said. For the moment, it didn’t seem so unlikely that Phoebe might inspire Mr. Langdon’s affections. He was smiling at her, looking much more interested than he had a few nights ago. He even seemed to take pains to speak to her at every opportunity during the dance. Perhaps Phoebe might win his affections after all.
A pang struck her, tightening her chest. If Julia had parents who loved her, if Julia had twenty thousand pounds . . . no, she could not let her mind go there. The very idea that she could feel jealous of Phoebe made her stomach churn.
Julia turned her attention away from Mr. Langdon and Phoebe and focused on what Leorah was saying.
Leorah had such an open temperament. Already Julia felt at ease with her, as if she could trust her. On a night when she had learned she couldn’t even trust her own aunt to care about her and be discreet, it was comforting to make a new friend.
Leorah must have been feeling something of the same, for she suddenly clasped Julia’s hand and squeezed it. “I like you, Julia.”
Julia stared into Leorah’s smiling face, startled at the girl’s frank confession.
“You strike me as a sensible person, and sweet too. I shall visit you tomorrow, and we shall talk of tonight’s ball.”
“I would like that very much.” Julia looked into Leorah’s eyes and believed she saw that tomboy Mr. Langdon had spoken of, hidden behind a forced decorum. She only hoped Phoebe would not become jealous of her new friendship with Mr. Langdon’s sister.
Nicholas had not been afforded a chance to ask Miss Grey any questions about her uncle—and he had not been inclined to, after the cruel way her aunt had spoken about her, and so publicly. But in dancing with Miss Wilhern, he planned to take advantage of the opportunity.
During a break in the dance, he asked Miss Wilhern, “Your father’s estate is in Warwickshire, I believe. Is it very cold there this time of year?” It was an inane question, but he hoped it would lead nicely to the next one.
“Oh no, it is not so very cold in Warwickshire, but the roads are deplorable after the winter rains.” She talked on while they waited for their turn in the round.
“The name Wilhern is of French origin, is it?” he asked when he finally got a chance.
“No, but my father does have some family from France. I’m afraid that branch of the family were all guillotined during Robespierre’s Reign of Terror.”
“How unfortunate.”
“My father, at one time, was negotiating with various political leaders to get the lands returned to him, at least some of them, as he is the nearest surviving relative. But I haven’t heard him speak of it for quite some time—at least a year.”
“That is very interesting.” Indeed, most interesting. He hadn’t had to try very hard at all to find out what he wanted to know. But now that he had the information he wanted, he changed the topic of conversation, asking her favorite thing about London in the spring. It was all the encouragement she needed to talk on and on about parties and balls and shopping for new gowns.
He had probably shown too much interest in her—and he had been so careful not to show undue interest in any young lady—but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to discover if her father had been the man behind his attack and the theft of the diary, or at least if he had a motive for betraying his country.
The code-breaking experts at the War Office had rather quickly deciphered the message of the diary after Nicholas had returned with the copy. The diary actually contained information about a plot to assassinate General Wellington and throw the British army into confusion, allowing Napoleon to sweep in and defeat them.
And now to find out that Robert Wilhern did indeed have a motive for helping the French—the recovery of his family’s ancestral property.
This sort of work was much more enjoyable than trekking all over the Peninsula and getting shot. He could actually make a difference in this war—although he did feel more than a twinge of guilt for paying undue attention to Miss Wilhern in order to possibly uncover her father’s traitorous activities. But surely his duplicity and ungentlemanly behavior was justified, since the fate of General Wellington, the army, and the country itself was at stake.
He even hoped Mr. Wilhern was the traitor he was looking for after hearing what Mrs. Wilhern had said about Miss Grey. The poor girl had turned white with embarrassment. Her aunt should have been protecting her instead of exposing her and her vulnerable situation. And then, his chest had burned at the way Edgerton had looked at her—like a wolf.
But he had to stay focused on the task at hand, which was to endear himself to Mr. Wilhern and his family, get as close to him as possible, and find out anything he could about what these traitors to England were planning. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by the lovely Miss Grey.
Julia came down the stairs the next morning, ready to call on Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy, as she did every Tuesday. A servant started up the stairs but stopped when she saw Julia coming down.
“Miss Leorah Langdon is here to see you, miss.”
“Show her into the drawing room.”
Juli
a was already in the room when Leorah entered.
“Were you on your way out?” Leorah saw Julia laying aside her bonnet.
“I am in no hurry. I often call on my old tutor and his wife, Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy, on Tuesdays.”
“Oh yes, Monsieur Bartholdy! You mentioned him last night.”
“Would you like to accompany me? I’m sure he would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“I would love to, but I cannot today. I have too many people I have to return calls to, but I wanted to see you.”
“Shall I get Phoebe? I’m sure she would wish to see you.” Phoebe would never forgive Julia if she spent time with Mr. Langdon’s sister and did not tell her.
“Oh no, don’t disturb her. I won’t be staying, but I did want to know the title of that song you sang here a few nights ago.”
They discussed music and songs, and Julia happily offered to let Leorah borrow some of her music.
After only a few minutes, Leorah politely took her leave, leaving Julia with a smile on her face.
No sooner had Leorah left than the servant announced Miss Felicity Mayson.
“Forgive me for being late,” Felicity said, slightly out of breath, “but I quite lost myself in reading Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest novel, The Italian. Have you read it, Julia?” Felicity asked.
“No. I read The Mysteries of Udolpho, but it was not to my taste.”
“Ah yes, you are much too sensible to read such novels, Julia, but I confess, Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels are my favorites.”
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