A Spy's Devotion (11 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Season was well underway. Phoebe had been despondent the past few days as Mr. Langdon had not been amongst the guests at the last two balls they’d attended. Had he returned to his regiment in the Peninsula?

The next Tuesday, Julia scanned the street for Mr. Langdon’s familiar face as she and Miss Appleby, Felicity’s spinster aunt, who was taking Felicity’s place as her visiting companion, made their way down Bishopsgate Street to visit the Bartholdys. She wasn’t
hoping
to see Mr. Langdon, precisely. She was only curious, for Phoebe’s sake, and wanted to find out if he had quitted London or would be turning up at the next ball. But did this explain the way her heart fluttered when she saw a hat ahead that looked like Mr. Langdon’s? The way she held her breath until she saw it wasn’t him after all?

It didn’t mean anything. Why would she
want
to see a man who had such a penchant for teasing her, especially about Mr. Dinklage? Certainly Mr. Langdon had learned by now that Mr. Dinklage had thrown her over because of his mother’s disapproval, and that Mrs. Dinklage had sent him away for the rest of the Season to keep him safe from her.

Safe from me.
How ludicrous
. But if he married Julia and was cast off by his mother, she would settle the estate upon his younger brother, and he who had been destined for wealth would forever be poor—because of her.

She’d never truly wanted him. So why had she flirted with him?

“Believe me, Mr. Dinklage,” Julia muttered under her breath, “you are safe.”

“Did you say something, Julia?” Miss Appleby asked.

“No, I was only . . . no.”

“You seem very preoccupied lately. Are you sure all is well?”

“Oh yes, very well, Miss Appleby. And you? How are your new spectacles working for you?”

“Very well. I can read much faster now.”

Julia nodded, her mind going back to Mr. Dinklage and why she had flirted with him.

It was because she was afraid. She wanted security, respectability, and safety from poverty. So how could she blame him for wanting the same things, things only the retaining of his wealth could give him? No, she did not blame him.

“Oh, Mr. Langdon,” Miss Appleby cried.

Julia drew in a quick breath as she looked up into Mr. Langdon’s dark eyes.

“Miss Appleby. Miss Grey. Forgive me for startling you.” Though Julia noted that the way the corners of his mouth quirked upward did not indicate remorse.

“How strange that we should meet you here again, Mr. Langdon. Do you have, er, business in this part of town?” Perhaps her question was impertinent, but Julia hoped he would tell what he did there.

“I do, Miss Grey.” He smiled.

When it became clear that he wouldn’t say anything more, she said, “But you will not tell us what that business is.”

“I think it best that I not. Perhaps someday . . . perhaps.”

She would
not
let her mind speculate on what he meant by that.

Ahead of them on the street, a commotion seemed to be moving their way. Julia had been warned by the coachman that an unruly mob could crush and maltreat her if she went down this street unescorted, but nothing of the sort had ever come close to happening. But as the noise increased, three men emerged into view, all of them holding on to each other, stumbling, and singing a bawdy drinking song in loud, slurred voices.

Mr. Langdon tightened his grip on her elbow. The three men were almost upon them, but because of the number of people surrounding them, there was nowhere to go to get out of their way. One and then another of the men focused his bloodshot eyes on Julia and Miss Appleby, the only well-dressed young ladies on the street, leering grins spreading over their faces. The man in the lead licked his lips.

Mr. Langdon stepped in front of Julia and Miss Appleby, who began making mewling sounds and muttering, “Oh dear, oh dear. Heaven help us.”

“Well, look ’ere, me lads,” one of the men said. “There be ladies in our midst.” He peered around Mr. Langdon’s shoulder at Julia.

“Move along, gents,” Mr. Langdon said in a friendly voice. “My sisters and I need to pass.”

Julia forgave him the lie and even silently blessed him for it, under the circumstances.

The inebriated man’s saggy jowls drew up in a face-splitting grin. “A real gentleman it is, bless me soul. What say you, lads? Should we let ’im and ’is sisters pass?”

The strong smell of spirits invaded Julia’s nostrils, and she covered her nose with her gloved hand.

“P’raps they that come this way should pay a toll to them what lives ’ere,” the man’s companion added, swaying precariously and lolling against the other man’s shoulder.

“Move along, and step aside for the ladies.” Mr. Langdon’s voice sounded different, firm, with an edge of warning.

The supposed leader of the three inebriated men glanced to the left and right at his friends. “I s’pose this ’ere gentleman thinks ’e can best the three of us. Shall we show ’im what ’earty fellows we be?”

“Aye, aye!” they roared.

The man in the lead held up his fist and took a swing in their direction.

Mr. Langdon leaned away from the drunken man, who missed his mark entirely. The would-be assailant was thrown off balance by his exaggerated swing and began to stumble to one side. His openmouthed friends caught his arms to keep him from sprawling to the street.

The crowd backed away to avoid the potential brawl, and Mr. Langdon gracefully sidestepped the men and ushered Julia and Miss Appleby along in front of him.

Once they were past them, Mr. Langdon turned to tip his hat at the ragged accosters.

“Excuse us, gentlemen.”

The three men gaped stupidly at them. Mr. Langdon, Julia, and Miss Appleby walked briskly. Julia glanced backward, but the men were moving along down the opposite way.

“Thank you, Mr. Langdon.”

“Oh yes, you quite saved us, Mr. Langdon. I was so frightened, I nearly fainted. We are so obliged to you.” Miss Appleby pressed a hand to her throat.

“Think nothing of it, ladies.”

A warmth spread over Julia at the sound of his voice and the smile on his lips. Other men might have refused to speak to the drunken men and forced their way past them. Some might have yelled for the nearest constable and made an even bigger commotion. Others might have physically beaten the weaker, inebriated men and left them bleeding in the street. No one could have faulted these actions. But Mr. Langdon had left the ragged men their dignity—what little they could claim—while protecting her and Miss Appleby quite gallantly.

There was no look of haughty pride on his face, only a calm confidence.

But why was he again strolling through this part of town? Julia had heard it whispered that men sometimes came to the East Side of town for licentious activities. The question remained: What was he doing here?

There seemed only one way to find out; she would have to follow him.

“I do believe we have arrived at your destination, ladies. I shall return to escort you back to your coachman in half an hour.”

“Oh no, that won’t be neces—”

“I must insist, I’m afraid, after our little incident a moment ago. And so I shall return.” He tipped his hat to Julia and then waited for her to ring the bell at the Bartholdys’. She did so and then smiled and nodded farewell to Mr. Langdon when the servant let her inside.

As soon as the servant closed the door, Julia impulsively whispered to Miss Appleby, “Please tell Monsieur and Madame that I shall return in a few minutes.”

Before Miss Appleby could protest, Julia quickly let herself back out the door just in time to see Mr. Langdon turn the corner to the right. She followed after him, hurrying quietly to the corner, peeking around it, and then scurrying after him while keeping her distance.

What would she tell him if he caught her? She could tell him the Bartholdys sent her on an errand. But no, she couldn’t tell him a blatant lie.

He walked to the next corner and turned right again. A brick building was straight ahead. It looked to be an old residence, its façade crumbling. A sign over the door read
C
HILDREN
’
S
A
ID
M
ISSION
. Mr. Langdon strode up to the door, opened it, and went inside.

Children’s Aid Mission?
What was Mr. Langdon doing at a charity mission for children? She could hardly imagine.

“Miss Julia!”

Julia spun around to see Henry Lee at her side. She pressed her hand against her chest to keep her pounding heart from running away as her face heated guiltily.

“Henry. You startled me.”

“I was on my way to the mission. I come here every day.”

“And Mr. Langdon? Does he come here every Tuesday?”

“Course. Mr. Langdon comes to play with us lads. He is a most excellent ball player. Have you come to play tea party with the girls?”

“I’m afraid not, Henry.”

She glanced up to make sure Mr. Langdon wasn’t watching her. She didn’t see him anywhere, so she turned her attention back to the little boy. He had such large brown eyes. Even with one tooth missing in front, and his clothing worn and faded, he was an adorable child.

“Henry, why does Mr. Langdon come here to the mission? I don’t quite understand
. . .
”

“He comes to play ball with us, as I said, miss.” Henry looked quizzically at her, cocking his head to one side and then nodding like a wise old man, as if a new thought had come to him. “Now you say it, I do think Mr. Langdon and Mr. Wilson, the parson who runs the mission, are old chums. Mr. Langdon wants to help his friend, I s’pose, and he likes playing with us, so he comes here to the mission. He gives us a few coins sometimes too. He’s a good bloke, Miss Julia.”

Julia swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and hurried to say, “Oh, I’m sure he likes playing with you very much, Henry. You are a fine lad, to be sure.”

“Miss Grey.”

Julia jumped and whirled around. Mr. Langdon stood just behind her, an accusatory half frown on his lips.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Though Mr. Langdon frowned, a glint of humor sparkled in his eye. A red-haired gentleman stood beside him.

“I was—” Julia tried to catch her breath. “I was talking with Henry, but I must be going back to the Bartholdys’—”

“Miss Grey, may I introduce my friend and the director of the Children’s Aid Mission, Mr. John Wilson.” Mr. Langdon spoke the words stiffly, as though suppressing his true thoughts.

Julia forced herself to be composed and nodded, meeting Mr. Wilson’s clear blue eyes. “How do you do?”

Mr. Wilson bowed. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Grey.” Amusement and surprise flickered over his boyish face. “I shall leave you two to converse.” He looked down at Henry. “Shall we see what mischief the other children are getting into?”

Henry nodded and took Mr. Wilson’s hand as they walked toward the redbrick building.

Julia felt her face tingling as she delayed meeting Mr. Langdon’s gaze for as long as possible.

“You were spying on me.” The surprise in his voice was unmistakable. “Miss Grey, this is most shocking. I had thought your purpose for coming to the East Side was to visit your dear music instructor, Mr. Bartol—”

“Mr. Langdon, you overstep your bounds with your insinuations.” Julia drew herself up with as much fake dignity as she could muster.

“Come now, Miss Grey. You must admit to following me. What were you hoping to discover?” His look was piercing.

She felt herself blushing furiously. Of course, he had caught her, and she’d be lying if she denied it, but it was most ungentlemanly of him to say so. Should he not be flattered that she had followed him? She might have expected him to tease her and laugh at her silliness in following him. Instead, he looked at her as if she had truly done something wrong.

“Hoping to discover? Why, nothing. That is, you would not tell me your business in the East Side, and I did not know any other way of finding you out.” She longed most fervently to disappear, or to at least wake up and find that she had been dreaming. Why had she let her curiosity get the better of her?

“Now that you have found me out, and now that you know where I go . . .”

“I shall not speak of it,” Julia said quickly. “If that is your wish.”

There was a spark of suspicion in his eye, reminding her of how he had snuck into her uncle’s study. But even though his purpose here today was innocently visiting a mission to play with children, that certainly was not what he had been doing in her uncle’s study. Was he involved in something nefarious? Was that why he looked at her with suspicion in his eyes now? Or did he have a good reason for sneaking into her uncle’s study?

“Thank you, Miss Grey.” He touched her hand, curving his fingers lightly around hers, and lifted it to his lips.

He was not like the other privileged gentlemen of the ton that she was acquainted with. She couldn’t imagine any one of them playing with poor children, or going through her uncle’s study, for that matter. “Will you tell me why?” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Why you come here to play with children?”

His gaze was intent as he seemed to be searching her face for something. “I come to see my friend, Mr. Wilson, and because the children enjoy seeing me. I rather like seeing them as well.” Then he took hold of her hand again and placed it on his arm. “Let me escort you back to the Bartholdys’.”

They walked in silence for a few moments before Mr. Langdon said, “I think you, Miss Grey, of all my acquaintances, might understand.”

Of course
she
understood. She was an orphan. She was an object of pity at best, scorn at worst, almost as surely as these little neglected children whose lives he tried to brighten. Did he pity her the way he pitied these children? For some reason, the thought made heat rise to her cheeks again. But she was being silly. She had been educated and given a life of privilege and leisure. Her circumstance was blessed beyond anything these poor children of the East Side experienced. He probably was only referring to her friendship with little Henry.

When they arrived back at the Bartholdys’ home, Mr. Langdon stopped Julia a few feet from the door. “Were you truly so curious to see where I was going?” He was smiling again in his teasing way.

Julia smiled too, pretending to make a joke of it. “I suppose I must have a bit of a craving for espionage. But you left me no choice but to spy upon you, since you were so stubbornly determined not to share your secret with me.”

His brown eyes were warm and probing at the same time. “This is a new side of you, Miss Grey.” His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. “A pact,” he said, holding out his right hand to her, “never to divulge the other’s secret.”

Julia and Mr. Langdon shook hands like two gentlemen sealing a business agreement. So why then did the touch of his hand send warmth all the way up her arm and make her dwell on things that could never be?

Yet another ball. Perhaps it was only the rain that made Julia dread exiting the coach and entering the town house of their hosts for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Fortescue, who were trying to get their two daughters married off. But she could avoid neither the ball nor the rain.

Phoebe sat across from her, adjusting her bonnet, while Aunt Wilhern sat in the corner, looking more alert than she had all day. Her aunt and cousin alighted, and Julia followed.

The Fortescues stood at the head of the receiving line, smiling as though they were anxious to please but not sure how to go about it. They had invited every eligible oldest son in London, as well as a few younger sons with good prospects for either the church or a military career. They’d only invited the Wilherns, Julia, and the other young ladies so as not to be talked of badly—and as bait for all the gentlemen.

Julia would, of course, be as pleasant and agreeable as she always was, no matter what she was thinking, as polite society dictated.

She glanced around the room and was pleased to see Felicity Mayson not far away. But a moment later, Mr. Edgerton turned from speaking to Felicity, and a smile spread across his face as he locked eyes with Julia.

Felicity turned back to Mr. Edgerton, no doubt to distract him so Julia could lose herself in the crowd. Julia quickly set out to do just that.

She worked her way through the press of people, exchanging polite greetings with acquaintances but continuing to move, as though she had an important destination. She took a moment to glance behind her, but she didn’t see Mr. Edgerton.

When she turned around again, she bumped into someone. “Excuse me, I’m terribly—”

“Excuse me, Miss—” Mr. Dinklage stopped when he saw to whom he was speaking. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his cheeks went pale and then just as quickly turned red.

“Mr. Dinklage. Good evening. I trust you are well?”

He swallowed again before saying, “Miss Grey. I am well, I thank you. And you are well? And your family?”

“We are all well. How very kind of you to ask.”

Mr. Dinklage blinked repeatedly and seemed unable to look her in the eye. “I must go . . . to get some refreshment . . . for my mother.” He blushed even redder at the reference to his mother, and she believed he would have sunk beneath the floor if he could have.

“I bear you no ill will, Mr. Dinklage,” Julia said softly. “Let us be friends. Shall we?”

Finally looking her in the eye in a most grateful way, he grasped her hand. “Thank you, Miss Grey. You are too good, I am sure.” Tears seemed to well up in his eyes. “Better than I deserve. Please forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

Julia gave a tug on her hand, hoping to escape the man before too many people noticed them talking so quietly or overheard them. Besides that, she didn’t want to see him cry.

Finally, he let go of her hand.

“Excuse me,” she said as she turned away from Mr. Dinklage and nearly bumped into—

“Mr. Langdon.” She couldn’t help smiling but then saw that he was eyeing her with raised brows.

“Miss Grey.”

Would he tease her about Mr. Dinklage? He seemed about to but instead said, “Would you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me?”

Julia nodded but then immediately felt guilty at the pleasure his asking her to dance afforded her. She must not appear to enjoy his company so much. She tried to suppress her smile and behave as she would if she were dancing with any other gentleman present.

His hand was warm on her back, his other hand firm but gentle on hers as he pressed it. Her cousin Phoebe would be devastated to know that Julia thought about Mr. Langdon every day, even when she tried not to, and that on Tuesdays, Julia looked forward more to meeting him on the street than to actually calling on the Bartholdys.

Forgive me, God.

Julia took her place on the dance floor opposite her handsome partner, for he was especially well looking tonight with his dark coat and snow-white neckcloth against his sun-darkened skin and side whiskers as black as a chimney sweep’s.

Something caught Julia’s eye, and she glanced to her right. Aunt Wilhern sat with such a scowl on her face that Julia was assaulted with a stab of guilt.

The joy instantly drained from the dance. Did Aunt Wilhern think Julia and Mr. Langdon were being flirtatious? He certainly never wore that smile when he danced with Phoebe. What if her aunt and uncle believed Mr. Langdon was enamored of Julia? Would her uncle cast her out of the house? Even Phoebe wouldn’t defend her when given a choice between Julia and Mr. Langdon.

Mr. Langdon danced masterfully, graceful for one so tall and broad shouldered. Julia watched his face but refused to smile back at him. She pictured him married to Phoebe, the two of them content together. If such an event took place, Julia would be practically his sister. In that event, she could speak freely with him, friend to friend, and not even her Aunt Wilhern could criticize or resent her then. That thought was not unpleasant.

But of course, the idea of his marrying Phoebe was not quite as far-fetched as it had once seemed. He did sometimes seem to show a bit of a preference for her cousin. Therefore, Julia would need to be extra careful how she conducted herself with the man. She couldn’t control the way he looked at her, however, and the way he was looking at her could very well be the reason for her aunt’s scowl.

As soon as the dance was over Julia would get well away from him. Her aunt couldn’t possibly be angry with her for simply dancing with the man. He danced with many young ladies. It wasn’t as if he had asked to dance with her a second time.

He gave her a questioning glance, and as they waited for their turn, he observed, “You don’t seem to be enjoying the dance. You are not unwell, are you?”

“Oh no, I am well. That is, I am enjoying the exercise.”

“But not the company?”

“Don’t be silly.” Julia gave him a small smile. “You are a very pleasant partner, Mr. Langdon, as you well know.”

“Were you disturbed by seeing Mr. Dinklage? Forgive me if my question is impertinent.”

Was that what he thought? “Mr. Dinklage is an acquaintance I am pleased to hear well of. As you know, he had hoped we would be more than mere acquaintances, but that is not to be, and it is just as well, as we would not have suited each other.”

“Oh no?”

“No.”

“He didn’t seem as convinced of that as you.”

“But that does not signify.” Julia lifted her chin a notch. “All has ended as it should have.”

This was somber subject matter, which was just as she could have hoped. She didn’t want her aunt to see her laughing and smiling at Mr. Langdon. Let her see them both looking rather grim.

“But poor Mr. Dinklage. How will he ever recover sufficiently to love again?”

Julia coughed to cover up the laugh that threatened to escape. Something about his tone amused Julia in a most uncompassionate manner.
Oh dear.
The thought of Mr. Dinklage in a decline, unable to recover for love of her, was certainly nothing to laugh about. She felt a return of her guilt when she remembered the tears that had welled up in his eyes a few moments before.

“Mr. Langdon, you are being unkind.”

“Am I? Forgive me for my insensitivity to poor Mr. Dinklage.” He made a moue of mock remorse.

Julia had to force herself to look away. He was so naughty! How could she laugh? How could she not?

The dance ended, and Mr. Langdon escorted her toward the row of dowagers where her aunt sat. Phoebe accosted him with some question while Julia excused herself and moved away.

Felicity was coming toward her, her eyes fairly sparkling.

“Felicity, what is the news I see on your face?”

Taking hold of her arm, Felicity whispered, “Mr. Edgerton and I were just having a most interesting conversation—about you.”

“Oh, Felicity, you know I cannot abide the man.”

“But he had the most complimentary things to say about you, Julia. He said you were the loveliest lady of his acquaintance and that he only wished you would deign to speak to him. He praised your intelligence, your musical talent, and your gracefulness. Perhaps you should at least dance with him.”

“Felicity,” Julia leaned close, not wishing anyone to hear her words, “My uncle has put a great deal of pressure on me to marry Mr. Edgerton. But I do not wish to marry him.”