A Spy's Devotion (21 page)

“Of course.” Addressing Nicholas, Leorah said, “I’ll be here until you get back with Cora.”

He nodded and then hurried to catch up with the doctor, who was staring down at his feet as he descended the stairs.

“Pray, send your bill to me.”

“Nonsense. I’ll send the bill to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern with a stern note telling them they should take better care of their niece, poor girl.”

Nicholas could think of a few stern words he’d like to send them as well.

He made haste to ride back home and fetch Cora and Polly. When he told them both of Miss Grey’s terrible illness and how she had no one but the scullery maid to take care of her, they both clucked their tongues and muttered diatribes about the poor dear’s wretched lack of care and then hurried to collect enough things to stay away from home for a few nights.

“I will take very good care of her, don’t you worry, Mr. Nicholas.” Cora gazed at him with obvious compassion in her gray eyes. She even reached out and squeezed his arm.

Were his feelings so apparent? He’d thought he was hiding them, but Cora knew him too well. It hardly mattered who knew his strong regard for her if she should . . . But she would not die. She would recover. God would not let her die.

When Nicholas arrived at the Wilhern residence with Cora and Polly, he left the two of them with Kitty, who would show them where they could put their things. Then he climbed the stairs two at a time to Miss Grey’s door. He knocked softly and then opened it.

He couldn’t see Julia because the bed curtains hid her face, but Leorah walked toward him. “Are Cora and Polly here?” she whispered.

“Yes. How is she?”

“She’s sleeping.”

He walked toward the bed, determined to see her before he left. He pushed the bed curtain aside. Her face was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. But with her hair all about her face in a riot of dark, silky strands, she still looked beautiful. As he stared down at her, he became aware of a soft wheezing, and then a rattling, at regular intervals and realized the sound was coming from her chest as she breathed in and out.

“The poor thing is worn out,” Leorah whispered behind him. “So weak she couldn’t sit up. The coughing has kept her awake, but the doctor gave her laudanum to help her sleep.”

Nicholas couldn’t take his eyes off Julia.
God, please make her well. Make her strong. She is too beautiful, too brave and good, too young, to die.
She was far superior to any of the Wilherns, in character and every other way.

In fact, she was far superior to any girl he had ever met.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Nicholas paced the room, staring out the window where twilight had already fallen. Had the Wilherns deliberately left her here, alone, knowing she was ill?

But was Nicholas any better? He had left her in harm’s way and had gone days without ensuring she was still safe. Of course, it was dangerous for him to show any undue interest in her, but he should have been more attentive. He would not make that mistake again.

After Henrietta had run away and broken their engagement, he’d never thought he could feel so much for a woman again. But he hadn’t even known what love was then. Love had been little more than his attraction to a pretty face and a lovely smile and what he had thought was that lady’s innocence and artlessness. He had been easily duped. But Miss Grey was much more than a pretty face. She had sense and understanding, moral fiber and compassion. He did not like remembering how she had attempted to influence him to like her cousin, while at the same time trying to attract that insipid Mr. Dinklage. But how could he blame her? Julia’s family had assured her she was destined to be a governess. It wasn’t as if Nicholas had expressed any particular interest in her—or had much to offer her. He had vowed not to marry for quite a while.

He sat down at the pianoforte. How many times had Miss Grey sat at this instrument? How many hours had her fingers touched these keys and brought forth music? He sat on the bench and ran his hands over the instrument. Then he noticed the music. These were Miss Grey’s own original compositions. He’d never known she wrote her own music.

“Mr. Nicholas?” Cora stood in the doorway.

He leapt out of his seat. “Is she better? May I see her?”

“I believe she is a little better after her long sleep.” Cora moved slowly up the steps, pausing to look back at him. “We persuaded her to eat. It is a mercy and a blessing, for she can’t get her strength back without eating. Even her color is better.”

Nicholas was anxious to see for himself, so anxious that he passed Cora on his way up the stairs, unwilling to wait for her.

Inside Miss Grey’s room, which was rather dim as her bed was shaded from the light of the fireplace, he called out softly, “It is Nicholas Langdon. May I come in?”

There was a hesitation and then a soft, “Yes.”

He stepped to her bedside, and Miss Grey smiled up at him, making his heart thump hard against his chest.

“I am so sorry to have been such a bother to you and Leorah . . .” she began. She stopped and took a heaving breath, as if it were both painful and difficult to breathe.

“Please, Miss Grey. You could never be a bother. And pray don’t talk if it pains you.”

She motioned weakly toward her throat, as if to apologize for her difficulty. Nicholas grabbed her hand in both of his, causing a look of surprise to flit over her face. He leaned over her.

“We will take care of you. You shall get the best care possible. Our own physician shall call every day, and Cora and Polly will stay here with you as long as you need them.”

She stared up at him, her lips parted and tears in her eyes, as if he had grown wings and a halo. Was it so hard to believe that someone could show her kindness and want to take care of her? His heart clenched inside his chest. But then, noticing her eyelids beginning to droop, he suspected that Cora had given her some medicine and that she wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer.

Julia stared up at Mr. Langdon, the laudanum starting to pull her under again. She should ask him what was happening with the War Office and the information she had acquired for them. Instead, her heart fluttered at the sensations coming from his hand holding hers. It couldn’t be improper, since she was so sick.

He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in two days, but the dark shadow it created on his chin and above his lip was rugged and masculine and not without appeal. He stared down at her so intensely, she imagined she could feel his eyes delving into her own, infusing her with his compassion and warmth. His hand was so strong, and those brown eyes . . .

“Thank you,” she rasped, her eyelids closing.

Cora came into the room. Julia heard her voice as if it were coming from far away. She was in danger of saying something foolish if she spoke. But she forced her eyes back open so she could look at him again. He was still leaning over her, still holding her hand. His grip was warm and gentle.

Cora was saying something about her falling asleep, that sleep was good for her. She tried to stay awake for him. She hadn’t thanked him properly for bringing Cora and Polly and saving poor Kitty from caring for her by herself. But she couldn’t make her mouth work. She took one last look at him through half-closed eyelids.

A moment later, something soft and warm pressed against her forehead. It felt like a kiss.

After three days, Julia was still so weak she could hardly walk across her room before becoming exhausted. At least she no longer thought she was dying.

Leorah and Nicholas Langdon had called on her every day. They would talk to her and tell her not to speak, as talking made her cough. Finally, on the third day, Leorah left the room to go fetch a book for her, and Julia was alone with Nicholas Langdon.

He leaned closer to her and spoke softly, his beautiful brown eyes fixed on hers.

“Does Mr. Wilhern suspect that you are spying on him? Is that why they left you here with hardly anyone to take care of you?”

“He was suspicious after I took that paper and copied it. I believe that is why he told me I had to marry Mr. Edgerton by special license last Friday. But I got sick and . . .” She smiled. “I was given a reprieve.”

“He would have forced you to marry Edgerton?” Mr. Langdon ran a hand down his face.

“I would not have.” She paused as a coughing fit came upon her. Thankfully, it wasn’t as violent or as lengthy as before.

While Julia was coughing, Mr. Langdon’s brow creased.

“Don’t talk. I know the coughing is painful.” And as she stopped coughing, he asked, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

She shook her head. “I would have run away rather than marry Mr. Edgerton.”

“What if you could not have escaped? I cannot let them make you marry him. Perhaps I could make arrangements for you to go to the country in secret.”

Of course he must understand that secretly sending her to the country would alert the Wilherns that something very suspicious was going on, and it could ruin Julia’s reputation as well.

“When will the War Office people act?” she asked. “If they would apprehend my uncle and Mr. Edgerton . . .”

“I think they will wait a bit longer, as they want to be certain they know who their fellow conspirators are. It is an easy thing to arrest the four men as they board their ship to the Continent, but apprehending everyone else involved at the same moment so that they do not flee . . . that is a bit more difficult.”

Julia nodded. But it was very inconvenient for her. And yet . . . she dreaded the awful moment when poor Phoebe’s father would be charged with treason. No doubt all his assets would be seized, and Phoebe would become fatherless and penniless at the same time.

Which was why Julia had sent a letter inquiring about the governess position in Suffolk. Phoebe’s Bath relations would surely take her in, or some of her other relations, but Julia would need to have a position to go to right away.

But this was not Mr. Langdon’s responsibility, nor even something he needed to know. To tell him would be to ask for his help, and that would be improper—a young unmarried woman asking the help of a young unmarried man who was wholly unconnected to her.

“But I promise,” Mr. Langdon said, leaning even closer to her, her heart fluttering at the concern in his eyes, “I shall keep a closer watch on you. I would never forgive myself if your uncle did something evil to you.”

He stared down at her hand lying on the coverlet. His hand moved toward it, as if about to clasp hers, and then stopped. “I want you to know that—”

The door opened. Mr. Langdon withdrew his hand and sat back, a strange look on his face, as Leorah came into the room and held up the book.

“I found it. It was in the music room.” She paused, staring at her brother, and then smiled a slow, knowing smile. She stepped forward and gave the book to Julia. “I hope you will be well enough to enjoy reading it.”

“I’m sure I shall. Thank you.”

The atmosphere was suddenly awkward as Leorah seemed to look at her brother with both amusement and approval. But surely Leorah knew that her brother could not have an interest in marrying Julia. He had no fortune, and Julia was destined to be a governess. But Leorah was the kind of person to believe that anything was possible. Julia’s life had taught her to be more practical.

Two days later, Leorah was sitting by Julia’s bed. Leorah said some cheerful words about the weather and the fact that the Season would soon be over and she would be returning to her family’s country estate in Lincolnshire.

But Julia was thinking about how much Leorah and Mr. Langdon had done for her. They had even loaned their footman, Barnes, to spend every night in the house so that they were not without a male protector.

“I am so grateful to you, Leorah,” Julia said, “and to your entire family, for all you have done for me while I’ve been sick.”

“You are a most delightful girl, Julia, and it is my pleasure to take charge of you—mine and my brother’s, Cora’s, and Polly’s. If you thought for a moment that we do not wish to care for you as our very own, then you are gravely mistaken.” She said these last words so softly, so tenderly, that Julia couldn’t help but believe her. But had Leorah truly meant to include her brother when she said they were pleased to take charge of her? Julia hadn’t seen Mr. Langdon for the last two days.

“People may hear of my illness. Word could get back to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern, and they will wonder why I haven’t written.”

“You are not well enough to write, Julia. Depend upon it, when they discover how seriously ill you have been, and how you were left nearly alone in the house, they will be wracked with remorse.”

Would they? She had always longed for their love, had tried so hard to earn it by being good and prudent and respectable, by helping Phoebe in every possible way, by showing she was grateful to them for taking her in and providing every advantage of society and education.

Now the prospect of their love was impossible, as she had betrayed them so completely by turning over evidence of Mr. Wilhern’s treasonous activities.

“You must rest and recover from this. When you are quite well you shall come visit me in Lincolnshire, and I shall visit you and Phoebe in Warwickshire.”

Julia expressed her joy at the prospect of the visits, but of course, it could never be.