A Spy's Devotion (7 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Julia placed her hand over her heart, which was beating as fast as the firecracker explosions outside.

Her uncle’s study door was opening. She stared down the hall, straining her eyes to see who would emerge. But she already knew. Mr. Langdon had slipped into her uncle’s study as she had been coming back from her room, to which she had retired to repair a bit of lace that had come unsewn from her cuff, to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. The sight of him sneaking into her uncle’s favorite room was so strange, she had frozen in place. After all, why was Mr. Langdon going into her uncle’s study, alone, during a party? Was he lost? But if he’d made a mistake, he would have immediately come out.

A few seconds later, her uncle had stomped down the hall, a strained expression on his face. The look made a lump come into her throat, but when he stepped toward the study door, something caused her to call out to him and stop him. She’d stammered and then asked, “Have the men already rejoined the ladies? It seems very early for that.”

She rarely made conversation with Uncle Wilhern. At first he didn’t even look at her, glancing distractedly up and down the hall. But then, he stared hard at her and asked her if she’d seen anyone walking in the hall.

Her answer had not been a lie exactly. She had not seen Mr. Langdon walking in the hall. She’d only seen a glimpse of him entering the study. She wasn’t sure what made her withhold that bit of information from her uncle, except perhaps that she didn’t want Mr. Langdon to experience her uncle’s gruffness. He could be quite impolite when he was angry. At the very least, it would have been awkward for Mr. Langdon, and something made her want to protect him.

Now he was leaving the study. She peeked at him over her shoulder as he very gently closed the study door. He turned in her direction and his eyes met hers.

He froze in midstep. His mouth opened and then closed, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Miss Grey,” he said and then cleared his throat. “I got lost looking for the retiring room, and then I heard some loud noises from the street outside.” He closed the distance between them and smiled.

Something seemed to pass between them in that moment, as if he saw in her face that she knew he was not telling the truth. There was tension around his mouth as he stared into her eyes as if trying to delve into her thoughts, questioning whether she would reveal his secret.

“Nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” She smiled up at his handsome face, cast partially into shadow in the dark hall. “I hope it didn’t remind you . . .” She stopped herself. How ill mannered of her to bring up his injuries. But she had to finish her sentence. “Of the war.”

“Not at all.” He made a small gesture with his hand. “War memories do not plague me when I am in pleasant company.”

He smiled benignly, but a flicker of some inscrutable emotion crossed his face, and she suspected, once again, that he wasn’t being entirely truthful with her. Was he plagued with painful memories of the fighting, of getting shot and wounded, of his friends dying? How could he not be? A pang of sympathy pierced her chest.

He held out his arm to her. “I shall escort you back to the ladies.”

She took his arm, a warmth steeling over her—which caused her to remember Phoebe and how jealous she would be to know that Julia had been enjoying Mr. Langdon’s attention. Fortunately, he gave her a small bow just outside the drawing room door and left her there.

Nicholas had to be cautious not to excite Mr. Wilhern’s suspicions. When he came back in from investigating the firecrackers in the street, Mr. Wilhern’s brows were lowered and his jaw twitched. But he changed his expression as soon as someone asked him what he had found outside.

“Firecrackers. Only some mischievous lad, I suppose.”

Once, after Nicholas had been staring down at his glass and glanced up, he’d caught Wilhern giving him a hard look.

After adjourning to the drawing room to join the ladies, Edgerton went straight to Miss Grey’s side. His cheeks were flushed from too much drinking, but surely he wouldn’t harass Miss Grey with so many people around.

Nicholas would keep an eye on him and make certain.

Other than making sure Edgerton behaved himself, Nicholas had no further agenda for the evening. He could not risk looking for the diary again tonight, though he still suspected Wilhern was the man who had sent the thugs to steal the diary from him. How strange to think a respected member of British society, a landed gentleman, could be a traitor to his country.

Nicholas would need to report to the War Office.

Miss Grey was leaning away from Edgerton. The man was obviously making her uncomfortable. And by the way her nose wrinkled, she could clearly smell the brandy on his breath.

During a sudden lull in the conversation, their host asked Nicholas, “How are your injuries healing?”

Almost everyone’s eyes were on him now.

“Thank you, I am improving.”

“How soon will you be returning to your regiment? The army doesn’t normally allow its soldiers to be away from service for long.”

“You are correct, sir.” He thought carefully about his answer. “I am still healing, but I’m sure to be sent back to the Peninsula soon. For tonight, it is very pleasant to be enjoying the sort of company I shall be deprived of when I am back with my troop. I had rather hoped I might hear some music.”

“Oh yes,” Miss Wilhern exclaimed. “Julia can play and the rest of us can dance.” She fastened her eyes on him.

His first thought was that Miss Grey would like to dance just as much as her cousin. At least Miss Grey sitting at the pianoforte would keep Edgerton from leaning too close to her and trying to have a private conversation with her, as he had been doing all night.

Miss Grey went to the instrument, and Nicholas could see that Miss Wilhern wished him to ask her to dance. He could hardly avoid it, so he did. The other young ladies were soon paired up, but Edgerton kept his seat—he was probably too inebriated to dance.

Nicholas danced once with each of the young ladies—all four of them—and then he sat next to Edgerton. The others soon sat as well, and someone asked Miss Grey to sing. Truly, her voice was one of the best he had ever heard.

He thought back to when she had seen him coming out of Wilhern’s study. Would she tell his secret? If Wilhern had ordered those men to steal the diary from Nicholas, the man might realize that Nicholas was looking for it. He couldn’t trust Miss Grey enough to confess what he was doing and ask her not to tell, so he simply had to hope that she wouldn’t expose him.

After Miss Grey sang, the party began to break up, and people started to say their good-byes to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern. Nicholas would have been the first person out the door, but he wanted to be sure Edgerton did not try anything untoward with Miss Grey. But by that time, Edgerton was almost falling asleep standing up, so Nicholas was able to take him in hand, usher him out the door, and put him in his carriage without much protest.

In regard to his goals, the night had not been very successful. But perhaps Miss Grey would prove to be a better ally than he had imagined.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Julia wandered down to the drawing room the next morning to play the pianoforte, where she often did her best contemplating.

As she sat at the instrument and began to play, she again pondered why Mr. Langdon had been in her uncle’s study. Could it have had something to do with what she heard Mr. Edgerton and her uncle talking about at the ball a week ago? Something about a diary. His excuse of getting lost looking for the retiring room did not ring true.

Soon after, Mr. Edgerton had claimed her attention. She very much disliked speaking to anyone who had been drinking as much as he had, and she was aware that she should not allow herself to be caught alone with him. Mr. Langdon’s presence had made her feel a bit safer. He was so gentlemanly, she imagined he had noticed Mr. Edgerton’s inebriated state and was keeping watch.

Mr. Edgerton had told her, when no one else was listening, that he was not the destitute debtor that society’s rumors had proclaimed him. “I am in a very fair way, or soon will be, to marry and purchase my own estate.”

Could the reports of his gaming debts have been so inflated? Where could he have attained a fortune? Perhaps it was only the brandy making him say such things.

“Julia, may I speak with you a moment?”

Her uncle’s voice brought her back to the present, and she stopped playing. He stood in the doorway, his brows lowered in a way that made her heart skip two beats.

“Of course.”

“Come into the study with me.”

She rose from the pianoforte and preceded her uncle.

Uncle Wilhern motioned for her to sit opposite his usual chair. Julia sat and forced her hands to stay still in her lap. Her uncle stared at her, unblinking. Normally he occupied himself with business when he was home, and he wasn’t home that often. When they were residing in London, he spent a lot of time at his club, and when they were in the country, he was often shooting with a party of men, riding, or going to town on business.

Julia had always believed her uncle loved her in his own way. But had he ever felt any tender feelings for her, the kind a father would feel for a child? He never expressed any affection for her, but he paid little attention to his own daughter, and yet no one doubted that he loved Phoebe. He had taken Julia in, as his wife’s brother’s child, giving her all the advantages of a good education and good society. But now, observing him as he was observing her, she saw a coldness in his eyes that she never saw when he looked at Phoebe.

His stare remained hard as he stated, “It is my pleasure to tell you, Julia, that a gentleman has asked to marry you.”

Julia sat still, trying to absorb the meaning of his words. “No one has declared himself to me.” She swallowed. “Forgive me, Uncle, but I am astonished.”

“Can you not guess the young man? Surely you have noticed his attentions to you.”

Mr. Dinklage first came to mind, but she couldn’t imagine him having the courage to speak to her uncle, and he was even less likely to brave his mother’s disapproval. Mr. Langdon came unbidden to her thoughts, but of course, it could not be. He had shown no preference for her. Mr. Edgerton . . . yes, it must be he, although she wished it weren’t. Oh, what could she say? Her uncle no doubt thought she would be foolish not to accept him. Her hands started to tremble.

“Since you will not venture a guess,” her uncle said, pacing slowly from one side of his desk to the other, his hands behind his back, “I shall tell you. Mr. Hugh Edgerton. He is a gentleman and will be able, in a few weeks, to support you very well. He will arrive soon in anticipation of your answer.”

“Uncle, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“What do you mean you don’t know what to say?” The hardness crept into his voice. “You will accept him.”

“I—I am sorry, Uncle. I am very sorry to disappoint anyone, but I cannot accept him.”

Her uncle stopped and scowled at her from across his desk. “What? Can’t accept him? You had better have a very good reason for refusing a gentleman whose interest in you is obviously earnest. He does you a great honor, as you have no fortune at all.” He leaned over his desk, his eyes wide, his jaw twitching.

A trickle of perspiration made its way down Julia’s back, between her shoulder blades. “I do not love Mr. Edgerton, and I have doubts about his character.”

“What doubts could you have about his character?” His lip curled as his tone turned biting. “You, who have no other prospects at all. What reasonable objections could you have to his character?”

She could not avoid answering the question without appearing to defy her uncle. Her heart beat hard and fast against her chest. The thin muslin of her dress clung to her back and shoulders, even though the fire in the study was small. “He has done nothing perverse that I can say with conviction or that I know of personally. It is only a feeling that I have when I look into his eyes, that his thoughts are not those of a gentleman. And there are rumors of his gambling and debts. I do not wish to criticize any gentleman, but he also drinks too much . . . on occasion.”

Was it her imagination, or had her uncle’s eyes suddenly become bloodshot?

“And what if he does have a few vices? What gentleman does not have a few gaming debts and occasionally drinks too much? Are you so fine that you can look down your nose at the one man who is asking for your hand in marriage?”

Julia felt the blood drain from her face at her uncle’s words. She could no longer meet his hard stare, and he turned his back on her.

Dear heavenly host, what could she possibly say? She’d rather become a governess than marry Mr. Edgerton. But her uncle’s words made her feel as if she were being ungrateful by refusing to marry him. Perhaps marriage to the man would not be so terrible. But she could not resign herself to marry someone she felt no affection for, someone who filled her with mistrust. It was too abhorrent, the thought of giving herself, mind and body, to a man she did not love. She simply could not do it.

But the thought of her uncle being angry with her, thinking less of her than she had ever believed he could . . . Tears pricked her eyes.

She blinked and fought them back. This was no time to give in to weakness and emotional displays. Her uncle would respect her even less than he already did.

He went on, keeping his back to her. “I believe I know what is best for you, and it is my wish, as your guardian, that you marry this young man.”

“Please forgive me, Uncle. You must know that I have always, and still do, wish to please you in every possible way that does not violate my conscience. I . . .”

“Your aunt and I took you in when you had no other place to go.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Yes, sir, and I’m very grateful to you and Aunt.” The tears were encroaching again. “You have been the utmost in charity and kindness, and I—”

“I gave you all the same advantages my own daughter enjoyed.”

“Yes, sir, and I am terribly mindful of that, very thankful and mindful.”

“Then why do you defy me now with the insinuation that the man who wishes to marry you, and to whom I have already given my approval, is not good enough for you? Does that smack of gratitude, I ask you?”

Julia’s face went hot, and her stomach sank. She clasped her damp hands together to keep them from trembling. “I never meant—”

“What high and lofty ambitions are you expecting out of life, Miss Grey?”

She forced herself to meet her uncle’s hard stare. “I have no high and lofty ambitions. My aunt has made it quite clear that I have no choice but to be sent away to be someone’s governess.”

“I should think, if that be the case, that you would be very grateful for a gentleman’s offer such as Mr. Edgerton’s.”

Perhaps this was why her aunt had made such humiliating statements about Julia. Perhaps they had planned to make her feel forced into marriage to Mr. Edgerton. But why?

“Do you doubt his ability to support you?”

“I doubt his ability to secure my affections. I regret that it is so, but it is, and it violates my conscience to marry someone I do not love and could not respect.”

The way her uncle looked at her . . . her mind was flooded with the memory: She was seven years old and had only just come to live with the Wilherns. She was standing on the front lawn when her uncle’s horse threw him. She’d been paralyzed with fear that her uncle might have been killed or seriously hurt.

Mr. Wilhern had picked himself off the ground and started beating the horse, repeatedly, with his riding crop. The horse screamed, over and over. Uncle Wilhern yanked on the reins until the horse reared, and still he continued beating him. Julia fell to the ground and covered her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes tight.

That was where the nursemaid found her, trembling and crying.

“Julia! Get up off the ground,” Betsy had said. “What are you doing? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

She wasn’t sure how long she had been crouching on the ground, but she had been trembling all over as she looked around. Her uncle and the poor horse were gone.

Now, as he glared down at her, Mr. Wilhern’s face was the same shade of red it had been that day as he was beating the horse.

“I will advise you to think on this matter some more, to consider the inferiority of your life as a governess, the struggles and lowliness of your position compared to what you could enjoy as a gentleman’s wife.”

All her life she had striven to avoid her uncle’s anger. Her heart was sinking, her stomach twisting, the painful manifestations of a guilty, utterly miserable awareness of her uncle’s disappointment in her, as well as what she felt were his unjust demands. But what else could she do? She could not, would not, agree to marry someone she could not love or respect.

“You are determined to persist in this stubborn, ungrateful response, I see.” His jaw twitched again, as he seemed to be grinding his teeth. He turned away from her abruptly. “I have raised you to think too highly of yourself, have given you too many advantages. But you will change your mind. In the meantime, I will inform Mr. Edgerton that you are considering his generous offer of marriage. You may go.”

His refusal to accept her answer to Mr. Edgerton’s proposal made her face burn even hotter. Should she tell him truthfully that she had no intention of changing her mind? The memory of his fury at that poor horse so long ago, and the same look in his eyes now, stopped her. Instead, Julia curtsied and hurried out of the room.

Her heart pounded as if she were that child once again, witnessing the uncontrolled fury of a man upon whose kindness she was dependent.

She ran up the stairs to her room, wanting to cover her ears and shut out his words and the sound of his voice, to close her eyes and blot out his scowl and cold stare.

Stepping inside her room, she closed the door and burst into tears. She kept her sobs as quiet as possible so no one—not Phoebe or the servants or her aunt—would hear.