“Do I need to ask you to ensure that you not only do nothing to prevent that from happening but that you do your best, as much as it is in your power, to make certain Mr. Langdon thinks well of Phoebe?”
“No, sir. I mean, of course I want him to think well of Phoebe.”
“Good.” He stared at her from cold black eyes. “Then we understand each other.”
Julia bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
“You may go to your room, or if you think it best, you may go to Phoebe and assure her that even if Mr. Langdon were to ask you to marry him, you most definitely would not accept him. I still intend for you to accept Mr. Edgerton’s proposal of marriage. And there will be dire consequences if you do anything to encourage Mr. Langdon’s attentions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But why did you dance with him a second time, Julia?” Phoebe sat propped against the pillows in her bed, a soggy handkerchief clutched in her fist. “You knew it would hurt me and that he would think you had designs on him. You should have refused.” Phoebe turned her tear-streaked face away from Julia.
“You know I would never hurt you.” God, help me convince her. “I simply didn’t realize he had asked me to dance a second time. Probably he didn’t realize it either.” He probably did realize it, as he wasn’t a man to do anything thoughtlessly. But Julia was desperate enough to tell Phoebe whatever would please her.
“I didn’t remember that I had already danced with him.”
Phoebe turned to give her a disbelieving, openmouthed look.
“I was trying to avoid that odious Mr. Edgerton.”
“Julia, you shouldn’t call him odious just because you do not wish to marry him.” Phoebe gave her a self-righteous look.
“I hope I am not so ungracious to call him odious on that account. He has made untoward advances that I have not thought it proper to discuss.”
“Julia, I’m not a child!” Phoebe sat up straighter, as if the subject interested her. “Did Mr. Langdon rescue you from him?” Her voice was an awed whisper.
“I wouldn’t put it in those terms.” This information seemed to placate her cousin, but Julia knew instinctively to downplay anything romantic Phoebe might make of the situation. “He simply was finding a reason to extricate me—quite literally—from Mr. Edgerton.”
“Did Mr. Edgerton put his hands on you?” Phoebe’s damp eyes were wide now.
“He had hold of my arm and wouldn’t let go. He tried to convince me to go outside with him.”
“What did Mr. Langdon do?”
“He told Mr. Edgerton that I was to dance the next dance with him, so Mr. Edgerton had no choice but to let go of me.”
“That is just like Mr. Langdon, to save you like that.”
It was, wasn’t it? “I only hope he was the only person at the ball who noticed what Mr. Edgerton was doing.”
“What was he doing, Julia? Did he have the audacity to ask you to . . . to go away with him?”
“He insisted I go with him to the courtyard outside. I refused, but he wouldn’t let go of my arm.”
“Perhaps he’s so in love with you he became wild with wanting to convince you to marry him, Julia!”
“I don’t think that is quite accurate.” Julia sat down on the side of the bed, and it already felt as if things were back to normal between them. “Besides, everyone knows his family insists they will not sanction his marrying anyone but an heiress, because of his debts.”
“Oh yes, but Father says he has done away with that problem.”
“What do you mean?”
Phoebe shrugged her shoulders. “Father told me he is giving Mr. Edgerton a rather large sum to marry you, which will be enough to cover all his debts.”
“But why would your father do that? Why does he particularly wish me to marry Mr. Edgerton?”
“It is rather strange.” Phoebe’s forehead wrinkled. “I had not thought Father intended to give you a dowry, but . . .” She shrugged again. “Wouldn’t marrying Mr. Edgerton be better than becoming a governess? I know you do not particularly like him, but is he so terrible?”
Julia bit her lip, hard. How would Phoebe feel if she were in Julia’s position and someone asked her the same thing?
She turned away before Phoebe should see the look of anger and resentment that must surely be on her face. Did Julia not deserve happiness or love? Was that what everyone was telling her?
Phoebe said quietly, “Father wishes you to marry Mr. Edgerton. He told me so himself. He believes Mr. Edgerton would make you a good husband, as he sincerely admires you and wants to save you from becoming a governess.”
Julia kept her back turned as hot tears slipped from her eyes. She quickly wiped them away with her fingers and drew in deep breaths to chase the salt drops away.
“But I don’t suppose you have to decide now.” Phoebe sounded nonchalant. Just as Julia was gaining control and forcing back the dam of moisture, Phoebe said, “So you have no intentions toward Mr. Langdon?”
Julia turned to face her cousin. Phoebe was displaying her pouty look, as she tucked her chin to her chest and looked up at Julia.
“None whatever.” Julia’s voice sounded dull and flat.
“And you don’t think he has any toward you?”
“Of course not. Anyway, he has no fortune, he is a sensible man, and he would never desire me over you.” Julia tried to smile but felt the corners of her mouth trembling.
“Oh, Julia, I knew you could never want the man I love.” Phoebe sprang forward and threw her arms around Julia.
Her embrace caused a gnawing in Julia’s chest, and she barely returned the hug.
Julia pulled away. “Do something for me, Phoebe.”
“Of course.”
“Tell your father that you know there is nothing between Mr. Langdon and me, that you know I have no intentions of betraying you in any way, and that I will do anything I can to maneuver Mr. Langdon’s affections in your direction.”
“Oh, will you, Julia?”
“Of course.” Julia ignored the painful knot in her chest.
If Julia could not have a love of her own, at least she could see Phoebe happy. And Mr. Langdon would be her cousin, practically her brother, if he married Phoebe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Julia took breakfast the next morning with her aunt and Phoebe. Her aunt said no more than was necessary, but Phoebe made a show of speaking with Julia as much as ever, no doubt to reassure Mrs. Wilhern that all was forgiven.
Forgiven. How could Julia help being a little resentful of her relatives for making her feel as if she had committed a sin by allowing herself to dance a second time at a ball with an eligible young man? How different things would be if Julia had a family who loved her as much as the Wilherns loved Phoebe.
But such thoughts would only make her bitter. It was perfectly right and fitting for parents to want the best for their daughter. They couldn’t be expected to care as much for a niece as for their own child.
A manservant entered the room and presented the morning’s post to Mrs. Wilhern. She shuffled through the letters and handed one to Phoebe and one to Julia.
Julia’s was from Sarah Peck. She had wondered if her friend was angry with her after Julia had reported what she had said to Mrs. Dinklage, destroying any hope of a marriage between Julia and Mr. Dinklage. She had also worried she had offended her friend by warning her against becoming so familiar with her employer’s oldest son.
Julia placed the letter in her pocket, quickly drank her tea, and hurried upstairs to read it. Once in her room, she sat by the window and unfolded it.
Dear Julia,
I am sorry I have been a bad correspondent of late. I must tell you that I hardly have any time of my own. When I am not teaching the older children, I am amusing the younger ones. I do not have a single friend in the household besides Mr. William, as the housekeeper is an irascible old complainer, and the other servants treat me as if I think I am better than they are. I confe
ss, I do not crave their company either. And since William is away most of the time, I find myself wishing for a Julia to talk to, or a Phoebe, someone who neither looks down her nose at me, nor thinks me too high-minded—a companion to make my evenings less dreary.
Such is the life of a governess, Julia. You probably think I blame you for what you said to Mrs. Dinklage. I was rather dismayed at the way things ended for you and Mr. Dinklage, but I wish I had been there to hear you give that insufferable woman a rightfully earned set down. She deserved it, I have no doubt, for you are such an even-tempered, docile person, Julia. You are everything that is gentle and good, and you deserve the best of men.
Julia had to put the letter down for a moment and dry her eyes with her handkerchief. Docile. Yes, she had thought being docile and good and everything society dictated a young lady should be would gain her the love and favor of her aunt and uncle, and of a good man. She was realizing now that she quite possibly had got it all wrong.
She went on reading. At this point in the letter, the color of the ink was slightly different, the handwriting more hurried and messy.
Julia, since writing the above I have left the employ of the Smithermans. You will blame me, no doubt, for my weakness. In truth, I blame myself. I know I behaved foolishly. And now I fear I shall be ruined forever. Julia, I have run away with William to London, have given myself to him completely. And now I believe he has abandoned me, for he did not come back last evening, and I am alone, with very little money and nowhere to go.
I have no excuse. I believed myself in love with him. I was desolate, desperate to feel loved, to truly live and not be entombed in my own loneliness and the scorn of other people. I believed he might love me enough to marry me. I was too foolish for a woman of twenty-four years. I should have known better, did know better. You tried to warn me, and you were right. I should have listened to you. But, Julia, he offered me the chance to escape. The things he said to me . . . I believed he was sincere. I should have known better. Forgive me, Julia, for I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.
Forgive me even for writing to you, but you are almost my only friend in the world. I shouldn’t burden you with my sin, with my ruin, Julia, but if nothing else, this should serve as a lesson for you. Please don’t ever do as I have done, for I have earned myself the scorn I so desperately wanted to escape. If I thought my situation bad before, it is utterly worse now. And please do not feel you have to continue your correspondence with me. If you do not write to me, I shall understand.
Yours sincerely,
Sarah Peck
“Oh, Sarah!” Julia checked the return address. She didn’t recognize the street name. It was probably in a part of town worse than where the Bartholdys lived. What must Sarah be feeling?
“Why didn’t she listen to me?” Julia had warned her about becoming too familiar with the oldest son. Now he had ruined her and obviously didn’t care. Fiendish man! Oh, what wouldn’t she say to him if she were to encounter him on the street! To abandon a sweet, loving girl like Sarah! It was unpardonable.
The man was a villain, but he was not the first gentleman to seduce a governess or servant and then abandon her. There were countless such stories on the lips of the gossips at every ball or party. “Mr. Theodore Richards, oldest son of the Richards family in Shropshire, has run away with the family’s governess, a Miss Little. Mrs. Richards is furious, for she has four younger children who are running wild, and she hasn’t had a moment’s peace since the trollop of a governess left.”
Of course, if it had been a gentleman’s daughter rather than a governess, it would have been treated in a much more serious manner. There would have been talk of him being made to marry the girl. The papers would have mentioned it discreetly, only giving the first letter of their names. But a governess . . . no gentleman would be expected to marry a governess, and the papers wouldn’t even deem it worthy of mentioning.
The gentleman goes on his way as if nothing ever happened. He is full able to make a suitable match. But the governess’s reputation is forever ruined.
Julia sat down at her writing desk at once and took out a sheet of paper, pen, and ink.
She began: Sarah, please write to me and tell me where you are and how you fare. You know I will help you in any way I can! Please do write to me.
What could Julia offer her? If only she could offer her a home! But it was impossible. Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern would never allow her in their house. If Julia had married Mr. Dinklage . . . it would have made it possible for her to help her friend. She would have at least been able to send her enough money to live somewhere decent.
Perhaps she had been selfish and thoughtless not to try to endear herself to his mother. Perhaps if she had, Mr. Dinklage would have been allowed to marry Julia, and Julia could have benefited not only Sarah in her dire situation but others as well. Perhaps she could have persuaded her husband to help Mr. Wilson in his mission to help the poor children of the East Side, like Henry and his sister, to help fund the Children’s Aid Mission.
Julia clutched her chest, feeling as if she was choking. No, she couldn’t think such thoughts. She couldn’t go back and change things, nor was she certain she would if she could. She must focus on what to say to poor Sarah.
She wrote: I have a little money, which I will gladly give to you. Perhaps you can advertise for a new position, somewhere in the country away from London and Sussex where no one knows of this and it can all be hushed up.
Unless, of course, she was with child.
Julia quickly finished her letter and hurried to take it to the post herself. A short walk would soothe her nerves.
Instead of walking to the Children’s Aid Mission on the East Side that Tuesday and running into Miss Grey again, Nicholas went to speak to McDowell at the War Office. They strategized how to catch Wilhern passing information to the French. They were nearly certain he was the traitor, since Nicholas had identified his footman as one of the men who had attacked him and stolen the diary.
“You must find a way to get back inside the Wilhern house,” McDowell said. “Get back into his study and see if you can find anything to show us what they are plotting and how they are getting the information out of the country. You said Wilhern’s daughter is in love with you. Flirt with her. Get another invitation to dinner.”
Nicholas hesitated. “I don’t like making the girl think I have an interest in her when I don’t. It goes against my grain.”
“You are a very honorable man, Nicholas, but there is too much at stake here. It appears someone is trying to find out Wellington’s exact whereabouts so they can kill him and turn the tide of this war. We need to find out what they know and how they are getting their information. We need answers.”
Nicholas had a strong aversion to leading a young lady to assume he felt more for her than he actually did. But it seemed insignificant when compared to the outcome of the war. After all, he had a greater duty to his country.
Which is how he ended up walking toward the Wilhern house, wondering how to show enough interest to get invited to their home without giving Phoebe the idea he might want to marry her. Especially since he actually preferred her cousin Miss Grey’s company and conversation—much preferred.
He also had an idea that he might be able to find out more information from Miss Grey. At present, she might not be feeling terribly loyal to her uncle.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Miss Appleby accompanied Julia on her usual Tuesday visit to the Bartholdys, which was cut short due to Monsieur Bartholdy feeling unwell. All the way down Bishopsgate Street, her darting eyes betrayed her, as she couldn’t help searching the street ahead for Mr. Langdon. When she did not see him, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
She arrived back at the town house and found Phoebe and Mrs. Wilhern entertaining Leorah Langdon in the drawing room.
“Julia! How good to see you!” Leorah jumped from her seat and clasped her hand.
Over Leorah’s shoulder,
Julia caught a glimpse of her aunt’s scowl. Her aunt normally didn’t leave her room until after noon and therefore didn’t know Julia went out every Tuesday to visit her old tutor. Would she ask her where she’d gone?
Julia quickly sat down, wishing she knew how to downplay Leorah’s enthusiasm at seeing her. “It is a lovely day for a walk,” Julia said to fill the silence.
“Oh?” Mrs. Wilhern said. “Where did you walk to, Julia?”
Julia fidgeted with her gloves. “I walked to—to call on friends.”
Phoebe, who knew of her secret visits to the Bartholdys, interjected, “Julia is a great walker, and she and Miss Appleby love to visit friends together, especially in the mornings, don’t you, Julia?”
“Oh, nothing out of the ordinary—”
“So you visited Felicity Mayson,” Mrs. Wilhern said, the scowl never leaving her face. “How is her mother? I heard she was not feeling well.”
“Oh, I didn’t visit Felicity today, although you are right, Aunt. I do often visit her, and sometimes she accompanies me on visits.” She picked at a loose string on her skirt. Julia felt her face turning red at her aunt’s scrutiny. Finally, she decided it was better to voluntarily tell the truth. “Miss Appleby and I have been to visit Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy.”
Mrs. Wilhern’s upper lip curled. “Why in heaven’s name? The Bartholdys, indeed.”
Her scornful tone made Julia’s spine stiffen.
“I hope you do not make it a habit of walking in such a neighborhood. It won’t reflect well on your character if you are attacked or molested in such a street as theirs.”
My character? Julia felt an argument rising inside her breast, but she quelled it and replied, “Yes, Aunt Wilhern.” She hoped her aunt didn’t ask if the coachman had driven her there. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.
Phoebe began asking Leorah about her family, no doubt working the conversation around to her brother, and Julia sighed in relief at the change in topic. As soon as Leorah left, she hoped to run up to her room with the excuse of changing her clothes before her aunt asked her any more questions.
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