Phoebe was expressing a desire for Leorah to come for a visit to their country house in Warwickshire when the Season was over in a few weeks. As the Langdons’ home was in Lincolnshire, Leorah said it was possible she could come for a short stay. Phoebe’s entire face lighted up with excitement. Of course, Julia knew Phoebe was thinking of having her father invite Leorah’s brother to come with her.
Phoebe and her single-minded pursuit of Lieutenant Nicholas Langdon.
When Leorah rose to take her leave a few minutes later, Julia regretted she had been too nervous to enjoy her visit. As Julia squeezed Leorah’s fingers in farewell, her friend said, “Do come and call on me. We are but a short walk from here.”
The invitation had been given to Julia and appeared not to include Phoebe. Of course, Leorah meant nothing uncivil, only that Julia was more her friend than Phoebe. Julia was quick to say, “Of course, Phoebe and I will come, very soon. You may depend upon it.”
But before Leorah could make a move toward the door, Nicholas Langdon was announced. He entered the room.
Leorah eyed her brother with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. Phoebe’s pale cheeks turned pink as she seemed to be standing on her toes, and Aunt Wilhern rallied to sit up straight.
Nicholas bowed and smiled at everyone around the room in turn. “My sister was not leaving, I hope.”
“I was,” Leorah admitted, “but I can stay a bit longer, and then you can escort me home.”
They all sat down again and began to talk of the weather, the subject that always seemed safest when one is nervous. After a few moments, they spoke of politics, another rather safe topic amongst fellow Tories.
“Mr. Langdon,” Mrs. Wilhern said, “won’t you and your sister join us for dinner next Thursday evening?”
Mr. Langdon look pleased, almost relieved. He agreed to come, and he only stayed a few moments more before declaring that he would escort his sister home.
No sooner had Leorah and her brother gone, Phoebe watching them walk down the street from the sitting room window, than she began exclaiming to her mother how wonderful she was for inviting them to supper. Phoebe immediately added that it would be perfect if Leorah went back with them in the fall to Wilhern Manor. Surely her mother could persuade her father to have a hunting party and invite Mr. Langdon. He could have no objections.
“What luck that Julia was able to secure a friendship with Mr. Langdon’s sister!”
Mrs. Wilhern turned a cool eye on Julia, as if she believed Julia had had other designs when she’d made friends with Leorah.
Julia excused herself as quickly as possible and hurried up to her room. One thing was certain: she could not call on the Bartholdys in the next few weeks. She only hoped her uncle didn’t discover her visits and become angry with her.
Julia made her way up the stairs and to her room. She closed the door behind her and found a letter for her on the dressing table from Sarah Peck.
She snatched it up and tore it open.
Dear Julia,
I urge you not to try to see me. I wouldn’t want your reputation to become tainted by association. I fear now that there is no hope for me to ever be thought respectable again, for I believe I am with child. I am ruined, and I have no one to blame but myself. I do not even blame William. He was only doing what men do. I was the foolish one, and I alone will bear the shame and reproach.
Oh, Julia, I pray you will never know the wretchedness I feel!
Julia, if you know anyone—and I can’t imagine how you would—anyone who might help me, or if you’ve ever heard of a home for girls in my condition and situation, a place where I might be away from society and have my baby in safety, please write to me and tell me. Perhaps you might have read of some Christian place of that sort in the paper, a charity poor house where I might work out my stay. Nothing is beneath me now. I can sew or clean or do laundry. But I must get out of this place or I fear I shall end up sinking, giving in to despair and doing harm to myself.
It is selfish of me to even write these things to you, Julia, you who are so unsullied by the world and who always strive to be good and proper and follow all of society’s rules. But I don’t know where else to turn for help.
Pray write to me soon, even if you have no help to offer me. Your letters are my only companions.
Yours ever,
Sarah Peck
Julia sank into a chair, her knees shaking as she imagined herself in Sarah’s situation. She must help her—there was no question about that—but how? She knew of no such place, a place of charity for girls who found themselves in Sarah Peck’s position. If there were such a place, how would she find it? Who could she ask without raising suspicion and causing a scandal for which her aunt and uncle would never forgive her?
Suddenly, she saw the face of Mr. Langdon’s friend, Mr. Wilson, with his friendly expression and kind eyes. Of course! His charity mission helped children, but might he not also know a place where someone in Sarah’s situation could receive help? Surely he would. She determined to ask him as soon as she could. She only had to be careful to go at a time that would not excite Mrs. Wilhern’s suspicions.
Perhaps Providence had led her to meet Mr. Wilson just at the right time. And now Providence would give her a way to help poor Sarah.
In the meantime, she took out pen and paper to write to Sarah and tell her she had every hope of finding just such a place for her, if only she could wait a few more days.
“Julia, come here.”
Julia arrived home from posting her letter to Sarah to be greeted by her aunt’s command.
Her heart fluttered. She laid aside her bonnet and entered the sitting room. “Yes, Aunt Wilhern?”
Her aunt sat in the corner of the settee, stroking her little gray-and-black dog while it rested in her lap, its eyes half closed.
“Julia, you have been calling on Monsieur Bartholdy in an unsavory part of town.” She fixed Julia with a baleful stare. Mrs. Wilhern’s eyes, which protruded slightly, struck Julia, not for the first time, as resembling her pug dog’s.
Aunt Wilhern seemed to be waiting for Julia to speak, so she answered, “Yes, Aunt. Miss Appleby and I, and sometimes Felicity, call on Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy on occasion.”
“I believe you call on them every Tuesday. Is this true, Julia?”
“Yes, Aunt Wilhern.” The poor coachman must have been forced to disclose the truth. What would her uncle do to him? “It isn’t Coleman’s fault, Aunt. I asked him to take us, and he—”
“I won’t tell Mr. Wilhern about any of this if you promise me not to visit there again.”
“But why?”
Mrs. Wilhern frowned at the question. “I do not want a niece of mine, with only that half-addled spinster, Agnes Appleby, or her niece, Felicity Mayson, as a chaperone in that part of town, and neither would Mr. Wilhern.”
“But, Aunt, please. I enjoy my visits with them, and I am perfectly safe, I assure you.” God would take care of her, and her aunt need never know about the incident with the three drunken men Mr. Langdon had maneuvered them around.
“Julia, I am not accustomed to having my word questioned.”
By Phoebe, yes. By me, no. “Forgive me. May I pay one more visit to the Bartholdys to say good-bye?”
“You can say good-bye in a letter.” Her aunt’s tone was firm. She had stopped stroking the pug, and her hand rested on its neck, clutching the skin in a way that made the dog’s eyes open wider.
What would she tell the Bartholdys? How would she explain? And worse, how would she speak to Mr. Wilson at the children’s mission about a place for Sarah, now that her aunt had ordered her never to go there again? Did she dare defy her aunt?
She certainly didn’t want her uncle to know. She shuddered at the thought.
“One more thing before you go. Mr. Langdon and his sister, Leorah, are to dine with us next Thursday. Phoebe has her heart set on marrying Mr. Langdon, and I expect you to do anything in your power to secure your cousin’s
happiness.”
“I have no intention of endangering Phoebe’s happiness. Phoebe knows I would do anything for her.”
“Good.” Mrs. Wilhern closed her eyes so long, Julia wondered if she had nodded off. But she opened them again and said, “I give you leave to go.”
Julia retreated to her room. Haven’t I done everything that was expected of me? Haven’t I tried to obey every instruction? She closed her door behind her.
All her careful striving to adhere to society’s rules had built a foundation for her life that was shaky at best. At any moment, it would crumble beneath her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Three days later, Nicholas waited just down the street from the Wilherns’ town house, hoping to see Miss Grey emerge from the house—alone for the short walk to fetch Miss Mayson or Miss Appleby for their morning constitutional—and come his way. He could not wait very long or he would look suspicious. Unfortunately, there were no shops nearby he might duck into and pretend to browse while he secretly watched her house.
He strode to a tree by the street and stood pretending to examine his sleeve. How long could he stand here without being noticed? Finally, he started down the street, passing the Wilherns’ house. He kept his head facing straight ahead but watched for any movement at the house to his left.
He kept walking until he was well past the house. But before it was completely out of his sight, he turned and walked back that way. Just as he was nearly parallel to the Wilherns’ town house again, he was rewarded with a feminine figure opening the door and walking down the three steps to the street. She wore a simple blue bonnet and a blue-and-white spencer. She turned to walk in his direction and stopped short. “Oh. Mr. Langdon.”
He bowed, tipped his hat, and offered her his arm. “May I walk with you?”
“Why, yes, I was just going to call on my friends, Miss Felicity Mayson and Miss Appleby, for our morning walk.”
“Ah yes.” Nicholas didn’t have a lot of time, as Miss Mayson’s home was very near.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Langdon?”
“I was just thinking of something Mr. Edgerton told me yesterday.”
Julia stiffened and her mouth opened in hesitation. “Mr. Edgerton? Was it something to worry you, Mr. Langdon?”
“It was only that he said he had asked your uncle’s permission to marry you, and your uncle had said yes, but that you had not agreed to it.” He waited a moment, but when she did not speak, he said, “I was concerned that you were—forgive me if I am being impertinent—that you were being coerced by your guardian.”
He leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of her face underneath the rim of her bonnet. Her face was pale, and she quickly turned away.
“Miss Grey, you may confide in me. I promise you I am very discreet, and I may be able to help you, if you are in need of assistance in the situation.” Though she must wonder how he could possibly help her.
They reached the street corner, and as no one was around, he stepped in front of her and faced her.
She was obviously distressed, though she was biting her lip trying to hide it. Would she open her thoughts to him? He needed her to tell him if she knew anything. His heart clenched in his chest. If only he could help her, not just extract information from her.
“I have noticed the way Mr. Edgerton singles you out,” he said gently, “but I would not think your uncle would accept him for you, since Mr. Edgerton has no fortune except what he has gambled away.”
“That is what I thought as well,” she said. He had to lean down to hear her. “But my uncle believes Mr. Edgerton is coming into a large sum of money soon, and he wishes me to marry him.”
But why push her so hard to marry Edgerton? Unless her uncle owed some sort of obligation to Edgerton. And the fact that Edgerton was supposedly coming into a large sum of money convinced him—Edgerton must be in on the spying scheme with Wilhern.
“Perhaps,” she went on, her voice a bit shaky, “my uncle is trying to do what is advantageous for me. He is trying to keep me from being . . . from being a governess.” Her lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth as she blinked rapidly.
Nicholas’s chest ached at the painful sight of her trying to convince herself that her uncle was acting in her best interests, that he was pressuring her to marry Edgerton because he wanted what was best for her.
“Perhaps,” he said, trying to say it as gently as possible, “there is some other explanation for your uncle’s wishing you to marry Mr. Edgerton.”
“What do you mean?”
He had to word this very carefully. “I do not wish to malign your uncle, but is there anything, anything at all, that you have witnessed lately, anything unusual in his behavior, that might signal you to believe that he will benefit in some way from your marriage to Mr. Edgerton?”
A thought seemed to dawn on Miss Grey; recognition spread across her face, and then she frowned. “Mr. Edgerton does seem to visit my uncle a lot at odd hours. I’ve seen him coming out of my uncle’s study. Also, I overheard them once at a party talking about a diary, but I did not think—what? Is there something significant about a diary?”
“Does your uncle know you overheard him?”
“He did not see me.” Her pretty blue eyes were wide and her lips parted. She looked frightened. He wished he could assure her she had nothing to worry about, that he would protect her.
Could he trust her? Should he tell her? Her help could be extremely valuable and could save thousands of British soldiers, including General Wellington, but it would also put her in danger.
Two young ladies and a gentleman were walking toward them. At least one private coach had already passed them on the street, so he held out his arm and she took it. They began walking as if they were out for a morning stroll. Not very many people were out this early, but he did not want to start any gossip mills churning.
When they had politely nodded to the oncoming ladies and gentleman and passed them, Julia asked quietly, “Mr. Langdon, is my uncle involved in something nefarious?” She glanced up at him, and there was a determined set to her jaw. The fearful look was gone.
They had made their way to Hyde Park. A path led them along a row of trees, with the grassy open area on their other side. He wished they could sit to have this conversation, so he could look into her eyes. But they were probably less conspicuous if they kept walking.
“Miss Grey, you may not realize it, but your uncle is in so much debt, he is on the verge of losing his estate, Wilhern Manor, in Warwickshire.”
“I had noticed there seemed to be a lot of creditors calling on my uncle.”
“That could be one of the reasons . . . it appears your uncle is involved, along with Mr. Edgerton, in a crime.”
“What sort of crime?” She turned to look at him.
Surely he could trust her. Surely she would not betray him, with that sweet, innocent, slightly horrified look on her face. But was he being gullible? If she were trying to fool him, wouldn’t she have just such a look on her face? Was she acting? Or was she really as good and kind and noble as she seemed?
He remembered her kindness to Henry and the way Miss Grey’s aunt and uncle had treated her.
“If your uncle and Mr. Edgerton were involved in espionage, in the betrayal of their country and yours, would you help me?”
Her face went white as lamb’s wool.
“If your uncle is helping France in a plot to kill General Wellington, will you join in our efforts to stop him? Will you choose your loyalty to crown and country, to England’s sons fighting on foreign soil, over your loyalty to your uncle?”
She had stopped and was staring up at him, a little color already coming back into her cheeks.
“I can give you some time to think about it, but remember, many lives are at stake. Your country—”
“Yes. I will do it.”
Her blue eyes stared into his, round and wide and luminous. Her jaw was firmly set, but her lips . . . her full, perfect lips
were slightly parted in an expression that matched the vulnerability in her eyes—frightened yet determined. His heart skipped a beat, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
He should not be thinking about kissing her at a moment like this.
Julia stared up at Mr. Langdon. She could barely breathe as she made the commitment to spy against her own uncle, the man who had taken her in and given her a home when she was only an orphan. Her uncle had provided her with an education and allowed her to grow up with his own daughter. But he was a traitor.
“You believe me, then?” Mr. Langdon gazed down at her with those brown eyes.
How could she not believe him? Besides, it all made sense, even why her uncle wanted her to marry Mr. Edgerton. “If I marry Mr. Edgerton, I cannot lawfully accuse him or be a witness against my husband, and therefore I would be unlikely to implicate my uncle either.”
“That is true. You are very clever, Miss Grey.” He gave her a look of admiration. But then he sobered. “Are you afraid of your uncle? Do you think him capable of . . . harming you?”
The memory of her uncle beating his horse rose up before her, followed by the look on his face when she told him she would not marry Mr. Edgerton. “I believe he is capable, yes. But I shall not let him know I suspect anything.” She did her best to give Mr. Langdon a confident smile, but the corners of her mouth didn’t quite succeed in obeying her.
What was she getting herself into?
“So as to lessen the risk of anyone discovering our alliance, we need a way for us to exchange messages without ever encountering each other or being seen in each other’s company.”
He walked over to an old gnarled oak tree beside the patch. Its trunk was enormous. Mr. Langdon glanced all around. It was still so early that the only people around were grooms exercising the horses, and only a few of those in this one corner of the park. He stepped up to the tree, so close to it that Julia could only see what he was showing her by stepping quite close to it herself.
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