He lay down on the bed, groaning, and forcefully expelled the thought of Henrietta and Edgerton from his mind. Sleep soon fell over him like a warm blanket.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Sir, wake up.”
“Is it eight already?” Nicholas sat up and rubbed his face. He had to wash and—
“Sir, you must see this.” Smith thrust a letter in front of his eyes.
He took it, his eyes immediately drawn to the signature, Julia Grey. He read its contents by the candle Smith held beside him and the light coming through the window. The further he read, the more his heart pounded.
“Sweet saints in heaven.” Nicholas sprang out of bed and ran to the window, flinging aside the drapes. The sun shone dimly through the clouds. “Dear Lord, what time is it?”
“Eight o’clock, sir.”
“No!” Nicholas grabbed a shirt and started dressing. “Go down and have a horse saddled and ready for me. And ask which direction the carriage went that was carrying Miss Grey.”
“Yes, sir.”
He had planned to dress carefully this morning, but now he had no thought for anything except speed. He had to catch up to Miss Grey.
Julia clutched her parents’ Bible to her chest as the carriage took her farther and farther away from Donnerly Hall and Mr. Langdon. Hadn’t he read her letter last night after the ball? Did he not want to speak to her before she left? Perhaps he had not awakened in time. Julia had delayed as long as she could, but the carriage driver seemed eager to get her on her way. No doubt the man wanted to get back to sleep off the drink he’d imbibed at the servants’ own impromptu party the night before.
Eventually she had been forced to get in and let him drive her away. Did Mr. Langdon not care? Had her letter repulsed him with its effusion of sentiment?
Surprisingly, she didn’t regret having given him the longer, more honest and direct letter. She was glad he knew how she felt about him . . . how much she loved him.
She marveled at what she had done. The old Julia would have been lightheaded and faint at the thought of writing such a letter, of flouting society’s rules and laying bare her heart. And though he may reject her love, she still did not regret what she had told him. He was a respectable man who would not take advantage of her, and she saw nothing wrong with being so straightforward, even if society strictly forbade such declarations from a woman.
To take her mind off Mr. Langdon, her aching heart, and her nervousness at the new position and school she was traveling to, Julia opened her Bible and began to read. After a few chapters, she leaned back against the seat. Since she had been so alone in the Athertons’ home, without a friend to talk to, she had formed a habit of pouring out her heart in prayer.
“I don’t know what is ahead for me, but I pray you will make me strong enough to bear it.” She missed Phoebe so much. “I still love my cousin and hope she will forgive me someday,” Julia whispered into the empty interior of the coach. “I still want her to be happy.”
And she wanted Mr. Langdon to be happy too. “Even if he doesn’t love me, even if he’s supposed to marry someone else, I still want you, God, to make him happy.”
The next moment, Julia heard fast hoofbeats that did not belong to the horses pulling her carriage. They were coming closer and seemed to be coming from behind, finally drawing alongside the carriage. A male voice shouted something, and her carriage began to slow. Then it stopped.
She looked out the window. No one was there. She reached toward the door latch. Just as she leaned her weight against the handle, the door swung open. Julia fell forward.
Hands caught her upper arms before she could fall very far, and she stared into the warm brown eyes of Nicholas Langdon.
“As I told you before,” he said, his chest rising and falling, “I must speak with you.” His jaw and chin were shaded by a day’s growth of beard, which, if possible, made him even more handsome.
The look on his face was so serious, she was suddenly terrified he was about to tell her he was marrying Mrs. Tromburg. He still held her arms so that they stood facing each other in the middle of the dusty road, closer than propriety allowed. Her heart seemed to stick in her throat.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the carriage driver staring down at them from his seat.
“When you told me you were going to become a governess,” Mr. Langdon said, his eyes intently focused on her, “I planned to come and find you just as soon as the War Office released me. I knew they would want me to report everything that had happened, and after I was able to help them apprehend your uncle, Edgerton, and the men they were sending to kill General Wellington, I would be free to come to you. But testifying took longer than I thought, your uncle fled the country, and they wanted to give me a promotion. There were endless meetings and talk of giving me a position at the War Office. Finally, the Prince Regent asked to meet with me.”
“He did?”
“He did. And he wants to meet with you too, Julia.”
“With me? Why?”
“I believe he wants to commend you for your work in thwarting the plan to kill General Wellington. But that is not why I came to Donnerly Hall. I have something else to talk to you about.”
“Oh.” They both leaned forward until their foreheads were almost touching.
“Thank you for your letter, Julia. You cannot know how happy it made me.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and then drew back slightly to look into her eyes again. “I love you, Julia Grey. You have no equal in character, grace, and beauty, and I am asking you to marry me. And if you will accept my proposal of marriage, I promise to do my utmost to make you happy.”
Her whole world was in the depths of his eyes. Was she dreaming? She could feel his hands holding her, see his thick black lashes and eyebrows and the black stubble on his chin and jawline, even the golden undertones in his brown eyes.
“Are you sure you want to marry a governess?”
“You will not be a governess anymore.” He leaned down, so close it was surely very improper, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. Then he closed his eyes and touched his lips to hers.
Julia caught her breath at his boldness and at the brief but heart-pounding kiss.
She whispered, “The coachman is watching us.”
He did not pull away. His lips were still achingly close as he said, “You did not answer. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
His eyes focused on her lips, and he sighed. Taking her hand in his, he turned to the driver. “Pray, be so good as to drive us back to Donnerly Hall.”
He handed Julia in while he went to tie his horse to the back of the carriage.
The Bible she had just been reading lay on the seat next to her. “Thank you, God. He loves me,” she whispered. She clasped her hands to her chest and tried to say a more coherent prayer, but it was impossible.
He suddenly opened the door and sprang into the carriage beside her. He picked up her hand and squeezed it, turning his body on the narrow seat to face her.
“Is it improper for me to kiss you here in the carriage,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes, “where the coachman cannot see us?”
Of course it was improper. But she wanted more than anything for him to kiss her again.
“I suppose,” she said, her heart fluttering, unable to stop herself from staring at his lips, “it is not so improper, since we are engaged to be married.”
He gathered her in his arms. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he caressed her cheek with his thumb, sending tingling sensations all the way into her fingertips. Then he tilted her head back and kissed her lips.
The kiss was so wonderful, she was afraid it would suddenly end, that she would wake up and he would disappear, just a dream or a figment of her imagination. A few minutes ago, she was an unloved, orphaned governess who was on her way to become a teacher at a girls’ school. Now she was kissing Nicholas Langdon, the most wonderful man in the world.
He pulled away
and her heart lurched. He smiled, a kind of sleepy look on his face.
“Thank you for your letter.” He drew a circle on her cheek with his thumb and then traced her eyebrow, kissing her temple. “I knew I wanted to marry you for weeks, but that letter . . . I did not see it until this morning when Smith woke me and showed it to me. When did you leave it?”
She wasn’t sure she could speak, with the way his thumb and finger kept caressing her cheek and jawline and chin, stealing her breath. She swallowed and said, “Last night.”
“It was so late and so dark when I got back to my room, Smith and I somehow missed seeing it.” He kissed her again. “I’m sorry I was not there at dawn when you left. You must have thought I didn’t care.”
“Yes.”
“Darling. Sweet. Julia.” He punctuated each word with a kiss. “I would have married you even though I didn’t have a fortune to offer you. But thank God, now I do.”
What did he mean by that? But she didn’t want to ask him to explain, not wanting him to stop kissing her to do so.
He kissed her a bit longer and then drew back a little. “Are you not curious about my fortune?”
She blinked, trying to clear the fog his kisses had created over her thoughts. “You have a fortune?”
“The Prince Regent, it seems, is very grateful for your help and mine in thwarting the plot against England’s general and military leader. He has requested Parliament and the House of Commons to reward me with the sum of thirty thousand pounds.”
“Did you say thirty thousand pounds?” Her heart leapt in her chest.
“And he has said he hopes to reward you with the same amount. But I did not want to tell you until you promised to marry me. If you knew you had a fortune of your own, you might refuse me.”
Was he making a joke?
“I should think my letter would have made it clear whom I love.” She sat up a little straighter, pulling away from him a bit.
“Indeed it did. Forgive me.” He drew her close again. “I should not tease you, but I tend to tease when I am deliriously happy.”
Julia slid her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I forgive you,” she whispered, unable to suppress a deliriously happy smile of her own.
“We shall go back and tell everyone,” he said, holding her tight, “starting with Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, that we are getting married. I shall put all your things in my carriage, and we shall set off for Glyncove Abbey immediately. I shall have the banns read as soon as possible,” he continued, “and we shall marry at Glyncove Church in four weeks.”
“Oh dear.” Julia’s heart sank.
“What is it?”
“What about Phoebe? She must hate me. What will she say when she hears we are to be married?”
“I do not think you have to worry about that.”
“How can you say that? Don’t you know how in love with you she is?”
“Not anymore. She is engaged to be married, I just learned, before I came to Donnerly Hall to find you.”
“To be married? To whom?”
“To Daniel Dinklage.”
“Oh.” Julia tried to imagine the two of them together. After all that Phoebe had said about him not being handsome enough for Julia. “How strange.”
“It seems that Phoebe made an impression on Mr. Dinklage when they met in Bath several weeks ago. Once they were both back in London, Mr. Dinklage visited Phoebe during her distress over her father’s flight from England and the accusations of his traitorous spying. Very few people did visit her, I would imagine. Dinklage’s mother died a few months ago, and he was consequently free to marry whomever he wished.”
“Oh. That is . . . good.” Phoebe would have someone to take care of her, and perhaps she had come to love him. Stranger matches were made every day. “Truthfully, I am very glad to hear that. It is very good news, is it not?” And if Phoebe was contented in her marriage, perhaps she would be able to forgive Julia . . . someday.
“It is good news. And I have been given a release from my commission in the army and will be taking a position at the War Office.”
“So you will be able to stay in London?” Her heart soared. He would not be sent back to the Peninsula to fight in the war!
“Yes. And you and I shall oversee a new project I have proposed to Wilson. We shall begin some money-making industries for the women in the East Side . . .”
Julia listened and nodded to all that he had to say, thinking how handsome he was, how warm and beautiful his eyes were, how perfect his lips looked, how good his kisses felt . . . How frivolous she was to be thinking such thoughts when he was talking of the children and their needs.
“I think that is wonderful,” Julia said. “You and Mr. Wilson will do many great things in the East Side, I have no doubt.”
He pressed his palm against her cheek, leaned forward, and covered her mouth with his.
Julia caressed his stubbly jaw with her fingertips. She was enveloped in a cloak of safety and warmth, as she stopped thinking and focused her attention on kissing him back.
At Donnerly Hall, Nicholas and Smith quickly collected his things. They transferred Julia’s trunks from the Athertons’ carriage to Nicholas’s own, without seeing anyone except the servants. The rest of the house was still asleep after the late-night ball, so Nicholas quickly scribbled a note for his hostess, Mrs. Atherton, and left it with the butler, explaining that he and Julia were to be married and were off to Glyncove Abbey in Lincolnshire to stay with his family until the wedding.
When he and Julia entered the carriage again, he carried his portfolio.
“What do you have there, Mr. Langdon?” Julia asked. The lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth was so adorable, he longed to kiss her again.
He cleared his throat. “I took your music, the songs that you composed, from your pianoforte at the Wilhern town house when I went to fetch your things.”
She shook her head. “I am surprised you would think of those, as I did not think to ask you to take them.”
“I did think of them. Arrogant sort that I am, I believed you would eventually accept my marriage proposal, and I took them to surprise you. The surprise is, I got them published.”
She stared openmouthed. “You published my compositions?”
“On the contrary. That well-known publisher of music, Robert Birchall, published your music.” He opened the portfolio to show her.
She ran her hand over the printed sheet music. “I can hardly believe it.” A tear raced down her cheek. He reached out and wiped it away.
“Did I do wrong in having them published without your permission?”
“No, it’s just so surprising. But I love it. I love you.”
She threw her arms around him, causing him to drop the portfolio on the floor of the carriage so he could hold her properly.
“You are a published composer now,” he said against her hair. “Published anonymously, but if you wish it, I shall tell the world you composed them.”
“That is not necessary.” She pulled away. He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. “It is enough to see them in print. I wonder if anyone will actually want to play them.”
“I have it on good authority that they shall be favorably mentioned in Ackermann’s Repository.”
“Ackermann’s? Can it be true? My own music in Ackermann’s? Thank you, Nicholas. May I call you Nicholas? Just when we are alone?”
“My name has never sounded so sweet.”
“It is the best gift, by far, that anyone has ever given me.” She leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing his arm, and then lifted her head to kiss him.
He reveled in the feel of her beside him, in his proper Julia being bold enough to hug and kiss him.
Never had he so happily anticipated a long ride in a carriage.
EPILOGUE
For Julia, the next few weeks were a whirlwind of parties and introductions to various members of Nicholas Langdon’s f
amily—and furtive kisses with her future husband when no one was looking.
Nicholas procured a special license so that they could be married at the Glyncove parish instead of Julia’s home parish in Warwickshire. He also sent his steward and a footman to Wilhern Manor, and they were able to retrieve the remainder of Julia’s belongings.
But before they could marry, the Prince Regent summoned Julia and Nicholas to London. The prince made a very pretty speech praising both of them for their courage and tenacity in thwarting the assassination of General Wellington, England’s famous war hero. The House of Commons approved the Prince Regent’s proposal of a reward of thirty thousand pounds for Nicholas Langdon and thirty thousand pounds for Julia Grey.
Julia wrote—and rewrote several times—a letter to Phoebe telling her how pleased she was that Phoebe was married to a good man like Mr. Dinklage, and asking her to forgive her for her role in everything that had happened with her father, explaining that she had felt she had no choice. She did not receive a reply.
Though it pained Julia that her precious friend and cousin with whom she had spent most of her life could be estranged from her, she would hold out hope for better things in the future. One day they might be reconciled and could at least be friends again.
And on the day she became Mrs. Nicholas Langdon, the only thoughts in her heart were joyful ones.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, I want to thank my agent, Natasha Kern. She gave me the idea I needed for this story and resurrected my dream of writing and publishing a Regency romance. Natasha suggested I write a story about a hero who had gone to war and been injured, as there must have been many such men in Regency England, and make him a spy for England against their enemy, France. I am very grateful for her insights of every type—business, creative, and even personal. Thank you, Natasha.
I have to thank Nancy Mayer and all the knowledgeable authors and researchers and history lovers at The Beau Monde chapter of Romance Writers of America. Their knowledge of Regency England is astonishing, and I am forever grateful for their willingness to share that knowledge with their fellow authors. That being said, if there are historical inaccuracies, they are entirely my fault.
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