A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(11)

“Sir, I am eager to help in every way possible. My only problem is that I am supposed to be on my way back to my regiment in the Peninsula within the week.”

“We can write to your commanding officer and have your return delayed.” He waved his hand as if it were a simple process. “McDowell will look into the other men who might have overheard you speak of the diary. And if you could give us a list of every man in attendance at the party, that would also be appreciated. But I want you, Lieutenant Langdon, to personally investigate Mr. Edgerton and Mr. Wilhern. Find out whether they have family connections to France, any sort of motive for spying for the French, or any problems with debt that might make them willing to spy for our enemies for monetary gain.

“In the meantime, I ask that you go home and retrieve the copy you made of the diary. The sooner we have that, the sooner our expert decoders can go to work on deciphering it.”

“Of course.”

“I am placing my complete faith in you, Lieutenant. I need not emphasize how necessary are your loyalty and discretion.”

“Sir, you may depend on it. I consider my highest loyalty, next to God, to be to my king and my country. I shall be as discreet as the grave, you have my word as a gentleman.”

The colonel nodded, looking satisfied.

“But, sir, if I may ask . . .”

“Yes?”

“Who is Garrison Greenfield, and why was my servant not allowed to see him?”

“We wondered why your servant was looking for him and were planning to send someone to question your father about it. Mr. Greenfield was one of our men. In fact, he has been our most trusted agent, integral in discovering what was happening across enemy lines. He has been missing for months and presumed captured, or dead.”

Nicholas absorbed this information in silence.

“Now, I will send two of our men with you to fetch the copy you made of the diary.”

As Nicholas was escorted home in the company of two guards, his head was spinning more than ever. He had to find who had attacked him and why they had stolen the diary. He couldn’t bear to think that by allowing the diary to be stolen, he might have caused some secret of great national importance to be leaked to the enemy.





CHAPTER FOUR


Julia rode beside Phoebe and opposite Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern in their new carriage. The streets of London were crowded, as usual, as they made their way slowly to Mrs. Caldwells’ ball. Julia was only half listening to what Phoebe was saying as she prayed silently for her nerves to settle.

“. . . Nicholas Langdon, as a name, is rather plain. I would prefer him to have a more romantic-sounding name—something like Drake Westmoreland or Cameron Beauchamp or Nathaniel Torrington. What do you think, Julia?”

“His name hardly matters, Phoebe. Besides, ‘Nicholas Langdon’ is a perfectly respectable name.”

“I suppose you are right. I shall be very proud to be Mrs. Nicholas Langdon.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh.

It was positively astonishing that Phoebe could be so indiscreet about the object of her affections, after Julia had taken such pains to warn her not to display her feelings so openly. But at least Phoebe was honest. Julia often didn’t tell even Phoebe, the person she was closer to than anyone else, what she was thinking and feeling.

Finally, they arrived. Julia looked around, but she saw neither Mr. Daniel Dinklage nor anyone else of her acquaintance. Perhaps it was God’s way of keeping her from flirting with Mr. Dinklage.

Julia was almost sorry that the hostess would have no need of her to play the pianoforte, as Mrs. Caldwell had hired a small orchestra for the ball. Julia played to calm her own emotions, whether sadness, contentment, joy, or frustration. Letting her fingers draw music from the ivory keys eased any gloomy feelings and enhanced the more joyful ones. She often closed her eyes and let the beauty of it take her out of the melancholy she felt when Phoebe was angry or sulking about something, or when her cousin’s grandparents came to call, doting on Phoebe and treating Julia like an unwanted guest, reminding her that her own parents and grandparents were long dead.

Julia stood talking, or, rather, listening, as Phoebe and two of her friends, who were just out in society and in their first Season, gossiped and giggled and drew attention to themselves.

More people arrived. Through the milling crowd, Julia saw Mr. Dinklage across the room. He bent toward two dowagers who held him in conversation. Julia smiled quite purposefully at him and nodded. He looked startled, suddenly straightening. He turned around to see who was behind him, looking over his left shoulder, and then his right, and then at Julia. She kept smiling.

Barely ten feet to Mr. Dinklage’s left, Mr. Nicholas Langdon was staring at her with those strangely thoughtful brown eyes. The corner of his mouth went down even as his brow quirked up in an expression that was at once questioning and amused.

Julia’s attention was pulled away by Phoebe and her friends asking her if she intended to dance.

“Of course, if someone asks me,” Julia said, feigning a smile.

“I hope someone asks me,” said one of the girls.

“I hope a certain someone asks me,” Phoebe said archly.

The others giggled, and a blonde with pale eyes added, “I hope your certain someone—Mr. Nicholas Langdon—asks me too.”

Everyone laughed except Phoebe.

“Don’t look at me like that, Phoebe Wilhern. You have no reason to keep him to yourself, and he’s the most handsome man here.”