A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(23)

Phoebe’s chin trembled as she drew Julia’s attention to her with an intense look. “You’ve always been the wiser one. But I simply can’t stop loving him. I know I should, but I can’t. You are my dearest friend, and I need you. Please promise me.”

How could Julia say no? “I will do whatever I can, within reason, of course. But, Phoebe, I will exact a promise from you as well. Do you remember what the vicar said last Sunday in church?”

Phoebe shook her head.

“He said God expects us to trust him to help us make important decisions, that God will give us wisdom if we ask him. Promise me you will pray about this, that you will ask God to help you know how you should act and how to control these emotions. Pray for wisdom.”

“I promise.” Phoebe sniffed.

“Now dry your face and blow your nose. We’ll go for a ride in the crisp spring air, and it will do you good.”

“Thank you, Julia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Julia smiled. “You’ll always have me.” Until you marry and I become a governess. Julia pushed the thought away, determined to be cheerful for Phoebe.



Sunday came around and Julia had not seen Uncle Wilhern since he had told her she must marry Mr. Edgerton. Mrs. Wilhern, Phoebe, and Julia waited for Mr. Wilhern by the front door to join them on their short journey to church, but his valet came down and said he was not to accompany them that day. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as they left without him.

Days crept by. Julia occasionally caught a glimpse of her uncle, or heard his footsteps on the stairs, and cringed.

Tuesday came round again and Julia and Felicity left the Wilherns’ fashionable town house in Mayfair to visit Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy. Julia had something very particular to ask the Bartholdys, something that she hardly dared hope for.

Had you been a man, you could have become a world-renowned pianist.

So the great music master, Bartholdy, had said to her two years before. Had she been born in Austria or Germany, or been able to travel to the Continent, she might have been successful as a composer and performer. Vienna and Leipzig, Bartholdy said, would have welcomed a female virtuoso. She might have performed for kings and queens in palaces.

After exiting the carriage, Julia and Felicity walked down Bishopsgate Street toward the Bartholdys’ building.



Nicholas strode purposefully through the East Side; he’d had his coachman let him out so he could walk the last half mile. He had gone to the War Office to report what he’d found—or rather his lack of findings—and they had encouraged him to continue to try to get close to Robert Wilhern and Hugh Edgerton, as they had other people checking into the other three gentlemen. They also encouraged him to go about his normal routine as much as possible.

And that was why Nicholas was walking down Bishopsgate Street on a Tuesday, to keep his regular appointment. He never saw anyone he knew in this part of town, so he was startled to see a well-dressed lady walking toward him, a lady who looked remarkably like Miss Grey. But that was ridiculous. What would she be doing in this part of town?

But the longer he watched her, the more he was convinced it was Miss Grey and her friend, Miss Mayson.

As he approached them, Miss Grey caught sight of him and her eyes widened. “Mr. Langdon! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Miss Grey.” He tipped his hat. “I could say the same to you and Miss Mayson. May I escort you?”

“Of course. We are on our way to call on my old music master, Monsieur Bartholdy.”

“But why are you walking? Why not take the carriage?”

“The coachman and I have an . . . um, understanding; I don’t make him drive past the end of Bishopsgate Street, he picks me up in the same spot, and he doesn’t mention to my aunt and uncle where I went.”

Now she was smiling. The only problem was, he could hardly watch where he was going for noticing the way her smile transformed her countenance and made the sunlight, what little there was on this overcast day, sparkle in her eyes.

“Please excuse me,” Miss Mayson said, “but I noticed a broken lace on my half boot when we were in the carriage, and I need to step into this shoe repair shop, just here, so that I might have it repaired.”

“Of course. If I may be of assistance . . .”

“Oh no, I shall be able to take care of it. You and Miss Grey can keep each other company. I shall return in a few moments.”

“Of course.” Nicholas and Miss Grey were left alone on the street in front of the shoe shop.

He was about to try to start a conversation about the weather or the state of the roads, the usual safe topics, when he spotted little Henry Lee coming out of an alley, fixing his gaze on Miss Grey. The poor urchin was as dirty and ragged as usual, and Nicholas held his breath to see if she would react as most well-bred ladies would, with a screech of horror and then an order for the offensive child to get away from her. But as Henry approached, Miss Grey actually turned to him.

“Henry! How is your sister? Is she better?” She reached into her reticule and pulled out some coins before Henry could even ask and pressed them into his hand, obviously unconcerned about soiling her white glove.

“Aye, miss. She’s much better now. No fever for at least a week.”

Nicholas tried to catch the boy’s eye from over Miss Grey’s shoulder. He shook his head and winked at the boy.