A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(26)

How good it was that Phoebe could not see them, and that Felicity was here to make it a bit less awkward.

“I cannot lie to you, Miss Grey.” His voice was low and deep. Did he always talk like this? “Truly, I know all about Henry and his mother. As I suspect you do as well.” He frowned at her, as though in rebuke of the way she had tried to trick him.

“Yes.” Julia swallowed, unable to form a coherent enough thought to say more.

Mr. Langdon took her hand and placed it on his arm again, turned, and began walking down the street as though they had never stopped. “Henry’s mother, as you probably know very well, was ill for several months, and while ill, she lost her home. Being a poor widow, she was forced to move in with her sister, whose small living quarters were hardly large enough for herself and her own children. Henry and his sister are accustomed to taking care of themselves as well as their sick mother, as she is still unwell. You were right, you know,” Mr. Langdon said quietly, looking straight ahead. “Henry is a very brave boy.”

Julia stared up at him, not watching where she was going, holding on to Mr. Langdon’s arm. What was she to think of the man now?

“How do you know so much about Henry?” Julia asked.

“I met Henry through a friend.” The self-assured smile was back. “As I said before, both of us have friends in unexpected places.”

She felt a stab of guilt for being the recipient of Mr. Langdon’s smiles. Phoebe would give anything to have him smiling at her like this. But of course, Mr. Langdon could have no interest in Julia. He needed to marry well. If he married Phoebe, he would be marrying well.

Julia must never let his friendly smiles and beguiling brown eyes make her lose her head—or her heart, as Phoebe and many others had.

“Where is Henry? He usually meets me on my walk home. You didn’t send him away, did you?”

“Henry is well. I gave him a little errand to perform.”

She wanted to ask Mr. Langdon what kind of errand he’d sent Henry on. Men could be so thoughtless. Perhaps he’d sent Henry somewhere dangerous. After all, these streets were not safe for children. She’d heard of young boys getting captured by ill-intentioned scoundrels set on making thieves out of them for their own gain or forcing them to do dangerous jobs, like searching the bottom of the Thames for valuables or trolling for coins in their bare feet amidst broken glass and all manner of hazardous objects. Sometimes unsupervised children were run over by carriages and maimed or killed. Ladies weren’t supposed to know of such things, but anyone who didn’t deliberately turn a deaf ear could not help but hear of them. The stories twisted Julia’s heart. She didn’t like to think of any child suffering, especially Henry.

“You won’t have sent him far away, will you? You know the dangers for young children—”

“Of course, Miss Grey. I was careful not to send him on any dangerous intrigues down dark alleys.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Forgive me for teasing you, Miss Grey.” Mr. Langdon turned his most disarming smile toward her. “I sent the boy with some money to buy a goose and some bread for his mother.”

“Oh.” She wanted to calmly tell him, “That is very kind of you,” or “So good of you, sir,” but her throat closed, and she found herself blinking rapidly as she thought of the proud look on Henry’s face, and the joy and gratitude on his sister and mother’s faces, when he brought home a goose.

Why would Mr. Langdon be concerned about Henry? She’d never known a gentleman who cared a whit for the poor children running around the streets. The sight of them evoked either embarrassment or anger from the upper classes, and Julia had never once seen anyone show them any charity. The general consensus seemed to be that they were of a baser sort of humanity, that the poor didn’t deserve any better because their situation was the result of immoral choices and “bad blood,” an inborn evil. But Julia couldn’t feel this way, especially not about the children. Perhaps it was because she was an orphan herself. She didn’t believe children were to blame for their situation in life, and they deserved the compassion of those who were able to help them.

She could not recall their rector ever encouraging compassion for the poor, and she had seen her uncle shake his fist at a small boy who had walked up to him once on the street and asked for money to buy bread. Her uncle had yelled, “Get away, little beggar, before I call the constable!”

And yet her uncle had taken Julia in as an orphan. Certainly the charity of polite society was highly selective.

So why would Mr. Langdon be any different? He was a charming young man who dressed well and was fond of dancing. He’d never wanted for anything in his life, his future had never been in doubt, and his every need had been anticipated and provided for by his wealthy family and by a house full of servants. Why would he care about Henry and his poor family?

Julia eyed him silently.

“Your cousin Miss Wilhern told me your uncle has interests in France.” He made the statement without looking at her.

“Yes, I believe he does have claims to a large property owned by some of his mother’s family.”

“His mother was French?”

Felicity was looking straight ahead during all of their conversing, but Julia knew she was listening to every word.

“Yes. But I do not believe the French government will ever release the property to my uncle. They are not disposed to turn anything over to an Englishman.”