A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(30)

“I do not wish to dance at the moment. You will excuse me.”

He stared at her, his small eyes narrowing slightly. “I hope you are not unwell, Miss Grey.”

“I am well. I simply do not wish to dance.” I wish to talk to my friend Felicity and not to you.

A flash of something unexpected, something like desperation mixed with longing, crossed his face. He turned to Felicity. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Mayson, of dancing with me?”

Hesitating, looking at Julia, Felicity agreed. When Mr. Edgerton turned, she gave Julia an apologetic look.

Julia smiled and nodded—and was left alone to contemplate her future.

Julia had received her first letter from Sarah Peck. She had described her new employers as “cold and contemptuous,” her pupils as “naughty and spoiled,” but the oldest son, she said, was “handsome and congenial.”

Not too congenial, I hope.

Was that to be Julia’s future? Spending her spare time exchanging letters with Sarah Peck about the dangers of employers’ older sons becoming too familiar?



“Mr. Dinklage is gone.” Phoebe closed the door behind her as she entered Julia’s room, where Julia sat at her tiny desk in front of the window, writing to Sarah Peck.

“Gone? Gone where?” Julia put down her pen.

“To Derbyshire with his cousins. Maria Cotter says it was to get him away from you! I told her she was a liar and to keep her mouth shut.” Phoebe pulled up a stool and sat down beside Julia. “Is it true?”

Julia sighed. “I’m afraid it is, in all probability.”

“Why, Julia? You weren’t in love with him, I’m sure.”

“No, I wasn’t in love with him.”

“Was he in love with you?”

“He may have believed himself to be.”

“Julia! Why didn’t you tell me? Are you so afraid of gossiping that you won’t even tell your secrets to me? Did he ask you to marry him?”

“No, Phoebe, he did not. His mother did not approve of me, it seems.”

“The little coward. Afraid of his mother! It would have been such an advantageous marriage for you, Julia.” She stared at the wallpaper, resting her cheek in her hand. “But I must say, I can’t abide the thought of you married to him. He isn’t handsome enough for you, and he’s even losing his hair.”

Julia frowned. “It hardly matters how much hair he loses, especially since I am not to marry him in any case.”

“How can you be so dispassionate about it? Did you want to marry him?”

“I confess I had hoped to . . . for the space of five seconds. But I was never in love with him.”

“He should be heartily ashamed of himself for liking you and then running away simply because his mother disapproved.”

“He could hardly marry without her approval, Phoebe. Since his father died, his mother holds the power to disinherit him.” Although secretly Julia thought he could have stood up to his mother and eventually changed her mind. The truth was, he hadn’t wanted her enough to fight for her.

Perhaps it was ungracious of her to think so, and she would not admit these thoughts to Phoebe.

“Are you always so perfect, Julia? Do you never think of yourself above others? Do you not feel slighted by his ungentlemanly behavior?”

“It was my own fault. If anything, I have wronged him.”

Phoebe raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “How?”

Julia shook her head, remembering again how she had deliberately tried to flirt with Mr. Dinklage because of what Sarah Peck had said. “I should never have smiled so much at him and encouraged him to ask me to dance when I didn’t have a strong attraction to him. It was wrong of me, and I’m afraid I’ve hurt him worse than he has hurt me.”

“Only because you flirted with him? Julia, this is too much. How can you blame yourself? Everyone flirts. Flirting isn’t a crime.”

“But a young lady should never try to gain a man’s affections by flirting when she feels no attachment to him. It is wrong. I would not take it lightly if a lady did that to my brother, for instance.”

“But you don’t have a brother, Julia.”

“No, but if I did . . . The point is, a lady shouldn’t go around breaking hearts and treating men’s affections lightly.”

Phoebe looked up to the ceiling and sighed dramatically. She stood and walked in a circle in the space between Julia’s bed and dressing table. She continued her circular path while she talked. “You exasperate me, Julia. It’s as if you were born good, born an old woman rather than a girl.”

“That isn’t a very flattering thing to say.”

“Then admit that you enjoyed flirting with Mr. Dinklage.”

“On the contrary, I felt guilty and afraid that someone would read my thoughts and call me a hypocrite.” Or at least a flirt who was only after the wealthiest husband, as Mr. Langdon most assuredly thought. “After all the times I told you not to flirt or give attention to any man without great discretion . . . and yet there I was, flirting with a man I wasn’t even sure I would accept should he ask me to marry him.”

Phoebe laughed. “I guess you aren’t perfect after all.” She smirked, and Julia had a sudden urge to tweak her nose.