A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(39)

“Oh.” Felicity’s mouth hung open in realization. “I didn’t think about that. But do you believe Mr. Langdon is in love with you?”

“No, no. At least, I hope not.” That’s not entirely true. “Phoebe would never forgive me. How could I betray her that way?”

“You wouldn’t be betraying her, Julia. Mr. Langdon hasn’t shown any undue interest in Phoebe, hasn’t led her to think he had any intentions toward her. She will simply have to get over her infatuation with him and learn to be happy for you.”

“Felicity, he hasn’t exactly asked me to marry him! He only danced with me a second time. Now everyone will think—oh, what will I do if my uncle casts me out?”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Felicity squeezed her hand extra hard. “You are getting upset for nothing.”

Her aunt and uncle loved Phoebe, but she wasn’t at all sure they loved her. To them, she was only a poor relation.

A servant walked up to Julia and bowed. “I beg your pardon, Miss Grey.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Wilhern asked me to inform you that he and Mrs. Wilhern are waiting for you in the carriage.”

Julia felt the blood rush from her cheeks. Her uncle must be furious.

“Julia?”

She glanced up at Felicity.

“Don’t worry.” A crease between Felicity’s brows showed that even she was worried, perceiving the seriousness of her situation. “I will call on you tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Julia tried to squeeze her friend’s hand, but she seemed to have lost strength in her limbs. Still, she must walk, must put one foot in front of the other and obey her uncle and make her way to the carriage without crumpling to the floor. She must not create a disturbance. A well-brought-up girl never did so if she could help it. She must behave properly. After all, if she were going to have to make her way by becoming a governess, a spotless reputation would be essential to her survival.



As soon as the set was done, Nicholas thanked his partner and turned to see Miss Grey leaving the ballroom.

He followed her, though at a far enough distance as to not seem as though he were following her. He tried to look nonchalant as he went, barely glancing at her to make sure she was still in front of him. When she went to get her wrap, while no one was looking, he slipped outside.

The Wilherns’ carriage was there, waiting. At least they were taking her home. He should probably go back inside. There was nothing else he could do. But something made him slip into the shadows by the front door, into a small alcove where there was just room enough for a small bench and a potted bush. Miss Grey emerged from the house only a few feet from him and proceeded down the front steps to the waiting carriage.

As she reached the door of the carriage, a footman stepped forward to open the door for her. He took her hand to help her in. For a moment, the footman’s face was illuminated by the carriage’s lantern. Nicholas gasped.

The Wilherns’ footman was one of the men who had attacked him and stolen the diary.



Julia collected her wrap and ended up at the carriage, hardly knowing how she got there. A footman helped her into the equipage, and Julia sat in the only available seat, next to her uncle, facing her aunt and Phoebe, who was leaning on Mrs. Wilhern’s shoulder.

Mrs. Wilhern was fanning Phoebe’s puffy face with a handkerchief. Julia’s cousin sniffed and shuddered, sniffed and shuddered, reminding Julia of a small child.

Of course Phoebe was upset. Mr. Langdon had singled Julia out, whether he’d meant to or not. He probably only did it because he could think of no other discreet way to save her from Mr. Edgerton, but they would all blame Julia for Phoebe’s upset.

Her aunt’s face was a cold mask. Julia sensed the anger and tension in her uncle’s body, even though she didn’t dare look at him. Her heart quaked within her, and she focused her eyes on the window of the carriage. How her aunt and uncle must hate her for upsetting their beloved daughter! Would they force Julia to leave immediately? Where would she go?

Perhaps they would allow her to explain. But as the carriage lurched and started slowly on its way, carting the four of them down the street, no one said a word.

What explanation could she offer? She could tell them that Mr. Edgerton had accosted her and Mr. Langdon had asked her to dance only to extricate her. But somehow, the thought of telling them of Mr. Edgerton’s untoward behavior made her even more afraid. What if her aunt and uncle didn’t care that she was frightened of Mr. Edgerton or that his behavior was indecent? They were already angry with her for not accepting his marriage proposal.

She had always tried to avoid any hint of impropriety. What good had it done her?

Julia took a deep breath to compose herself. She must conduct herself with ladylike dignity, now more than ever.

Her mind tormented her with imaginings of what her uncle would do or say when they arrived at the Wilherns’ London town house. The silence seemed to roar at her, louder with each passing moment. When they were nearly there, Mr. Wilhern cleared his throat.

“Tell me plainly, Julia. Has Mr. Langdon made an offer of marriage to you?”

“No, of course not.” Julia’s voice sounded hoarse. She struggled to say, “I have no reason to believe he has any designs of that nature . . . for me.”

She stopped to catch her breath, which had deserted her, as Phoebe looked accusingly at her from red-rimmed eyes.