A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(42)

Julia had to put the letter down for a moment and dry her eyes with her handkerchief. Docile. Yes, she had thought being docile and good and everything society dictated a young lady should be would gain her the love and favor of her aunt and uncle, and of a good man. She was realizing now that she quite possibly had got it all wrong.

She went on reading. At this point in the letter, the color of the ink was slightly different, the handwriting more hurried and messy.



Julia, since writing the above I have left the employ of the Smithermans. You will blame me, no doubt, for my weakness. In truth, I blame myself. I know I behaved foolishly. And now I fear I shall be ruined forever. Julia, I have run away with William to London, have given myself to him completely. And now I believe he has abandoned me, for he did not come back last evening, and I am alone, with very little money and nowhere to go.

I have no excuse. I believed myself in love with him. I was desolate, desperate to feel loved, to truly live and not be entombed in my own loneliness and the scorn of other people. I believed he might love me enough to marry me. I was too foolish for a woman of twenty-four years. I should have known better, did know better. You tried to warn me, and you were right. I should have listened to you. But, Julia, he offered me the chance to escape. The things he said to me . . . I believed he was sincere. I should have known better. Forgive me, Julia, for I don’t think I can ever forgive myself.

Forgive me even for writing to you, but you are almost my only friend in the world. I shouldn’t burden you with my sin, with my ruin, Julia, but if nothing else, this should serve as a lesson for you. Please don’t ever do as I have done, for I have earned myself the scorn I so desperately wanted to escape. If I thought my situation bad before, it is utterly worse now. And please do not feel you have to continue your correspondence with me. If you do not write to me, I shall understand.

Yours sincerely,

Sarah Peck



“Oh, Sarah!” Julia checked the return address. She didn’t recognize the street name. It was probably in a part of town worse than where the Bartholdys lived. What must Sarah be feeling?

“Why didn’t she listen to me?” Julia had warned her about becoming too familiar with the oldest son. Now he had ruined her and obviously didn’t care. Fiendish man! Oh, what wouldn’t she say to him if she were to encounter him on the street! To abandon a sweet, loving girl like Sarah! It was unpardonable.

The man was a villain, but he was not the first gentleman to seduce a governess or servant and then abandon her. There were countless such stories on the lips of the gossips at every ball or party. “Mr. Theodore Richards, oldest son of the Richards family in Shropshire, has run away with the family’s governess, a Miss Little. Mrs. Richards is furious, for she has four younger children who are running wild, and she hasn’t had a moment’s peace since the trollop of a governess left.”

Of course, if it had been a gentleman’s daughter rather than a governess, it would have been treated in a much more serious manner. There would have been talk of him being made to marry the girl. The papers would have mentioned it discreetly, only giving the first letter of their names. But a governess . . . no gentleman would be expected to marry a governess, and the papers wouldn’t even deem it worthy of mentioning.

The gentleman goes on his way as if nothing ever happened. He is full able to make a suitable match. But the governess’s reputation is forever ruined.

Julia sat down at her writing desk at once and took out a sheet of paper, pen, and ink.

She began: Sarah, please write to me and tell me where you are and how you fare. You know I will help you in any way I can! Please do write to me.

What could Julia offer her? If only she could offer her a home! But it was impossible. Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern would never allow her in their house. If Julia had married Mr. Dinklage . . . it would have made it possible for her to help her friend. She would have at least been able to send her enough money to live somewhere decent.

Perhaps she had been selfish and thoughtless not to try to endear herself to his mother. Perhaps if she had, Mr. Dinklage would have been allowed to marry Julia, and Julia could have benefited not only Sarah in her dire situation but others as well. Perhaps she could have persuaded her husband to help Mr. Wilson in his mission to help the poor children of the East Side, like Henry and his sister, to help fund the Children’s Aid Mission.

Julia clutched her chest, feeling as if she was choking. No, she couldn’t think such thoughts. She couldn’t go back and change things, nor was she certain she would if she could. She must focus on what to say to poor Sarah.

She wrote: I have a little money, which I will gladly give to you. Perhaps you can advertise for a new position, somewhere in the country away from London and Sussex where no one knows of this and it can all be hushed up.

Unless, of course, she was with child.

Julia quickly finished her letter and hurried to take it to the post herself. A short walk would soothe her nerves.



Instead of walking to the Children’s Aid Mission on the East Side that Tuesday and running into Miss Grey again, Nicholas went to speak to McDowell at the War Office. They strategized how to catch Wilhern passing information to the French. They were nearly certain he was the traitor, since Nicholas had identified his footman as one of the men who had attacked him and stolen the diary.

“You must find a way to get back inside the Wilhern house,” McDowell said. “Get back into his study and see if you can find anything to show us what they are plotting and how they are getting the information out of the country. You said Wilhern’s daughter is in love with you. Flirt with her. Get another invitation to dinner.”