A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(44)

“Mr. Langdon,” Mrs. Wilhern said, “won’t you and your sister join us for dinner next Thursday evening?”

Mr. Langdon look pleased, almost relieved. He agreed to come, and he only stayed a few moments more before declaring that he would escort his sister home.

No sooner had Leorah and her brother gone, Phoebe watching them walk down the street from the sitting room window, than she began exclaiming to her mother how wonderful she was for inviting them to supper. Phoebe immediately added that it would be perfect if Leorah went back with them in the fall to Wilhern Manor. Surely her mother could persuade her father to have a hunting party and invite Mr. Langdon. He could have no objections.

“What luck that Julia was able to secure a friendship with Mr. Langdon’s sister!”

Mrs. Wilhern turned a cool eye on Julia, as if she believed Julia had had other designs when she’d made friends with Leorah.

Julia excused herself as quickly as possible and hurried up to her room. One thing was certain: she could not call on the Bartholdys in the next few weeks. She only hoped her uncle didn’t discover her visits and become angry with her.

Julia made her way up the stairs and to her room. She closed the door behind her and found a letter for her on the dressing table from Sarah Peck.

She snatched it up and tore it open.



Dear Julia,

I urge you not to try to see me. I wouldn’t want your reputation to become tainted by association. I fear now that there is no hope for me to ever be thought respectable again, for I believe I am with child. I am ruined, and I have no one to blame but myself. I do not even blame William. He was only doing what men do. I was the foolish one, and I alone will bear the shame and reproach.

Oh, Julia, I pray you will never know the wretchedness I feel!

Julia, if you know anyone—and I can’t imagine how you would—anyone who might help me, or if you’ve ever heard of a home for girls in my condition and situation, a place where I might be away from society and have my baby in safety, please write to me and tell me. Perhaps you might have read of some Christian place of that sort in the paper, a charity poor house where I might work out my stay. Nothing is beneath me now. I can sew or clean or do laundry. But I must get out of this place or I fear I shall end up sinking, giving in to despair and doing harm to myself.

It is selfish of me to even write these things to you, Julia, you who are so unsullied by the world and who always strive to be good and proper and follow all of society’s rules. But I don’t know where else to turn for help.

Pray write to me soon, even if you have no help to offer me. Your letters are my only companions.

Yours ever,

Sarah Peck



Julia sank into a chair, her knees shaking as she imagined herself in Sarah’s situation. She must help her—there was no question about that—but how? She knew of no such place, a place of charity for girls who found themselves in Sarah Peck’s position. If there were such a place, how would she find it? Who could she ask without raising suspicion and causing a scandal for which her aunt and uncle would never forgive her?

Suddenly, she saw the face of Mr. Langdon’s friend, Mr. Wilson, with his friendly expression and kind eyes. Of course! His charity mission helped children, but might he not also know a place where someone in Sarah’s situation could receive help? Surely he would. She determined to ask him as soon as she could. She only had to be careful to go at a time that would not excite Mrs. Wilhern’s suspicions.

Perhaps Providence had led her to meet Mr. Wilson just at the right time. And now Providence would give her a way to help poor Sarah.

In the meantime, she took out pen and paper to write to Sarah and tell her she had every hope of finding just such a place for her, if only she could wait a few more days.



“Julia, come here.”

Julia arrived home from posting her letter to Sarah to be greeted by her aunt’s command.

Her heart fluttered. She laid aside her bonnet and entered the sitting room. “Yes, Aunt Wilhern?”

Her aunt sat in the corner of the settee, stroking her little gray-and-black dog while it rested in her lap, its eyes half closed.

“Julia, you have been calling on Monsieur Bartholdy in an unsavory part of town.” She fixed Julia with a baleful stare. Mrs. Wilhern’s eyes, which protruded slightly, struck Julia, not for the first time, as resembling her pug dog’s.

Aunt Wilhern seemed to be waiting for Julia to speak, so she answered, “Yes, Aunt. Miss Appleby and I, and sometimes Felicity, call on Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy on occasion.”

“I believe you call on them every Tuesday. Is this true, Julia?”

“Yes, Aunt Wilhern.” The poor coachman must have been forced to disclose the truth. What would her uncle do to him? “It isn’t Coleman’s fault, Aunt. I asked him to take us, and he—”

“I won’t tell Mr. Wilhern about any of this if you promise me not to visit there again.”

“But why?”

Mrs. Wilhern frowned at the question. “I do not want a niece of mine, with only that half-addled spinster, Agnes Appleby, or her niece, Felicity Mayson, as a chaperone in that part of town, and neither would Mr. Wilhern.”

“But, Aunt, please. I enjoy my visits with them, and I am perfectly safe, I assure you.” God would take care of her, and her aunt need never know about the incident with the three drunken men Mr. Langdon had maneuvered them around.