A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(5)

The dance ended. The other participants applauded politely as Julia stared up at him.

“Thank you for the dance, Miss Grey. I hope to have the pleasure again . . . soon.” With that, he bowed politely and turned away.

Julia was staring at his retreating back, just as Phoebe had earlier in the evening. She turned and made her way toward the refreshments.

She stood in a corner, drinking her lemonade and fanning herself. How strange that she should have been caught in Mr. Langdon’s spell. What kind of loving cousin would blush as she remembered the handsome face of the man her cousin admired leaning over her?

She was mostly hidden behind one of her aunt’s potted plants, a large rubber tree, as she stood against the wall, forcing her thoughts back in order.

Taking another sip of her lemonade, she recognized her uncle’s voice very nearby.

“Langdon has the diary? You are sure? We shall have to retrieve it—tomorrow.”

Julia peeked around the plant’s large leaves. Her uncle was talking to Mr. Edgerton. They stood with their backs to her. She should reveal her presence, as it would be very rude to continue eavesdropping on their conversation, but a small frisson of fear stopped her—the harsh tone of her uncle’s voice did not fit with the occasion, as well as the fact that they were speaking of Mr. Langdon.

“How do you propose—” Mr. Edgerton began a question that was interrupted by her uncle.

“You must go first thing in the morning. If you fail, I’ll send a man—two men.” Her uncle lowered his voice even more. “We will talk no more tonight, not till after the guests have gone.”

As her uncle and Mr. Edgerton moved away, Julia let out the breath she’d been holding.

Their conversation was so strange. Something about getting a diary from Mr. Langdon. But what could her uncle want with a diary?





CHAPTER TWO


Nicholas sat in the sitting room facing east. This was his favorite room in the morning, as he liked to see the sun slanting in the windows. The rest of the family was still abed, and he had sent his valet, Smith, to ferret out the whereabouts of one Garrison Greenfield, the man to whom Beechum had bade him take the small leather diary. His only direction, besides the name Garrison Greenfield, was the Horse Guards in Whitehall. He must have meant the War Office. Whatever the case, Smith would find him.

Nicholas sat reading the newspaper, still catching up on all the political news since he had been away, when Foster announced that Hugh Edgerton was calling. So early in the morning?

“Show him in.”

Edgerton greeted him with a weak smile. His eyes were red and puffy.

“Must be something important to bring you out so early.” Nicholas nearly chuckled at the way Edgerton winced and shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight.

“Important?” Edgerton stood still a moment. “Not at all. What makes you say that? I wanted to call, as I know you may be off again soon.”

Edgerton proceeded to talk of the war, and he asked Nicholas several questions about his time in the Peninsula, about General Wellington, and what Nicholas thought the future position of the British army would be. It was beginning to strike Nicholas as very strange conversation, not at all what Edgerton usually talked of.

Edgerton wandered over to the small desk against the wall. “Have you caught up on your correspondence since you’ve been convalescing?” He leaned over the desk, and though Edgerton’s body was blocking his view, Nicholas believed he heard Edgerton open and close the desk drawer.

“Do you need something?” Nicholas walked toward him.

“No.” Edgerton straightened and took out his snuffbox, carefully taking a pinch of the brown powder. “I thought I saw some cigars in your desk, but I was mistaken.”

Soon afterward, Edgerton cordially bid Nicholas a good day and left, expressing a wish to meet him again before Nicholas sailed.

While Nicholas was still puzzling over why Edgerton had called on him so uncharacteristically early and then left so abruptly, Smith arrived back from his errand.

“Did you locate Greenfield?”

“No, sir. And there is something odd about it.”

“Odd?”

“When I inquired about him at the War Office, a clerk told me to wait, and he went and fetched another man with a colonel’s uniform, who asked me why I was looking for Garrison Greenfield. I told him my master had something to give him. He asked, ‘Who is your master?’ ‘The William Langdons of Lincolnshire and Mayfair,’ said I. ‘What would the Langdons of Lincolnshire want with Garrison Greenfield?’ he asked. I said, ‘I already told you, and if you cannot tell me where to find him, I shall be on my way.’ The man looked hard at me. I thought it best that I come and tell you what he said before I inquired any further.”

“Thank you, Smith. You did well. I shall investigate myself.”

Very odd. Nicholas tried to think who he knew at the War Office. His father would know someone. He’d go ask him and then send a letter today, requesting a meeting. And later . . . he should look and see what was in that diary.

Going upstairs, he remembered his brother had left the day before. Jonathan had told him that his wife, Isabella, planned to make some changes to the nursery and some of the other rooms at the Abbey before their first baby came.

The family estate, Glyncove Abbey in Lincolnshire, was where Nicholas, Jonathan, and their sister, Leorah, had grown up. But it was more his sister-in-law’s home now than his own. But that was as it should be. Jonathan was the eldest son and rightful heir.