A Spy's Devotion (The Regency Spies of London #1)(92)

“We shall go back and tell everyone,” he said, holding her tight, “starting with Mr. and Mrs. Atherton, that we are getting married. I shall put all your things in my carriage, and we shall set off for Glyncove Abbey immediately. I shall have the banns read as soon as possible,” he continued, “and we shall marry at Glyncove Church in four weeks.”

“Oh dear.” Julia’s heart sank.

“What is it?”

“What about Phoebe? She must hate me. What will she say when she hears we are to be married?”

“I do not think you have to worry about that.”

“How can you say that? Don’t you know how in love with you she is?”

“Not anymore. She is engaged to be married, I just learned, before I came to Donnerly Hall to find you.”

“To be married? To whom?”

“To Daniel Dinklage.”

“Oh.” Julia tried to imagine the two of them together. After all that Phoebe had said about him not being handsome enough for Julia. “How strange.”

“It seems that Phoebe made an impression on Mr. Dinklage when they met in Bath several weeks ago. Once they were both back in London, Mr. Dinklage visited Phoebe during her distress over her father’s flight from England and the accusations of his traitorous spying. Very few people did visit her, I would imagine. Dinklage’s mother died a few months ago, and he was consequently free to marry whomever he wished.”

“Oh. That is . . . good.” Phoebe would have someone to take care of her, and perhaps she had come to love him. Stranger matches were made every day. “Truthfully, I am very glad to hear that. It is very good news, is it not?” And if Phoebe was contented in her marriage, perhaps she would be able to forgive Julia . . . someday.

“It is good news. And I have been given a release from my commission in the army and will be taking a position at the War Office.”

“So you will be able to stay in London?” Her heart soared. He would not be sent back to the Peninsula to fight in the war!

“Yes. And you and I shall oversee a new project I have proposed to Wilson. We shall begin some money-making industries for the women in the East Side . . .”

Julia listened and nodded to all that he had to say, thinking how handsome he was, how warm and beautiful his eyes were, how perfect his lips looked, how good his kisses felt . . . How frivolous she was to be thinking such thoughts when he was talking of the children and their needs.

“I think that is wonderful,” Julia said. “You and Mr. Wilson will do many great things in the East Side, I have no doubt.”

He pressed his palm against her cheek, leaned forward, and covered her mouth with his.

Julia caressed his stubbly jaw with her fingertips. She was enveloped in a cloak of safety and warmth, as she stopped thinking and focused her attention on kissing him back.



At Donnerly Hall, Nicholas and Smith quickly collected his things. They transferred Julia’s trunks from the Athertons’ carriage to Nicholas’s own, without seeing anyone except the servants. The rest of the house was still asleep after the late-night ball, so Nicholas quickly scribbled a note for his hostess, Mrs. Atherton, and left it with the butler, explaining that he and Julia were to be married and were off to Glyncove Abbey in Lincolnshire to stay with his family until the wedding.

When he and Julia entered the carriage again, he carried his portfolio.

“What do you have there, Mr. Langdon?” Julia asked. The lopsided smile tugging at the corner of her mouth was so adorable, he longed to kiss her again.

He cleared his throat. “I took your music, the songs that you composed, from your pianoforte at the Wilhern town house when I went to fetch your things.”

She shook her head. “I am surprised you would think of those, as I did not think to ask you to take them.”

“I did think of them. Arrogant sort that I am, I believed you would eventually accept my marriage proposal, and I took them to surprise you. The surprise is, I got them published.”

She stared openmouthed. “You published my compositions?”

“On the contrary. That well-known publisher of music, Robert Birchall, published your music.” He opened the portfolio to show her.

She ran her hand over the printed sheet music. “I can hardly believe it.” A tear raced down her cheek. He reached out and wiped it away.

“Did I do wrong in having them published without your permission?”

“No, it’s just so surprising. But I love it. I love you.”

She threw her arms around him, causing him to drop the portfolio on the floor of the carriage so he could hold her properly.

“You are a published composer now,” he said against her hair. “Published anonymously, but if you wish it, I shall tell the world you composed them.”

“That is not necessary.” She pulled away. He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. “It is enough to see them in print. I wonder if anyone will actually want to play them.”

“I have it on good authority that they shall be favorably mentioned in Ackermann’s Repository.”

“Ackermann’s? Can it be true? My own music in Ackermann’s? Thank you, Nicholas. May I call you Nicholas? Just when we are alone?”

“My name has never sounded so sweet.”

“It is the best gift, by far, that anyone has ever given me.” She leaned against him, laying her head on his shoulder and squeezing his arm, and then lifted her head to kiss him.