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

By Melanie Dickerson

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Chapter One

April 1811. London, England.

Nicholas Langdon wasn’t supposed to be here.
Julia Grey blinked, but he was still standing across the room from where she sat at the pianoforte.
It was the first party of the Season, and several of her aunt and uncle’s guests surrounded him. And in spite of the recent wounds he’d sustained fighting in the Peninsula, he looked as handsome and whole as he had the last time she’d seen him, a year and a half ago.
Just then, Phoebe Wilhern, Julia’s cousin, turned and saw him—and gasped loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the room. Phoebe’s face turned pink and the hand she lifted to cover her overjoyed smile never quite reached her mouth.
Julia stood to go to Phoebe, to admonish her not to make her feelings so obvious. Julia had spent the last year and a half trying to help Phoebe forget her infatuation with the faraway army officer and think of other things besides her obsession with Nicholas Langdon.
“Do sing for us, Miss Grey.” Mrs. Caldwell stood by her elbow, smiling. “We all know you play exceeding well, but we insist on hearing your heavenly voice.”
Julia hesitated, but she wanted to draw attention away from Phoebe. She chose some music while glancing up at her cousin, who was still staring at Nicholas Langdon, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide. Never very good at hiding her feelings, Phoebe’s infatuation with Mr. Langdon showed all over her face. Thankfully, he was talking with Hugh Edgerton and didn’t seem to notice her.
Julia began playing and singing, staring at the sheet music to make sure she didn’t forget the notes. When she glanced up again, Phoebe was standing in front of Mr. Langdon and talking to him.
When Julia finished the song, polite applause erupted.
“Won’t you play my favorite song,” an elderly guest entreated, leaning on his walking stick and plucking the song he wanted from among the sheets of music. “You played it so well several months ago, as I recall.”
She longed to go to Phoebe and urge her not to expose herself to gossip. Instead, she said, “Of course.”
Julia kept glancing out of the corner of her eye at Mr. Langdon as he spoke with Phoebe. He looked as though his shoulder wound had healed. He’d also suffered a leg wound. Would he have a limp?
He nodded politely to Phoebe and walked away. No limp, but Phoebe gazed forlornly at his perfectly straight, retreating back.
Phoebe had been Julia’s constant companion since Julia was six years old and Phoebe was four. And although Phoebe was impulsive, she did listen to Julia’s admonitions—usually. If Julia told her a man had an insincere countenance and a bad reputation, Phoebe refrained from flirting with him. If Julia advised her to take a shawl because the air was chilly, Phoebe would comply. Then, in the middle of their walk, Phoebe would invariably exclaim, “Julia, if you had not reminded me to bring a shawl, I would have been miserably cold,” and spontaneously embrace her.
A few days before, Julia had confided in Phoebe about Mr. Barrington, whom she had thought might ask her to marry him, but he had suddenly shifted his preference to a girl with an inheritance of ten thousand pounds. With a fierce look, Phoebe said, “I can’t imagine any man not falling in love with you, Julia. Mr. Barrington must be an utter fool.”
Julia’s heart had swelled with love for the affectionate girl.
And now, feeling she had little choice, Julia played the old gentleman’s requested song and hoped her cousin wouldn’t do anything too impulsive or indiscreet.
~ ~ ~
Nicholas Langdon surveyed the room where the dancing would take place. Young ladies in gauzy dresses of pale pink, blue, yellow, and white floated about like butterflies. It was a lovely sight to one who had been isolated from his home country, across the sea with only his fellow officers and soldiers in the Peninsula for almost a year, followed by months of convalescing here in London.
And he could not help noticing Julia Grey seated at the pianoforte, playing and singing with the voice of an angel.
As he dwelt on Julia Grey’s sweet, demure expression, her dark curls that caressed her cheeks, and the brightness of her eyes, Edgerton approached him with a glass of brandy in each hand.
“You’ve been gone too long, Nicholas.” Edgerton handed him one of the glasses. “You’ve forgotten that Julia Grey has no dowry, and you’ve only your officer’s pay.”
Nicholas cut a warning glance at his old school chum.
“Now, don’t look at me like that. I saw you staring at her.” Edgerton gave him his old snide grin.
He’d forgotten how much he disliked Edgerton’s caustic opinions.
“Miss Grey is only after the wealthiest husband she can catch,” Edgerton continued. “See her smiling at Dinklage? He’s a whey-faced imbecile, but he has fifteen thousand a year.”
She wasn’t exactly smiling at Dinklage. She only acknowledged him with a nod, since Dinklage had been staring at her.
“Thank you for the warning, Edgerton, but I hardly need it.” Nicholas was well enough acquainted with mercenary young ladies that he wasn’t likely to attach himself to one too soon. He’d had his heart crushed and his ego bruised two years ago and didn’t intend to go through that again.
“Her cousin is the one you should be thinking of.” Edgerton nodded slightly to his right, bringing Nicholas’s attention to Phoebe Wilhern, who was staring at him with eyes as big as teacups.
“I won’t be here long enough to think of anyone. I’m to sail back to the Peninsula in a week to rejoin my regiment.”
Miss Wilhern seemed to regain her composure and dipped a slight curtsy toward him. Now he had to acknowledge her, so he bowed in her direction. She started toward him.
“She has a dowry of twenty thousand,” Edgerton said softly. “And since you have only a week to enjoy such flirtations, I shall leave you to it.” Edgerton’s smug face turned away as he headed in the opposite direction.
Nicholas greeted Miss Phoebe Wilhern, careful not to express peculiar regard, lest she think he was singling her out. He remembered her as a girl who used to make calf eyes at him and try to talk with him at every opportunity before he went off to war.
Phoebe inquired after the shoulder and leg wounds he had sustained in his last battle, then expressed her heartfelt thanks for his courage and valiant service, on behalf of herself and every Englishman and woman. She immediately followed that with her sincere gratitude to God for saving him and bringing him back, whole and well enough to venture out tonight.
He had to admit, her enthusiasm was gratifying. Perhaps Edgerton was right: he should be more interested in Miss Wilhern than Miss Grey. A girl with twenty thousand pounds and an obvious infatuation with him was, by definition, attractive.
He asked her to dance the first dance, then excused himself to find something a little less robust to drink. He didn’t want to be stumbling about the dance floor because he’d drunk too much.
Edgerton was pouring himself another glass of brandy. Several other men were standing nearby, including the host, Robert Wilhern, talking and drinking.
A loud shot rang out behind him. He spun around. A servant was bending to pick up a heavy glass decanter he had dropped on the floor. The flat-bottomed container, instead of breaking, made a loud, dull sound, rather like a gunshot.
The memory flashed through his mind of being shot, the sudden sharp pain of a bullet tearing through his shoulder. His horse had reared, causing Nicholas to fall to the ground, breaking his leg.
His heart was pounding inside his chest, while everyone else was ignoring the incident, indeed, had completely forgotten it.
He concentrated on slowing his breathing as he thrust away the vivid memory, stuffing it into the corner of his mind. He tried to focus on the party and its guests. After being in a war, battling for his life, and seeing death all around him, such a gathering as this was almost surreal, the standing about doing nothing, dressed in fine clothing, striving to appear wealthy, fashionable, and important.
“You are fortunate in Phoebe Wilhern’s attentions.”
Edgerton had not seemed to notice his brief moments of panic, but the man’s voice was too loud, and Nicholas noticed Phoebe’s father, Mr. Wilhern, cutting his eyes at him, to gauge Nicholas’s reaction to Edgerton’s statement, no doubt. Nicholas took a sip of his weaker port wine rather than replying. He was about to excuse himself and go back to the music room when Edgerton asked him, “What will you be about this next week, while you are furloughed and unfettered? You could come to the club with me tomorrow.”
Edgerton would be at the gaming tables, no doubt. What was the appeal of betting thousands of pounds on the roll of the dice or the suit of a card?
“I’ve a task, a favor for a fellow soldier, to carry out tomorrow.”
Edgerton raised his brows. “Oh?”
“A soldier who was in the battlefield infirmary with me. Before he died, he gave me something and asked me to deliver it to a relative here in London.”
“How interesting.” And Edgerton truly looked as if he meant it. “What was your brave friend’s name, if I may ask?”
“Richard Beechum.”
Edgerton stood strangely still, his mouth going slack as his eye twitched.
“You knew him?”
Edgerton shifted his feet and shook his head slightly. “Me? No. Not I.”
His reaction seemed a bit odd, and so did the look on Wilhern’s face as he glanced their way, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching.
“So.” Edgerton cleared his throat. “This Beechum had a token for his sister, perhaps? A special watch fob to give to his father?”
“No, it was a diary. He asked me to take it to someone I never heard of. But of course, in dying for his country, he deserves to have this small favor done for him.”
“Oh, yes, of course! Of course. You’re a good man, Nicholas. None better. You will do the thing. It will get done. We’d better get to dancing. I hear the music starting.”
They both moved toward the larger room where the dancing would commence.
~ ~ ~
If Julia knew Phoebe, she would soon want her to switch to a livelier tune, something she and the guests could dance to.
Sure enough, when Julia sang the last note, Phoebe caught her eye and winked. Phoebe spread the word that they were about to begin a reel. While several guests paired up to dance, Julia found some appropriate music. Happily for Phoebe, Mr. Langdon had asked her to dance; they were standing up together at the head of the line.
Julia felt a flutter of excitement for Phoebe, who looked triumphant in her pale blue dress ornamented with ribbon and lace.
Mr. Langdon’s snow-white neckcloth stood out against his dark hair, and he was fashionably dressed in dark gray breeches and waistcoat, black Hessian boots, and a black double-breasted frock coat.
Julia’s mind raced as fast as her fingers. Would Mr. Langdon break his own rule and dance with Phoebe more than once? Or would Phoebe get the first dance with him, only to watch him dance with every other girl in the room for the rest of the night?
Even though Mr. Langdon was of above-average height, he moved gracefully. He was nothing like his older brother, whose countenance was less serious, almost careless. His brother Jonathan was also stouter and more pale-complexioned, a perfect contrast to Nicholas Langdon’s dark hair and skin, brown eyes, and crow-black brows. Their grandmother had been from Spain, and her heritage had made its presence known in the younger son. Nicholas was handsome, Julia had to admit, and though he appeared somewhat reserved, he had expressive brown eyes.
Phoebe certainly wasn’t the first girl whose heart had been captured by him—nor was she likely to be the last.
Julia watched how he interacted with Phoebe. He did not look overly friendly as he danced with her, although he engaged in conversation with her and appeared attentive as they waited their turn in the round.
He had not been as fortunate as one might have assumed in his choice of wife, however. Two years ago, his fiancé had thrown him over for a wealthier, older man. A betrayal like that would make some men bitter, and at the very least, cautious.
When the dance ended, Mr. Langdon gave Phoebe a quick nod, then turned and seemed to be asking Julia’s friend, Felicity Mayson, to dance.
When the next dance was over, he asked another young lady. Phoebe, meanwhile, also danced with other partners. She stared too much at Mr. Langdon, but Julia was proud of her for not trying to flirt with him. Indeed, she had little chance to, as he danced every dance.
Julia remained busy playing for the lively crowd. Everyone looked to be having a good time, even Phoebe.
Everyone, that is, except Sarah Peck, who sat in the same position all night, near Julia and the pianoforte. Julia took a moment here and there to speak to Sarah, but she had no time for real conversation. No one else said a word to her, as though her station as a governess made her invisible.
Julia paused to choose some new music when Mr. Langdon suddenly approached Sarah with Julia’s aunt, Mrs. Wilhern, by his side. Her aunt introduced them, and Mr. Langdon asked Sarah to dance.
Julia was so gratified at his kindness, her breath hitched in her throat. Perhaps Mr. Langdon was more worthy of Phoebe’s high regard than Julia had thought.
Sarah Peck smiled for the first time since the party began as Mr. Langdon gave her his full attention for the duration of the dance.
Sarah came back to her chair with color in her cheeks. Julia couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked the young governess to dance.
But perhaps his actions had been calculated to charm. Some men’s only obvious purpose in life was to make conquests of silly young females, although Mr. Langdon didn’t seem to be that type.
Julia had heard nothing but praise from Phoebe’s lips since she’d first met him two years before. His fiancé had jilted him for the older Mr. Tromberg, which resulted not only in making Mr. Langdon eligible again, but also making him the object of romantic sympathy—just the sort to make young girls’ hearts flutter. He’d had his pick of dance partners that Season.
Then, during Julia and Phoebe’s second Season, Julia had heard just as many lamentations from Phoebe, for Mr. Langdon had been sent away to the Peninsula to fight with General Wellington, and he’d been absent from all the balls and parties. Now that he was back, Phoebe was no doubt hoping to gain his attentions, and affections, before he must return to his duties as a lieutenant in the Peninsula campaign, fighting Napoleon.
Julia’s hands hovered over the piano keys to start the next dance tune. “Excuse me, Miss Grey.”
Mr. Langdon stood at her side with a young lady. “May I introduce someone to you? Miss Grey, this is my younger sister, Leorah Langdon. She would be delighted to play if you would do me the honor of dancing with me.”
Realizing her mouth was hanging open, Julia closed it and addressed his sister. “I am much obliged to you.” She stood and gave Leorah Langdon her place at the instrument while quickly donning her gloves.
Turning to Mr. Langdon, she placed her gloved hand in his and allowed him to lead her toward the dance.
Was he also trying to make a conquest of her? But in the small crowd, perhaps he was afraid of running out of partners and did not want to break his rule of never dancing with the same young lady twice in one night.
Julia was fond of dancing, but rather than focus on enjoying a dance with an agreeable partner, she should be thinking how she might direct Mr. Langdon’s interest toward Phoebe. She might never have a better opportunity, and Phoebe would never forgive her if she did not take every possible occasion to help her win Mr. Langdon.
As they lined up facing each other, she tried to think of something complimentary to say about Phoebe. But once she looked upon his countenance, it was impossible to look away. His warm brown eyes had a thoughtful tilt, his thick dark hair slanting over his forehead like a blackbird’s wing, his side-whiskers reaching almost to his jawline…the combined effect made her heart beat strangely.
Had she truly once thought his blond, fair-skinned brother more handsome?
The dance began, and she seemed to understand Phoebe’s infatuation. There was something about his bearing, the expression of his countenance. Of course, he must know Phoebe and many other girls fancied themselves in love with him. Well, she wouldn’t be one of his conquests. Overly handsome army officers had never been to her taste, and she loved her cousin too well to ever fall for the man on whom Phoebe had pinned her hopes.
As they danced, every girl in the room was looking at him as though her dearest wish was to be an army officer’s wife. They were looking at Julia as well. She wore her white muslin gown with the square neckline, but as was her wont, she wore little ornamentation, only a small amber cross around her neck and her pearl earrings. Her hair, which she had curled herself, was completely unadorned. She hoped she didn’t look too plain.
Instead of worrying about her appearance, she turned her thoughts to how to influence Mr. Langdon to think favorably of Phoebe.
Julia rather liked matchmaking, and she always enjoyed pleasing Phoebe. And if Nicholas Langdon were to ask Phoebe to dance a second time tonight, the girl would be in raptures.
“You are smiling. Are you enjoying the dance so much?” Mr. Langdon quirked an eyebrow at her.
“I enjoy dancing very much, thank you.”
“I should think you were ready to get away from the pianoforte for a bit.”
“Indeed. You are very kind.” His words seemed to suggest he was fishing for a compliment, but when she looked him in the eye…What was it that was so unnerving about his eyes that made him seem as if he cared?
She certainly could not allow herself to be silly about this man. She thought a moment, then said, “I am no great dancer. Not like my cousin Phoebe, who is such a spirited girl. She dearly loves a ball.”
The look in his eye changed. Had she said something wrong?
At that moment, in the natural course of the dance, they were forced to change partners. When they came back together again, Mr. Langdon said, “You play and sing exceptionally well, Miss Grey. And I don’t say that lightly, as my mother is something of a maestro. But I remembered this about you from the several occasions when we attended the same parties two Seasons ago.”
“Thank you.” She was surprised he remembered. “Are you pleased to be home? I am sure your family was very glad to see you.” She blushed, remembering he had come home due to the grave nature of his wounds. “I should say, once they were sure of your complete recovery.”
“Yes, of course.”
“You are quite recovered, then?”
He smiled down at her. “Yes, thank you. My broken leg healed quite nicely, don’t you think?”
“Nicely enough to allow you to dance.” She almost smiled back at him, then remembered that Phoebe might be watching. And she didn’t want Phoebe to suspect what Julia was thinking at that moment, which was how graceful a dancer, how charming a conversationalist, and how handsome he was.
“Do you enjoy playing and singing as much as you enjoy dancing?” he asked.
Was he only trying to make polite conversation? Or was he thinking that her aunt and uncle forced her to play so that their daughter could dance? At a ball, they would engage a small orchestra to play, but at a smaller party such as this one, Julia usually ended up at the pianoforte. It wasn’t as if her aunt and uncle forced her. But she knew Phoebe wanted her to, and she would do almost anything for her cousin. Some people no doubt characterized Julia as the Wilherns’ “poor relation,” but she owed so much to Phoebe’s parents. The Wilherns had taken her in when her own parents died, leaving her very little inheritance. How could she refuse such a small act of service?
“I do enjoy playing, and I would rather play than sing.”
“And would you rather play than dance?” She must have looked uncomfortable, because he said, “Forgive my impertinent questioning. I’ve been among men, some of them quite rough, for too long. You are equally graceful at playing and singing and dancing.”
Of course, it was the polite thing to say, but he did say it most charmingly.
“Your sister plays well indeed,” Julia said. “She is very gracious to take my place at the pianoforte.”
“Leorah does play well and is gracious but still not quite grown up at heart, I’m afraid. She’s only three years younger than I. Tell me, Miss Grey, would you believe that my elegant little sister used to put toads and lizards in her pockets, walk through muddy creek beds in her bare feet, and defeat her brothers in archery competitions?”
Julia couldn’t help laughing, then immediately felt guilty, hoping Phoebe hadn’t seen her laughing under the gaze of Mr. Langdon’s smiling face.
His smile was too appealing for anyone’s good.
“You shouldn’t tell such tales. Your sister would not like it.”
“On the contrary, she loves to tell those stories even more than I. She regaled the entire company of guests at my parents’ last dinner party with how she wrestled a poor defenseless rabbit from the jaws of a fox when she was ten.”
Their turn came and they obeyed the rules of the dance, taking each other’s hand and whirling to the music. When they had another chance to speak, she said, “Your sister reminds me of my cousin, Phoebe. Even now she enjoys a good tromp through the woods on the family’s country estate. She would go fishing with the groomsmen if my uncle would allow it.”
They switched partners for a few moments, Julia congratulating herself on again turning the conversation to Phoebe. When she faced Mr. Langdon, he had a strange look on his face.
“When you dance with me, I want to hear about you, not your cousin.”
Blushing as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, Julia tried to think of what to say. Should she give him a good set down? He was rude to tell her what she could or could not speak of. But she sensed that he had caught on to her scheme of trying to manipulate him into an attraction for Phoebe.
How annoying to be so transparent.
“So when a lady dances with you, she must stick to the subject you choose?”
“No.” He leaned his head nearer hers and said softly, “But you should know that I find you quite as interesting as your cousin Phoebe.”
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 man’s handsome face 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. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
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—she was taken aback by the harsh tone of her uncle’s voice, which did not fit with the occasion, as well as the fact that they were speaking of Nicholas 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.”
Julia hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until her uncle and Mr. Edgerton moved away.
Their conversation was so strange. Something about getting a diary from Mr. Langdon. But what could her uncle want with a diary?

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