A Spy's Devotion Page 4

  “No.”

  “Who else heard you speak of the diary? Did you say exactly where you planned to take the diary?”

  Nicholas thought back to the party. “I did not say where I planned to take it. I only mentioned the name Garrison Greenfield. I asked Edgerton if he knew him, since I thought he reacted oddly when I said the name. At the time, I thought little of it. As for who else might have heard, I believe Mr. Wilhern heard me.” He thought some more, trying to see in his mind’s eye the men who had been standing around him. “There were some others who had possibly been close enough to hear but weren’t part of the conversation. Mr. Anthony Youngblood, Mr. Geoffrey Thigpen, and Mr. Daniel Dinklage. Other than those three, plus Wilhern and Edgerton, I don’t believe anyone else could have heard me mention the diary. However, it’s impossible to say for certain. People were milling about. It was a party.”

  McDowell was occupied in writing down the names.

  “I did not know the diary was of any significance. The thought that I may have compromised any national secrets or anyone’s safety . . . I am heartily sorry.”

  “You could not have known, and it is most fortunate that you made a copy of what was in the diary. That will save us much conjecturing about what secrets may have fallen into the hands of enemy spies.” He tapped the paper on which he had been writing. “Wait here. I believe my superior will want to speak to you.”

  Nicholas sat, horrified at what he had possibly revealed to England’s enemies.

  He felt his side, suspecting one of his ribs may have been cracked in the scuffle. His headache was severe, but there was little to no bleeding from the blows to his head. He opened his coat and saw a blood stain on his white shirt over his old bullet wound, where the thief had ground his heel in.

  Anyone who knew Nicholas would have heard of his wounds received in battle and would have known of his shoulder wound and his broken leg, now healed. But they had also known of the diary. Who could it have been? Mr. Edgerton? Mr. Wilhern? Or one of the other gentlemen at the party?

  Who of his acquaintance would betray their country?

  A serious-looking gray-haired man entered the room. Nicholas stood quickly, which made him dizzy, but he managed to focus his eyes after a moment.

  McDowell made the introductions. “Langdon, this is Colonel Thomas Stockton of the Foreign Office. Colonel, this is Lieutenant Nicholas Langdon.”

  The colonel asked Nicholas to start from the beginning and tell him everything about the diary and what had happened. Nicholas went through the whole story again, adding more details this time of Mr. Beechum, the night of the party at the Wilherns’, and getting attacked in the street. Colonel Stockton listened mostly in silence, his penetrating eyes trained on Nicholas.

  When Nicholas was finished, and after a few grunts, Colonel Stockton said, “I will require your services, Lieutenant Langdon, as an officer and a member of your social circle, to help us discover who stole the diary. It will require utmost discretion, as I’m sure you understand. This is a matter of great national importance.”

  “Sir, I am eager to help in every way possible. My only problem is that I am supposed to be on my way back to my regiment in the Peninsula within the week.”

  “We can write to your commanding officer and have your return delayed.” He waved his hand as if it were a simple process. “McDowell will look into the other men who might have overheard you speak of the diary. And if you could give us a list of every man in attendance at the party, that would also be appreciated. But I want you, Lieutenant Langdon, to personally investigate Mr. Edgerton and Mr. Wilhern. Find out whether they have family connections to France, any sort of motive for spying for the French, or any problems with debt that might make them willing to spy for our enemies for monetary gain.

  “In the meantime, I ask that you go home and retrieve the copy you made of the diary. The sooner we have that, the sooner our expert decoders can go to work on deciphering it.”

  “Of course.”

  “I am placing my complete faith in you, Lieutenant. I need not emphasize how necessary are your loyalty and discretion.”

  “Sir, you may depend on it. I consider my highest loyalty, next to God, to be to my king and my country. I shall be as discreet as the grave, you have my word as a gentleman.”

  The colonel nodded, looking satisfied.

  “But, sir, if I may ask . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Who is Garrison Greenfield, and why was my servant not allowed to see him?”

  “We wondered why your servant was looking for him and were planning to send someone to question your father about it. Mr. Greenfield was one of our men. In fact, he has been our most trusted agent, integral in discovering what was happening across enemy lines. He has been missing for months and presumed captured, or dead.”

  Nicholas absorbed this information in silence.

  “Now, I will send two of our men with you to fetch the copy you made of the diary.”

  As Nicholas was escorted home in the company of two guards, his head was spinning more than ever. He had to find who had attacked him and why they had stolen the diary. He couldn’t bear to think that by allowing the diary to be stolen, he might have caused some secret of great national importance to be leaked to the enemy.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Julia rode beside Phoebe and opposite Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern in their new carriage. The streets of London were crowded, as usual, as they made their way slowly to Mrs. Caldwells’ ball. Julia was only half listening to what Phoebe was saying as she prayed silently for her nerves to settle.

  “. . . Nicholas Langdon, as a name, is rather plain. I would prefer him to have a more romantic-sounding name—something like Drake Westmoreland or Cameron Beauchamp or Nathaniel Torrington. What do you think, Julia?”

  “His name hardly matters, Phoebe. Besides, ‘Nicholas Langdon’ is a perfectly respectable name.”

  “I suppose you are right. I shall be very proud to be Mrs. Nicholas Langdon.” She let out a long, dramatic sigh.

  It was positively astonishing that Phoebe could be so indiscreet about the object of her affections, after Julia had taken such pains to warn her not to display her feelings so openly. But at least Phoebe was honest. Julia often didn’t tell even Phoebe, the person she was closer to than anyone else, what she was thinking and feeling.

  Finally, they arrived. Julia looked around, but she saw neither Mr. Daniel Dinklage nor anyone else of her acquaintance. Perhaps it was God’s way of keeping her from flirting with Mr. Dinklage.

  Julia was almost sorry that the hostess would have no need of her to play the pianoforte, as Mrs. Caldwell had hired a small orchestra for the ball. Julia played to calm her own emotions, whether sadness, contentment, joy, or frustration. Letting her fingers draw music from the ivory keys eased any gloomy feelings and enhanced the more joyful ones. She often closed her eyes and let the beauty of it take her out of the melancholy she felt when Phoebe was angry or sulking about something, or when her cousin’s grandparents came to call, doting on Phoebe and treating Julia like an unwanted guest, reminding her that her own parents and grandparents were long dead.

  Julia stood talking, or, rather, listening, as Phoebe and two of her friends, who were just out in society and in their first Season, gossiped and giggled and drew attention to themselves.

  More people arrived. Through the milling crowd, Julia saw Mr. Dinklage across the room. He bent toward two dowagers who held him in conversation. Julia smiled quite purposefully at him and nodded. He looked startled, suddenly straightening. He turned around to see who was behind him, looking over his left shoulder, and then his right, and then at Julia. She kept smiling.

  Barely ten feet to Mr. Dinklage’s left, Mr. Nicholas Langdon was staring at her with those strangely thoughtful brown eyes. The corner of his mouth went down even as his brow quirked up in an expression that was at once questioning and amused.

  Julia’s attention was pulled away by Phoebe and her friends as
king her if she intended to dance.

  “Of course, if someone asks me,” Julia said, feigning a smile.

  “I hope someone asks me,” said one of the girls.

  “I hope a certain someone asks me,” Phoebe said archly.

  The others giggled, and a blonde with pale eyes added, “I hope your certain someone—Mr. Nicholas Langdon—asks me too.”

  Everyone laughed except Phoebe.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Phoebe Wilhern. You have no reason to keep him to yourself, and he’s the most handsome man here.”

  But Phoebe’s lips remained pressed into a thin line, and she turned away from the group and walked with her nose in the air—in Mr. Langdon’s direction.

  The dancers got ready for the first dance as the music was already starting. Mr. Langdon had found a partner and was leading her to the floor. Phoebe changed direction and stood with an air of nonchalance by a group of young men.

  Mr. Dinklage was still staring at Julia, his face suffused with a befuddled blush.

  Sarah Peck’s distressed countenance appeared in her memory. Hadn’t Julia promised not to dissuade any respectable suitor? Wouldn’t it be foolish of her to ignore a gentleman who was interested in her? A man with the means to marry her? Of course, she must explore her options, must give the man a chance to secure her affections.

  She continued trying to participate in the conversation around her, but it quickly degenerated into a game to see who could bestow the highest praise on Mr. Langdon. Julia was wondering how she might extricate herself to go in search of more mature conversation, when she looked up to see Mr. Dinklage stepping hesitantly to her side.

  “May I bring you some lemonade, Miss Grey?”

  “You are very thoughtful, Mr. Dinklage. Thank you.”

  Mr. Langdon was dancing with a young lady, at that moment passing close to where Julia stood with the other young ladies bent on praising him. The girls didn’t seem to notice his presence, however, and Mr. Langdon gave Julia a slight smile before turning back to his partner.

  “Julia, didn’t you hear me?”

  “What?” Julia turned to Emma Holcomb.

  “Are you getting overheated, Julia? Do you need to get some air?”

  “You do look a bit flushed,” another girl said.

  “No, no, I am quite well.”

  “I was asking if you had ever been to Bath.”

  “Oh yes, once. It was lovely.” Why did Mr. Langdon have such an ability to discompose her? She vowed not to pay him the least attention.

  When the dance was over, Mr. Dinklage was hovering at her side. She took the drink from his hand. “Thank you.”

  She looked up to see her friend Felicity Mayson walking toward them.

  “Felicity.” Julia grabbed her friend’s hand. “If I may, I’d like to introduce Mr. Daniel Dinklage.”

  They exchanged pleasantries, with Mr. Dinklage blushing, glancing away and back, and generally looking as if he’d never been in polite society before tonight.

  But at least he wasn’t overconfident and flirtatious.

  Julia expected Mr. Dinklage to ask her to dance, but the three of them simply stood awkwardly looking at each other. The music was starting, and Julia wanted to dance, and with Mr. Dinklage. If she were to get to know him, she must dance with him at least once.

  She gave Mr. Dinklage a crooked smile. His eyes grew bigger, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Finally, she resorted to asking, “Mr. Dinklage, do you dance?”

  “Y-yes, Miss Grey, though perhaps not very well.”

  “I’m sure you dance well.” Well enough. The music was starting. Couldn’t he take a hint? She gave him her best sideways glance, well aware that Felicity was staring at her as if she had just sprouted horns.

  “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Grey?” he said.

  I thought you’d never ask. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He led her onto the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Mr. Langdon but refused to look at him.

  Mr. Dinklage’s dancing was as halting and hesitant as the way he walked and talked. During the course of the dance, they said very little to each other until Mr. Dinklage said, rather breathlessly, “You look beautiful tonight, Miss Grey.”

  “You are very kind.”

  When the dance ended, Julia excused herself. Mr. Dinklage bowed politely, and Julia went to join Felicity, who was standing nearby.

  Julia grabbed her friend’s hand, and they moved away from the crowd so they could talk privately.

  Julia told her about Sarah being sent away to be a governess elsewhere and her plea to Julia to find someone to marry.

  Felicity frowned and shook her head. “I do not like to think of you throwing yourself away just because of what Sarah Peck said.”

  “I am not planning my wedding just yet, Felicity. I doubt his mother would look favorably on the match.”

  “If she doesn’t, you can comfort yourself in the fact that you are far above him in appearance, talent, sense, and manners.”

  “But none of those things matter as much as having a few thousand pounds to my name, which I do not.” Julia smiled in an attempt to make light of the situation. But Felicity of all people understood Julia’s situation. She was the eleventh child of twelve, and though her father was a successful attorney from a family of landed gentlemen, Felicity would have very little in the way of a dowry. Her prospects were almost as slim as Julia’s.

  Two of Phoebe’s cousins on her mother’s side, Thomas and Walter Atwater, approached them and uttered the usual pleasantries. They were not particularly attractive, but they were young and unattached, and so Julia was glad when Mr. Walter Atwater asked, “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Grey?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  He led Julia onto the floor while his brother asked Felicity.

  As they stood waiting for the dance to begin, just behind her she heard Mrs. Wilhern say her name. As her aunt was a little hard of hearing, she was talking in her loud, matter-of-fact way.

  “Julia is a seemly sort of girl. It’s a pity that she has attracted no eligible suitors, but if she does not marry, she will make a fine governess. She has less than three hundred pounds that her father left her, and I don’t know who marries a girl with so little.”

  A fiery blush crept into her cheeks. Should she try to catch her aunt’s eye to make her stop talking? Her aunt was not one to notice a subtle hint. Julia could only pray as Mr. Atwater led her through the motions of the dance. Unfortunately, instead of stopping, her aunt continued to speak loud enough that Julia could hear every word.

  “Phoebe quite dotes on her, and I’m afraid we failed to make sure of a proper distinction between Julia’s situation and her cousin’s. Phoebe’s rank, her fortune, and her rights are quite above what Julia can expect. Perhaps we shirked our duty to impress upon them both a consciousness of Julia’s lower station. But Phoebe is such a headstrong girl and never liked to hear anything of the kind, and we indulged her.”

  By now, Julia wanted to run from the room, but Aunt Wilhern’s voice droned on.

  “I’m sure Phoebe won’t need a companion anymore once she gets married. And goodness knows Mr. Wilhern and I have no need of her. We will try to find a suitable position for Julia. The family to whom she goes will be fortunate, since Julia can instruct in all the usual academic subjects, as well as music. She practices every day and is quite the proficient at the pianoforte and the harp.”

  Julia couldn’t bear to look her dance partner in the eye. Of course, he could not have failed to hear every word.

  Julia finally saw who Mrs. Wilhern had been speaking to—Mr. Hugh Edgerton and his mother.

  Bad enough that her aunt should make such a speech to another matron like herself, but to a young man like Mr. Edgerton? What was her aunt thinking? But that was the problem; she talked without thinking, oblivious to the impropriety of what she was saying.

  Once aga
in, it was their turn to promenade. Blindly, Julia took Mr. Atwater’s hand and let him lead her through the middle of the two rows of dancers. She tried to look straight ahead, as if nothing had happened, and pay attention to the steps of the dance. But a stone crowded her chest, and she kept hearing her aunt’s words, callously speaking of Julia being unable to attract a suitor, and of her aunt’s intention to cast Julia off to be a governess as soon as Phoebe was married.

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she could not humiliate herself by crying in a public assembly. A lady should always be able to govern her own feelings.

  Only making things worse was Mr. Atwater’s halting way of dancing. He was worse even than Mr. Dinklage. Had he never danced before?

  How painful to realize that her aunt did not consider her a member of the family at all, only a tool, a servant who would serve a purpose and then be discarded as unnecessary.

  She was afraid to look at her partner, or to look anyone in the eye, and see her humiliation reflected back at her.

  They changed partners in the course of the dance and she found herself with Mr. Langdon. She was captured by his deep-brown eyes before she had time to look away. But there was sympathy in them, in the gentleness of his expression.

  He had heard what her aunt had said, and he pitied her. Her humiliation was complete.

  Neither of them said a word as they went through the movements of the dance. His fingers were gentle yet firm as he grasped her hand. She was grateful he didn’t speak, but the hollow feeling came back into the pit of her stomach. How could Aunt Wilhern say such things about her at a party where so many others could hear?

  Once she’d broken free from Nicholas Langdon’s gaze, she couldn’t bear to look at him again. God, please help me get through this ball. Perhaps she could hide in the card room, or near the refreshments table. Or under it.

  She could feel Mr. Langdon’s eyes on her as he handed her back to Mr. Atwater, but she didn’t look up at him.

  When the dance ended, Julia excused herself, saying she needed some air. She walked across the large ballroom. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Mr. Edgerton staring at her. He wore buff-and-brown-striped trousers with a waistcoat to match. With his larger-than-average height and build, his brown hair, and his wide-set eyes, Mr. Edgerton was considered handsome by some. But even though his was an old family, he had racked up considerable gaming debts and would need to marry someone with a fortune—which was why it was strange that he always seemed to seek Julia out at parties. She had long realized he felt a preference for her, but she assumed his debts would prevent him from pursuing her.