After Miss Grey sang, the party began to break up, and people started to say their good-byes to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern. Nicholas would have been the first person out the door, but he wanted to be sure Edgerton did not try anything untoward with Miss Grey. But by that time, Edgerton was almost falling asleep standing up, so Nicholas was able to take him in hand, usher him out the door, and put him in his carriage without much protest.
In regard to his goals, the night had not been very successful. But perhaps Miss Grey would prove to be a better ally than he had imagined.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Julia wandered down to the drawing room the next morning to play the pianoforte, where she often did her best contemplating.
As she sat at the instrument and began to play, she again pondered why Mr. Langdon had been in her uncle’s study. Could it have had something to do with what she heard Mr. Edgerton and her uncle talking about at the ball a week ago? Something about a diary. His excuse of getting lost looking for the retiring room did not ring true.
Soon after, Mr. Edgerton had claimed her attention. She very much disliked speaking to anyone who had been drinking as much as he had, and she was aware that she should not allow herself to be caught alone with him. Mr. Langdon’s presence had made her feel a bit safer. He was so gentlemanly, she imagined he had noticed Mr. Edgerton’s inebriated state and was keeping watch.
Mr. Edgerton had told her, when no one else was listening, that he was not the destitute debtor that society’s rumors had proclaimed him. “I am in a very fair way, or soon will be, to marry and purchase my own estate.”
Could the reports of his gaming debts have been so inflated? Where could he have attained a fortune? Perhaps it was only the brandy making him say such things.
“Julia, may I speak with you a moment?”
Her uncle’s voice brought her back to the present, and she stopped playing. He stood in the doorway, his brows lowered in a way that made her heart skip two beats.
“Of course.”
“Come into the study with me.”
She rose from the pianoforte and preceded her uncle.
Uncle Wilhern motioned for her to sit opposite his usual chair. Julia sat and forced her hands to stay still in her lap. Her uncle stared at her, unblinking. Normally he occupied himself with business when he was home, and he wasn’t home that often. When they were residing in London, he spent a lot of time at his club, and when they were in the country, he was often shooting with a party of men, riding, or going to town on business.
Julia had always believed her uncle loved her in his own way. But had he ever felt any tender feelings for her, the kind a father would feel for a child? He never expressed any affection for her, but he paid little attention to his own daughter, and yet no one doubted that he loved Phoebe. He had taken Julia in, as his wife’s brother’s child, giving her all the advantages of a good education and good society. But now, observing him as he was observing her, she saw a coldness in his eyes that she never saw when he looked at Phoebe.
His stare remained hard as he stated, “It is my pleasure to tell you, Julia, that a gentleman has asked to marry you.”
Julia sat still, trying to absorb the meaning of his words. “No one has declared himself to me.” She swallowed. “Forgive me, Uncle, but I am astonished.”
“Can you not guess the young man? Surely you have noticed his attentions to you.”
Mr. Dinklage first came to mind, but she couldn’t imagine him having the courage to speak to her uncle, and he was even less likely to brave his mother’s disapproval. Mr. Langdon came unbidden to her thoughts, but of course, it could not be. He had shown no preference for her. Mr. Edgerton . . . yes, it must be he, although she wished it weren’t. Oh, what could she say? Her uncle no doubt thought she would be foolish not to accept him. Her hands started to tremble.
“Since you will not venture a guess,” her uncle said, pacing slowly from one side of his desk to the other, his hands behind his back, “I shall tell you. Mr. Hugh Edgerton. He is a gentleman and will be able, in a few weeks, to support you very well. He will arrive soon in anticipation of your answer.”
“Uncle, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“What do you mean you don’t know what to say?” The hardness crept into his voice. “You will accept him.”
“I—I am sorry, Uncle. I am very sorry to disappoint anyone, but I cannot accept him.”
Her uncle stopped and scowled at her from across his desk. “What? Can’t accept him? You had better have a very good reason for refusing a gentleman whose interest in you is obviously earnest. He does you a great honor, as you have no fortune at all.” He leaned over his desk, his eyes wide, his jaw twitching.
A trickle of perspiration made its way down Julia’s back, between her shoulder blades. “I do not love Mr. Edgerton, and I have doubts about his character.”
“What doubts could you have about his character?” His lip curled as his tone turned biting. “You, who have no other prospects at all. What reasonable objections could you have to his character?”
She could not avoid answering the question without appearing to defy her uncle. Her heart beat hard and fast against her chest. The thin muslin of her dress clung to her back and shoulders, even though the fire in the study was small. “He has done nothing perverse that I can say with conviction or that I know of personally. It is only a feeling that I have when I look into his eyes, that his thoughts are not those of a gentleman. And there are rumors of his gambling and debts. I do not wish to criticize any gentleman, but he also drinks too much . . . on occasion.”
Was it her imagination, or had her uncle’s eyes suddenly become bloodshot?
“And what if he does have a few vices? What gentleman does not have a few gaming debts and occasionally drinks too much? Are you so fine that you can look down your nose at the one man who is asking for your hand in marriage?”
Julia felt the blood drain from her face at her uncle’s words. She could no longer meet his hard stare, and he turned his back on her.
Dear heavenly host, what could she possibly say? She’d rather become a governess than marry Mr. Edgerton. But her uncle’s words made her feel as if she were being ungrateful by refusing to marry him. Perhaps marriage to the man would not be so terrible. But she could not resign herself to marry someone she felt no affection for, someone who filled her with mistrust. It was too abhorrent, the thought of giving herself, mind and body, to a man she did not love. She simply could not do it.
But the thought of her uncle being angry with her, thinking less of her than she had ever believed he could . . . Tears pricked her eyes.
She blinked and fought them back. This was no time to give in to weakness and emotional displays. Her uncle would respect her even less than he already did.
He went on, keeping his back to her. “I believe I know what is best for you, and it is my wish, as your guardian, that you marry this young man.”
“Please forgive me, Uncle. You must know that I have always, and still do, wish to please you in every possible way that does not violate my conscience. I . . .”
“Your aunt and I took you in when you had no other place to go.” He glanced over his shoulder at her.
“Yes, sir, and I’m very grateful to you and Aunt.” The tears were encroaching again. “You have been the utmost in charity and kindness, and I—”
“I gave you all the same advantages my own daughter enjoyed.”
“Yes, sir, and I am terribly mindful of that, very thankful and mindful.”
“Then why do you defy me now with the insinuation that the man who wishes to marry you, and to whom I have already given my approval, is not good enough for you? Does that smack of gratitude, I ask you?”
Julia’s face went hot, and her stomach sank. She clasped her damp hands together to keep them from trembling. “I never meant—”
“What high and lofty ambitions are you expecting out of life, Miss Grey?”
She forced herself t
o meet her uncle’s hard stare. “I have no high and lofty ambitions. My aunt has made it quite clear that I have no choice but to be sent away to be someone’s governess.”
“I should think, if that be the case, that you would be very grateful for a gentleman’s offer such as Mr. Edgerton’s.”
Perhaps this was why her aunt had made such humiliating statements about Julia. Perhaps they had planned to make her feel forced into marriage to Mr. Edgerton. But why?
“Do you doubt his ability to support you?”
“I doubt his ability to secure my affections. I regret that it is so, but it is, and it violates my conscience to marry someone I do not love and could not respect.”
The way her uncle looked at her . . . her mind was flooded with the memory: She was seven years old and had only just come to live with the Wilherns. She was standing on the front lawn when her uncle’s horse threw him. She’d been paralyzed with fear that her uncle might have been killed or seriously hurt.
Mr. Wilhern had picked himself off the ground and started beating the horse, repeatedly, with his riding crop. The horse screamed, over and over. Uncle Wilhern yanked on the reins until the horse reared, and still he continued beating him. Julia fell to the ground and covered her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes tight.
That was where the nursemaid found her, trembling and crying.
“Julia! Get up off the ground,” Betsy had said. “What are you doing? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
She wasn’t sure how long she had been crouching on the ground, but she had been trembling all over as she looked around. Her uncle and the poor horse were gone.
Now, as he glared down at her, Mr. Wilhern’s face was the same shade of red it had been that day as he was beating the horse.
“I will advise you to think on this matter some more, to consider the inferiority of your life as a governess, the struggles and lowliness of your position compared to what you could enjoy as a gentleman’s wife.”
All her life she had striven to avoid her uncle’s anger. Her heart was sinking, her stomach twisting, the painful manifestations of a guilty, utterly miserable awareness of her uncle’s disappointment in her, as well as what she felt were his unjust demands. But what else could she do? She could not, would not, agree to marry someone she could not love or respect.
“You are determined to persist in this stubborn, ungrateful response, I see.” His jaw twitched again, as he seemed to be grinding his teeth. He turned away from her abruptly. “I have raised you to think too highly of yourself, have given you too many advantages. But you will change your mind. In the meantime, I will inform Mr. Edgerton that you are considering his generous offer of marriage. You may go.”
His refusal to accept her answer to Mr. Edgerton’s proposal made her face burn even hotter. Should she tell him truthfully that she had no intention of changing her mind? The memory of his fury at that poor horse so long ago, and the same look in his eyes now, stopped her. Instead, Julia curtsied and hurried out of the room.
Her heart pounded as if she were that child once again, witnessing the uncontrolled fury of a man upon whose kindness she was dependent.
She ran up the stairs to her room, wanting to cover her ears and shut out his words and the sound of his voice, to close her eyes and blot out his scowl and cold stare.
Stepping inside her room, she closed the door and burst into tears. She kept her sobs as quiet as possible so no one—not Phoebe or the servants or her aunt—would hear.
CHAPTER NINE
“I won’t be content unless I marry him,” Phoebe said between sobs as she sat on the side of her bed. Her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, and tears dripped off her nose and jawline.
“Phoebe, it does no good to carry on like this. Please, don’t cry so.” Julia’s heart squeezed painfully to see her dear cousin’s distress. Phoebe’s tears and obvious pain tore at Julia, but the poor man could love whomever he wanted. Why couldn’t she accept that?
Phoebe clutched Julia’s arm. “Please, Julia. Promise me you will help me. I can’t love anyone else. I will never love anyone but Nicholas Langdon. There must be a way to make him love me. I simply will never get married if I can’t have him. I’ll die of a broken heart.”
“Don’t say such things,” Julia said as sternly as she could. “Indeed, you should not.”
Phoebe looked up at her, her lower lip trembling. Julia was reminded of Felicity’s words about her cousin not being as attractive as she. Phoebe didn’t look very pretty at the moment, even Julia had to admit. But no one looked pretty when they were sobbing without restraint.
“Listen to me, Phoebe.” Julia sighed. She pulled a small chair up to the bed and sat down, taking hold of her cousin’s arm. “You should not give your heart to someone who hasn’t asked for it. You never know who may fall in love with you, or who you might come to love, if you are sensible and stop being so focused on one man.”
“You don’t understand, Julia.” Phoebe shook her head and rubbed her nose with her soaked handkerchief. “You’re not romantic. You’re sensible and will marry a sensible man for sensible reasons. You don’t understand love.”
Julia was glad Phoebe wasn’t looking at her at that moment, for she was afraid her expression would reveal her thoughts. Didn’t understand love? And Phoebe did? This pining over a man she hardly knew? That was not love.
But did it matter whether Phoebe was truly in love or not? She thought she was, and she was making herself completely miserable over it. If it wasn’t love, it was close enough, and Julia was heartily sorry Phoebe was in it.
“Julia, promise you will help me.”
“I will help you if I can, but you can’t force a man to have feelings for you.” If only both she and Phoebe could fall in love with men who were in love with them, all their problems would be solved. Phoebe would not be sobbing over a man who seemed to feel no preference for her, and Julia would not feel pressured to marry a man who repulsed her.
Phoebe’s chin trembled as she drew Julia’s attention to her with an intense look. “You’ve always been the wiser one. But I simply can’t stop loving him. I know I should, but I can’t. You are my dearest friend, and I need you. Please promise me.”
How could Julia say no? “I will do whatever I can, within reason, of course. But, Phoebe, I will exact a promise from you as well. Do you remember what the vicar said last Sunday in church?”
Phoebe shook her head.
“He said God expects us to trust him to help us make important decisions, that God will give us wisdom if we ask him. Promise me you will pray about this, that you will ask God to help you know how you should act and how to control these emotions. Pray for wisdom.”
“I promise.” Phoebe sniffed.
“Now dry your face and blow your nose. We’ll go for a ride in the crisp spring air, and it will do you good.”
“Thank you, Julia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Julia smiled. “You’ll always have me.” Until you marry and I become a governess. Julia pushed the thought away, determined to be cheerful for Phoebe.
Sunday came around and Julia had not seen Uncle Wilhern since he had told her she must marry Mr. Edgerton. Mrs. Wilhern, Phoebe, and Julia waited for Mr. Wilhern by the front door to join them on their short journey to church, but his valet came down and said he was not to accompany them that day. Julia breathed a sigh of relief as they left without him.
Days crept by. Julia occasionally caught a glimpse of her uncle, or heard his footsteps on the stairs, and cringed.
Tuesday came round again and Julia and Felicity left the Wilherns’ fashionable town house in Mayfair to visit Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy. Julia had something very particular to ask the Bartholdys, something that she hardly dared hope for.
Had you been a man, you could have become a world-renowned pianist.
So the great music master, Bartholdy, had said to her two years before. Had she been born in Austria or Germany, or been able
to travel to the Continent, she might have been successful as a composer and performer. Vienna and Leipzig, Bartholdy said, would have welcomed a female virtuoso. She might have performed for kings and queens in palaces.
After exiting the carriage, Julia and Felicity walked down Bishopsgate Street toward the Bartholdys’ building.
Nicholas strode purposefully through the East Side; he’d had his coachman let him out so he could walk the last half mile. He had gone to the War Office to report what he’d found—or rather his lack of findings—and they had encouraged him to continue to try to get close to Robert Wilhern and Hugh Edgerton, as they had other people checking into the other three gentlemen. They also encouraged him to go about his normal routine as much as possible.
And that was why Nicholas was walking down Bishopsgate Street on a Tuesday, to keep his regular appointment. He never saw anyone he knew in this part of town, so he was startled to see a well-dressed lady walking toward him, a lady who looked remarkably like Miss Grey. But that was ridiculous. What would she be doing in this part of town?
But the longer he watched her, the more he was convinced it was Miss Grey and her friend, Miss Mayson.
As he approached them, Miss Grey caught sight of him and her eyes widened. “Mr. Langdon! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Miss Grey.” He tipped his hat. “I could say the same to you and Miss Mayson. May I escort you?”
“Of course. We are on our way to call on my old music master, Monsieur Bartholdy.”
“But why are you walking? Why not take the carriage?”
“The coachman and I have an . . . um, understanding; I don’t make him drive past the end of Bishopsgate Street, he picks me up in the same spot, and he doesn’t mention to my aunt and uncle where I went.”