“I saw your Mr. Dinklage yesterday,” he said, suddenly turning back to Julia.
“Why do you call him my Mr. Dinklage?”
“Don’t look so guilty, my dear. Come, if you are engaged, you may tell me. I shan’t spread the news abroad.”
Julia glared at him. The man was incorrigible. “I shall tell you precisely what you are entitled to know, Mr. Langdon, which is precisely nothing.” He was being abominably uncivil. She was being uncivil as well, but he deserved it.
“You are right, of course. But Mr. Dinklage told me”—Mr. Langdon lowered his voice and leaned toward her—“that you are the loveliest young lady of his acquaintance, and if it is in his power to make you his wife, then he will most certainly do so.”
Julia’s cheeks heated. How very indiscreet of Mr. Dinklage.
Julia made no comment. She could feel Mr. Langdon’s eyes boring into her, but she refused to look at him as they walked.
They arrived at the next street over from Bishopsgate. The Wilherns’ coachman was waiting for Julia and Felicity there.
Mr. Langdon had a look of regret on his face. Was he sorry for teasing her about Mr. Dinklage? Or was he sorry that she might marry another?
Staring into his warm brown eyes did strange things to her heartbeat, but she was captured and couldn’t seem to look away.
“Good day, Mr. Langdon.”
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, warmth seeping through her glove. “Good day, Miss Grey.” He handed first Julia and then Felicity into the carriage, and they set off.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Another ball. Nicholas entered and caught himself looking around the room—not for Mr. Wilhern or Mr. Edgerton, as he should have been, but for Miss Grey.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t looking for her so he could discover more about her uncle’s possible involvement in betraying his country to the French. He simply wanted to see her and talk to her again.
He was not in a position to take a wife and therefore should not be showing a preference for any girl. Besides, hadn’t he promised himself he would never become enamored of a girl with little or no fortune? Especially after his disastrous engagement to Henrietta, who was now the widowed Mrs. Tromburg.
“Nicholas,” his father had said many years before, when he was only sixteen, “be wise and make an advantageous match. Don’t be a dupe and marry beneath you like your Uncle George.”
Nicholas’s father, as the oldest son, had inherited the family’s manorial estate and extensive grounds and properties, including a London town house, while his younger brother, George, had died a pauper. George Langdon had no inclination for the military, and he had an abhorrence of becoming a clergyman. When he failed to make a great match, marrying a penniless tutor’s daughter, Nicholas’s father had been forced to support him the best he could, as his brother George was quite proud and didn’t make it easy. He resented his brother’s help, even while requiring it to keep his children from starving.
Nicholas had no desire to be like his uncle, God rest his soul. He intended to be completely self-sufficient and never ask for or accept anything from his brother. He had even thought of becoming a mission worker and remaining unmarried like his friend John Wilson, who helped the starving poor of London’s East Side. But if he did marry, it wouldn’t be to a mercenary girl who cared more about a man’s purse than his character. And though Miss Grey might be compassionate to poor destitute street children, she had proved to be at least somewhat money minded when it came to marriage, based on the way he had seen her smiling at Mr. Dinklage.
Already Miss Wilhern had spotted Nicholas and was coming his way. At least she had better taste in men than her cousin.
Perhaps he was being hard on Miss Grey. Perhaps he wouldn’t be if she were trying to flirt with him instead of Mr. Dinklage. But no matter. He had come here to dance, not to find a wife—to dance and spy on Mr. Wilhern. Therefore he was free to enjoy himself. He must simply avoid forming any attachments.
To prevent the inevitable flirting and desperation in Miss Wilhern’s eyes, he asked her to dance right away.
Miss Wilhern smiled and talked while they danced and seemed to be trying to amuse him. He gave her a smile for her efforts and then caught sight of Miss Grey talking with his sister, Leorah.
Across the room, Mr. Dinklage looked even more uncomfortable than usual. Why wasn’t he hovering around Miss Grey, as he normally was? But then he saw the reason. Mr. Dinklage’s mother, who rarely attended social events, was sitting against the wall, glaring first at Miss Grey and then at her son.
Someone had no doubt told Mrs. Dinklage of her son’s and Miss Grey’s preference for each other. What would Mr. Dinklage do now? But Nicholas felt no pity for the man. If he loved Miss Grey, he would not allow his mother to look at her that way. No, he would let his mother know that he would marry Miss Grey no matter what. And if his mother disapproved, he would join the church or purchase a commission in the military. But somehow, Nicholas couldn’t imagine timid Mr. Dinklage in a soldier’s uniform.
What would Miss Grey do? Would she ignore Dinklage? Or carry on with her flirtations as though his mother were not watching them with hawk eyes?
Miss Wilhern was looking suspiciously at Miss Grey now, and he realized he was being rude by ignoring his partner. He focused his attention on Miss Wilhern for the rest of the dance.
Julia was hoping this ball in the crowded assembly rooms would somehow erase the terrible memory of the last ball, when her aunt had humiliated her and Mr. Edgerton had frightened her.
So far, her hopes had been dashed as she tried her best to ignore Mr. Dinklage’s mother, who was staring hard at Julia every time she glanced her way. Mr. Dinklage looked quite uncomfortable. Perhaps he wouldn’t even speak to her.
She didn’t feel as if she owed Mr. Dinklage anything, neither loyalty nor even particular civility. And if his mother was going to glare at her all night, Julia would show her that she was not intimidated by her cold stares and was quite capable of pretending not to even see her. But if Mr. Dinklage could marry her, despite his mother’s glares, and if she were able to feel some affection for him, her troubles would be over, as far as her uncle’s pressuring her to marry Mr. Edgerton.
At present, Julia was enjoying a conversation with Mr. Langdon’s sister, Leorah.
“Julia, I must teach you to shoot a bow and arrow. Archery is such fun.”
“I’m not sure I would recommend my sister as a tutor,” Mr. Langdon said over Julia’s shoulder.
“Why ever not?” Julia asked, turning to include him in the conversation, guiltily realizing she had hoped he would come and join them.
“My brother enjoys maligning me,” Leorah said, “but he can’t say anything against my archery skills, as I’m a much better shot than he is.”
“Yes, but she often gets bored with shooting at a target and ends up shooting birds and small animals.”
Julia almost laughed. “Is this true?”
“My brother loves to exaggerate. I haven’t shot any game in several years, not since I was a child. But I have to admit, it is much more fun to shoot at a moving target than one sitting still.”
Julia did laugh then. Mr. Langdon smiled down at her. She shouldn’t be laughing with the man. She would simply have to focus on Leorah and not laugh out loud. But whenever she was with Leorah and her brother, the siblings always seemed to end up talking about each other—and making Julia laugh.
“I would be willing to try archery, if you were willing to teach me,” Julia said to Leorah. “What other pastimes do you enjoy?” She could hardly wait to hear what Leorah would say.
“I detest sewing and needlework of every kind,” Leorah answered, forcing Julia to clamp her hand over her mouth to keep the giggle inside. “I’d rather have a hot poker in my eye than sit and try to sketch a landscape. And I am negligent of practicing any musical instrument. But I do love a good gallop through the countryside. I have the most wonderful black stallion, Buccaneer,
back home in Lincolnshire.” Leorah leaned in conspiratorially. “He has as much spirit as any other stallion, but he loves me dearly. In fact, Bucky won’t let anyone else ride him.” Leorah sighed. “I can’t ever imagine loving a man as much as I love my sweet Buccaneer.”
“Really, Leorah. The things you say.” Mr. Langdon was frowning, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he gazed down at his sister. “Your husband will require quite a strong constitution. I pity the man.”
“Why should I ever have a husband?” Leorah tossed her head. “I plan to live with you and your wife and make sure she stands up to you and never allows you to get away with anything.”
Mr. Langdon grunted and scowled. Julia was hard-pressed not to laugh again. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to stop herself.
“Look, now,” Mr. Langdon said. “You’ve scandalized poor Miss Grey.”
“Not a bit,” Julia replied. “I find Miss Langdon’s attitude refreshing.” Julia smiled at her new friend.
“You see?” Mr. Langdon looked at his sister. “You have been a bad influence, and now Miss Grey will ride roughshod over poor—over her own husband someday.”
Of course he had been about to say “over poor Mr. Dinklage.” Julia pretended not to notice his insinuation. “I think it a very good thing for a woman to have gumption and spirit like your sister, and I will not hear a word against her.”
“Gumption and spirit, you call it? Her governess called it wild abandon and disregard for decorum.”
Leorah laughed, obviously enjoying her brother’s accusations and not the least bit repentant.
A young man was walking toward them, his eyes fixed on Leorah. Julia nodded in his direction. “I believe that gentleman wishes to speak with you.”
Leorah turned, and the man asked her to dance. She accepted and excused herself.
Mr. Langdon looked at Julia. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Grey?”
Julia nodded and let him lead her onto the floor. She would dance her one dance with Mr. Langdon and be done with it.
The dance was a reel, so they didn’t have much of an opportunity for conversation, but even when they did, they didn’t speak. Julia thought it safer not to, and Mr. Langdon didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood either—although the way he was looking at her made her feel flattered and nervous at the same time. But he did not look at her in the way of Mr. Edgerton, who made her feel exposed and uncomfortable, or Mr. Dinklage, whose expression was one of painfully repressed longing. Mr. Langdon’s look made her feel . . . pretty.
Eventually she would have to face Mr. Dinklage as well as his mother, so for now she was content to enjoy silent camaraderie with Mr. Langdon.
When the dance was over, he took her hand and led her back to where the older ladies and chaperones were seated. He stared into her eyes and said softly, “I wish you well, Miss Grey.”
“Thank you, Mr. Langdon. And I you.”
He seemed to see someone over her shoulder, and his lips quirked upward in an ironic smile. He gave a quick nod to her and turned to leave.
“Miss Grey.”
Julia turned to find Mr. Dinklage standing behind her. “Good evening, Mr. Dinklage.”
“Good evening. I wonder if you would be so good as to allow me to introduce you to my mother.”
“Of course.” She placed her hand on his arm, and he led her to where his mother was sitting. Julia’s dread increased as she drew nearer to Mrs. Dinklage, whose eyes were locked on her in a cold, disagreeable expression.
Mr. Dinklage must have been feeling the same thing Julia was, for his steps were halting and reluctant, and she wished he’d just get on with it.
“Mother, I’d like to introduce Miss Julia Grey. Miss Grey, this is my mother, Mrs. Mary Dinklage.”
“How do you do?” Julia curtsied, but the woman still looked as though she’d bitten into a walnut shell.
“So this is Julia Grey. Who was your father, Miss Grey?” She spoke the name as if it were distasteful.
“Major William Grey, Mrs. Dinklage, of the eighth Infantry. My guardian, Mr. Robert Wilhern, is married to my aunt, my father’s sister.”
The old woman’s top lip seemed to shrug but without exposing her teeth, as if her shoes were pinching her toes.
“My son says you play and sing very well.”
Julia did not comment.
“Do you prefer my son, Miss Grey?”
Julia was shocked into speechlessness by the woman’s question.
“Because my son has formed an attachment to you that I find . . . disadvantageous. My son shall inherit his family’s ancient estate. The good name of Dinklage has survived centuries, Miss Grey. Who are the Greys? The Wilherns are a fine, old family, I’ll grant you, but you have no fortune, no parentage, no—”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but if it is your wish to insult me, I would prefer you do it in private. At present I am not inclined to discuss my family with you. You will excuse me.” Julia dropped a quick curtsy and walked away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Julia’s knees knocked against each other as she walked. Her hands shook so violently she hid them in her skirt.
Never had Julia spoken in such a way to anyone, especially someone so much older! She could barely see where she was going as she walked away from Mr. Dinklage and his indignant mother.
She suddenly felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Felicity Mayson by her side.
“Good for you, Julia.” Felicity squeezed her arm.
“You heard? Did anyone else hear?”
“I don’t think so. But, Julia, I fear you will never be allowed to marry Mr. Dinklage now.”
What would Sarah Peck say? No doubt she would be upset that Julia had thrown away a chance to endear herself to Mr. Dinklage’s mother.
“I’m not sure any man is worth having a mother-in-law like that.”
Felicity pursed her lips in agreement as the two of them moved toward the refreshments table.
She didn’t feel anything for Mr. Dinklage. Was she a fool? But she knew she had done the right thing. She was proud of herself for standing up to the woman, and Leorah would be proud of her too. Perhaps now Mr. Langdon would stop teasing her about Mr. Dinklage.
She didn’t like hurting Mr. Dinklage, and it made her remember how Sarah had said it would be better to marry any available respectable man rather than become a governess. She had certainly destroyed the possibility of gaining Mrs. Dinklage’s approval. If she didn’t marry Mr. Dinklage, what other choice did she have, besides Mr. Edgerton? There were no other men offering for her hand. But then, perhaps Phoebe was nowhere near marriage either. If she could have a few more Seasons, Julia might meet another such Mr. Dinklage, but someone who would inspire her affection and regard, someone who was free to marry her.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” Julia asked Felicity.
“No one asked me. Perhaps one of your admirers will ask me.”
Julia frowned as she sipped her lemonade. “What admirers?”
Felicity used her fingers to tick them off. “Mr. Dinklage, Mr. Edgerton, Mr. Langdon—”
“Sh! Don’t even say such a thing,” Julia whispered. “He isn’t interested in me. If he were, he’d dance with me twice instead of only once.”
They both smirked.
“Here comes one of them.” The smile disappeared from Felicity’s face. “Mr. Edgerton.”
Julia clenched her teeth. She would not stand up with the man. She didn’t care if she had to be uncivil to him.
“Miss Mayson. Miss Grey.” He nodded to each of them and then flashed his even white teeth at Julia.
“Mr. Edgerton.” Felicity greeted him, but Julia remained silent. An astute man might understand the hint, but Mr. Edgerton turned to Julia.
“Miss Grey, will you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me?”
“I do not wish to dance at the moment. You will excuse me.”
He stared at her, his small eyes narrowing slightly. “I hope you are
not unwell, Miss Grey.”
“I am well. I simply do not wish to dance.” I wish to talk to my friend Felicity and not to you.
A flash of something unexpected, something like desperation mixed with longing, crossed his face. He turned to Felicity. “Will you do me the honor, Miss Mayson, of dancing with me?”
Hesitating, looking at Julia, Felicity agreed. When Mr. Edgerton turned, she gave Julia an apologetic look.
Julia smiled and nodded—and was left alone to contemplate her future.
Julia had received her first letter from Sarah Peck. She had described her new employers as “cold and contemptuous,” her pupils as “naughty and spoiled,” but the oldest son, she said, was “handsome and congenial.”
Not too congenial, I hope.
Was that to be Julia’s future? Spending her spare time exchanging letters with Sarah Peck about the dangers of employers’ older sons becoming too familiar?
“Mr. Dinklage is gone.” Phoebe closed the door behind her as she entered Julia’s room, where Julia sat at her tiny desk in front of the window, writing to Sarah Peck.
“Gone? Gone where?” Julia put down her pen.
“To Derbyshire with his cousins. Maria Cotter says it was to get him away from you! I told her she was a liar and to keep her mouth shut.” Phoebe pulled up a stool and sat down beside Julia. “Is it true?”
Julia sighed. “I’m afraid it is, in all probability.”
“Why, Julia? You weren’t in love with him, I’m sure.”
“No, I wasn’t in love with him.”
“Was he in love with you?”
“He may have believed himself to be.”
“Julia! Why didn’t you tell me? Are you so afraid of gossiping that you won’t even tell your secrets to me? Did he ask you to marry him?”
“No, Phoebe, he did not. His mother did not approve of me, it seems.”
“The little coward. Afraid of his mother! It would have been such an advantageous marriage for you, Julia.” She stared at the wallpaper, resting her cheek in her hand. “But I must say, I can’t abide the thought of you married to him. He isn’t handsome enough for you, and he’s even losing his hair.”