A Spy's Devotion by Melanie Dickerson Page B

the compassion of those who were able to help them.
    She could not recall their rector ever encouraging compassion for the poor, and she had seen her uncle shake his fist at a small boy who had walked up to him once on the street and asked for money to buy bread. Her uncle had yelled, “Get away, little beggar, before I call the constable!”
    And yet her uncle had taken Julia in as an orphan. Certainly the charity of polite society was highly selective.
    So why would Mr. Langdon be any different? He was a charming young man who dressed well and was fond of dancing. He’d never wanted for anything in his life, his future had never been in doubt, and his every need had been anticipated and provided for by his wealthy family and by a house full of servants. Why would he care about Henry and his poor family?
    Julia eyed him silently.
    “Your cousin Miss Wilhern told me your uncle has interests in France.” He made the statement without looking at her.
    “Yes, I believe he does have claims to a large property owned by some of his mother’s family.”
    “His mother was French?”
    Felicity was looking straight ahead during all of their conversing, but Julia knew she was listening to every word.
    “Yes. But I do not believe the French government will ever release the property to my uncle. They are not disposed to turn anything over to an Englishman.”
    “No, I don’t suppose they are. So you believe he will never be able to gain control of this family property?”
    Why was Mr. Langdon questioning her so about such a thing? “I do not—that is, I am not very familiar with the business.”
    “No, of course not.”
    She glanced up at him. He suddenly turned to Felicity and began asking after her brothers, two of whom were near Mr. Langdon’s age.
    “Tom is still at Eton, is he not?”
    They spoke of her brothers and their plans for the future.
    “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?