A Spy's Devotion by Melanie Dickerson
He walked toward the bed, determined to see her before he left. He pushed the bed curtain aside. Her face was pale and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. But with her hair all about her face in a riot of dark, silky strands, she still looked beautiful. As he stared down at her, he became aware of a soft wheezing, and then a rattling, at regular intervals and realized the sound was coming from her chest as she breathed in and out.
“The poor thing is worn out,” Leorah whispered behind him. “So weak she couldn’t sit up. The coughing has kept her awake, but the doctor gave her laudanum to help her sleep.”
Nicholas couldn’t take his eyes off Julia. God, please make her well. Make her strong. She is too beautiful, too brave and good, too young, to die. She was far superior to any of the Wilherns, in character and every other way.
In fact, she was far superior to any girl he had ever met.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Nicholas paced the room, staring out the window where twilight had already fallen. Had the Wilherns deliberately left her here, alone, knowing she was ill?
But was Nicholas any better? He had left her in harm’s way and had gone days without ensuring she was still safe. Of course, it was dangerous for him to show any undue interest in her, but he should have been more attentive. He would not make that mistake again.
After Henrietta had run away and broken their engagement, he’d never thought he could feel so much for a woman again. But he hadn’t even known what love was then. Love had been little more than his attraction to a pretty face and a lovely smile and what he had thought was that lady’s innocence and artlessness. He had been easily duped. But Miss Grey was much more than a pretty face. She had sense and understanding, moral fiber and compassion. He did not like remembering how she had attempted to influence him to like her cousin, while at the same time trying to attract that insipid Mr. Dinklage. But how could he blame her? Julia’s family had assured her she was destined to be a governess. It wasn’t as if Nicholas had expressed any particular interest in her—or had much to offer her. He had vowed not to marry for quite a while.
He sat down at the pianoforte. How many times had Miss Grey sat at this instrument? How many hours had her fingers touched these keys and brought forth music? He sat on the bench and ran his hands over the instrument. Then he noticed the music. These were Miss Grey’s own original compositions. He’d never known she wrote her own music.
“Mr. Nicholas?” Cora stood in the doorway.
He leapt out of his seat. “Is she better? May I see her?”
“I believe she is a little better after her long sleep.” Cora moved slowly up the steps, pausing to look back at him. “We persuaded her to eat. It is a mercy and a blessing, for she can’t get her strength back without eating. Even her color is better.”
Nicholas was anxious to see for himself, so anxious that he passed Cora on his way up the stairs, unwilling to wait for her.
Inside Miss Grey’s room, which was rather dim as her bed was shaded from the light of the fireplace, he called out softly, “It is Nicholas Langdon. May I come in?”
There was a hesitation and then a soft, “Yes.”
He stepped to her bedside, and Miss Grey smiled up at him, making his heart thump hard against his chest.
“I am so sorry to have been such a bother to you and Leorah . . .” she began. She stopped and took a heaving breath, as if it were both painful and difficult to breathe.
“Please, Miss Grey. You could never be a bother. And pray don’t talk if it pains you.”
She motioned weakly toward her throat, as if to apologize for her difficulty. Nicholas grabbed her hand in both of his, causing a look of surprise to flit over her face. He leaned over her.
“We will take care of you. You shall get the best care possible. Our own physician shall call every day, and Cora and Polly will stay here with you as long as you need them.”
She stared up at him, her lips parted and tears in her eyes, as if he had grown wings and a halo. Was it so hard to believe that someone could show her kindness and want to take care of her? His heart clenched inside his chest. But then, noticing her eyelids beginning to droop, he suspected that Cora had given her some medicine and that she wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer.
Julia stared up at Mr. Langdon, the laudanum starting to pull her under again. She should ask him what was happening with the War Office and the information she had acquired for them. Instead, her heart fluttered at the sensations coming from his hand holding hers. It couldn’t be improper, since she was so sick.
He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in two days, but the dark shadow it created on his chin and above his lip was rugged and masculine and not without appeal. He stared down at her so intensely, she imagined she could feel his eyes delving into her own, infusing her with his compassion and warmth. His hand was so strong, and those brown eyes . . .
“Thank you,” she rasped, her eyelids closing.
Cora came into the room. Julia heard her voice as if it were coming from far away. She was in danger of saying something foolish if she spoke. But she forced her eyes back open so she could look at him again. He was still leaning over her, still holding her hand. His grip was warm and gentle.
Cora was saying something about her falling asleep, that sleep was good for her. She tried to stay awake for him. She hadn’t thanked him properly for bringing Cora and Polly and saving poor Kitty from caring for her by herself. But she couldn’t make her mouth work. She took one last look at him through half-closed eyelids.
A moment later, something soft and warm pressed against her forehead. It felt like a kiss.
After three days, Julia was still so weak she could hardly walk across her room before becoming exhausted. At least she no longer thought she was dying.
Leorah and Nicholas Langdon had called on her every day. They would talk to her and tell her not to speak, as talking made her cough. Finally, on the third day, Leorah left the room to go fetch a book for her, and Julia was alone with Nicholas Langdon.
He leaned closer to her and spoke softly, his beautiful brown eyes fixed on hers.
“Does Mr. Wilhern suspect that you are spying on him? Is that why they left you here with hardly anyone to take care of you?”
“He was suspicious after I took that paper and copied it. I believe that is why he told me I had to marry Mr. Edgerton by special license last Friday. But I got sick and . . .” She smiled. “I was given a reprieve.”
“He would have forced you to marry Edgerton?” Mr. Langdon ran a hand down his face.
“I would not have.” She paused as a coughing fit came upon her. Thankfully, it wasn’t as violent or as lengthy as before.
While Julia was coughing, Mr. Langdon’s brow creased.
“Don’t talk. I know the coughing is painful.” And as she stopped coughing, he asked, “Is there anything I can get for you?”
She shook her head. “I would have run away rather than marry Mr. Edgerton.”
“What if you could not have escaped? I cannot let them make you marry him. Perhaps I could make arrangements for you to go to the country in secret.”
Of course he must understand that secretly sending her to the country would alert the Wilherns that something very suspicious was going on, and it could ruin Julia’s reputation as well.
“When will the War Office people act?” she asked. “If they would apprehend my uncle and Mr. Edgerton . . .”
“I think they will wait a bit longer, as they want to be certain they know who their fellow conspirators are. It is an easy thing to arrest the four men as they board their ship to the Continent, but apprehending everyone else involved at the same moment so that they do not flee . . . that is a bit more difficult.”
Julia nodded. But it was very inconvenient for her. And yet . . . she dreaded the awful moment when poor Phoebe’s father would be charged with treason. No doubt all his assets would be seized, and Phoebe would become fatherless and penniless at the same time.
But this was not Mr. Langdon’s responsibility, nor even something he needed to know. To tell him would be to ask for his help, and that would be improper—a young unmarried woman asking the help of a young unmarried man who was wholly unconnected to her.
“But I promise,” Mr. Langdon said, leaning even closer to her, her heart fluttering at the concern in his eyes, “I shall keep a closer watch on you. I would never forgive myself if your uncle did something evil to you.”
He stared down at her hand lying on the coverlet. His hand moved toward it, as if about to clasp hers, and then stopped. “I want you to know that—”
The door opened. Mr. Langdon withdrew his hand and sat back, a strange look on his face, as Leorah came into the room and held up the book.
“I found it. It was in the music room.” She paused, staring at her brother, and then smiled a slow, knowing smile. She stepped forward and gave the book to Julia. “I hope you will be well enough to enjoy reading it.”
“I’m sure I shall. Thank you.”
The atmosphere was suddenly awkward as Leorah seemed to look at her brother with both amusement and approval. But surely Leorah knew that her brother could not have an interest in marrying Julia. He had no fortune, and Julia was destined to be a governess. But Leorah was the kind of person to believe that anything was possible. Julia’s life had taught her to be more practical.
Two days later, Leorah was sitting by Julia’s bed. Leorah said some cheerful words about the weather and the fact that the Season would soon be over and she would be returning to her family’s country estate in Lincolnshire.
But Julia was thinking about how much Leorah and Mr. Langdon had done for her. They had even loaned their footman, Barnes, to spend every night in the house so that they were not without a male protector.
“I am so grateful to you, Leorah,” Julia said, “and to your entire family, for all you have done for me while I’ve been sick.”
“You are a most delightful girl, Julia, and it is my pleasure to take charge of you—mine and my brother’s, Cora’s, and Polly’s. If you thought for a moment that we do not wish to care for you as our very own, then you are gravely mistaken.” She said these last words so softly, so tenderly, that Julia couldn’t help but believe her. But had Leorah truly meant to include her brother when she said they were pleased to take charge of her? Julia hadn’t seen Mr. Langdon for the last two days.
“People may hear of my illness. Word could get back to Mr. and Mrs. Wilhern, and they will wonder why I haven’t written.”
“You are not well enough to write, Julia. Depend upon it, when they discover how seriously ill you have been, and how you were left nearly alone in the house, they will be wracked with remorse.”
Would they? She had always longed for their love, had tried so hard to earn it by being good and prudent and respectable, by helping Phoebe in every possible way, by showing she was grateful to them for taking her in and providing every advantage of society and education.
Now the prospect of their love was impossible, as she had betrayed them so completely by turning over evidence of Mr. Wilhern’s treasonous activities.
“You must rest and recover from this. When you are quite well you shall come visit me in Lincolnshire, and I shall visit you and Phoebe in Warwickshire.”
Julia expressed her joy at the prospect of the visits, but of course, it could never be.
Later that week, while Julia continued her recovery, Leorah regaled her with a story from the day before, of how she had ridden her horse in Hyde Park and almost run down a somber-looking gentleman. He’d seen her coming and had sprung out of the way as if he were certain she meant to do him harm. In doing so, he had lost his hat, which went rolling into the path of an oncoming carriage. The man had been furious, accusing Leorah of being wild and completely without propriety.
“Truly, I was sorry to have caused him to spoil his hat,” Leorah said, “but he looked as if he could afford a new one. Besides, he had plenty of time to move out of my way. He shouldn’t have jumped aside so suddenly as to lose his hat. My horse wouldn’t have hit him if he’d only stood still. When he insulted me in that haughty manner, I ceased to feel sorry for him.”
Julia laughed quietly, and it didn’t even cause a coughing fit.
What would it be like to be Leorah, completely free and easy with her manners and behavior, unafraid of what anyone might say about her conduct, unfettered by society’s rules when they seemed silly to her? Julia had never felt free and easy a day in her life. She had always concerned herself with society’s rules, obeying and conforming so that her aunt and uncle would approve of her, paying the utmost attention to what she said and did to ensure she had the best chance at an advantageous marriage. And yet how little benefit it had been to her.
Still, Julia couldn’t quite imagine throwing caution to the wind and behaving like Leorah.
At one time, she had thought her decorous behavior was the only kind that would please God. But she couldn’t imagine God being displeased with Leorah. Leorah was kind and good and completely without artifice or ill will. She was energetic and didn’t always conform to polite society’s idea of how a young lady should conduct herself, but perhaps those things had nothing to do with achieving God’s approval. Didn’t God see inside a person’s heart and judge them for their thoughts and motives? God’s ways were not man’s ways. It was starting to seem obvious to her that polite society’s rules and God’s requirements were completely different.
Leorah demonstrated how the gentleman had walked across the street and picked up his hat, and the scowl on his face when he stared at it and then at Leorah. Julia was sitting in bed, propped up by pillows and laughing, when Phoebe burst through the door.
“Julia!” Phoebe cried. “Leorah wrote to us that you were unwell. Oh, Leorah.” She turned to Leorah and clasped her hands. “Thank you so much for taking care of Julia!”
Leorah said, “Julia was gravely ill with a lung infection, but she is much better now, as you can see.”
Mrs. Wilhern stood in the doorway. She did not proceed any farther into the room, and she had the thin-lipped look of disapproval that used to make Julia’s heart sink.
Phoebe turned her vivacity on Julia and said, “You do look a bit pale, Julia, but not so very sick.”
What answer could she make to that?
“You said the servants had all deserted her except the scullery maid,” Mrs. Wilhern stated, one hand on her hip and the other poised in the air by her shoulder, as if she were being fitted for a gown.
“Yes, that is correct,” Leorah said.
“The servants are all here now. I’ve just seen them for myself.”
Julia nearly gasped as her aunt questioned Leorah’s word.
“Well, Mrs. Wilhern,” Leorah stated, unintimidated, “that was not the case seven days ago when I found Julia here so ill she was hallucinating, burning up with fever, and without anyone to attend her except a kind scullery maid named Kitty.”
“Oh dear!” Phoebe cried, covering her mouth with her hand and staring down at Julia with wide eyes.
“She was quite alone, she and Kitty, until I discovered her plight and my brother brought our physician. Dr. Alcott was most concerned and told us that she was very seriously ill with pleurisy and a lung infection, and her recovery was by no means certain.” Leorah stared straight into Mrs. Wilhern’s eyes.
Mrs. Wilhern’s expression did not change, but she said, “I am concerned that the servants would vanish in such a manner and leave Miss Grey alone. It shall be dealt with.”
“I hope you will take note of the loyalty of Kitty.” Leorah continued to stare, unblinking, at Mrs. Wilhern. “She deserves to be rewarded.”
Julia didn’t think her aunt seemed at all inter
“Mrs. Wilhern, I’m happy you are here at last.” Dr. Alcott stood behind Mrs. Wilhern with his medical bag.
Julia could easily imagine how her aunt felt about him saying “at last.”
Her aunt turned to face the doctor. “Dr. Alcott. How do you do?” Mrs. Wilhern’s tone was cold, her eyelids lowered over her eyes.
“Very well, madam. Your niece here has had a very serious illness, but she has turned the corner, so to speak, and is recovering well now.”
“Her illness was serious, you say?” Mrs. Wilhern asked with a condescending look.
“Indeed. When I first saw to her, after Mr. Nicholas came and fetched me, had she not improved, I believe she could have been dead in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Good heavens!” Phoebe exclaimed. “And Mr. Langdon came and fetched you?”
“Mr. Nicholas found me at home and I came immediately. Which was fortunate indeed, for she had no proper servant to care for her. But Miss Leorah and Mr. Nicholas saw to everything, as you know by now, I’m sure.”
A momentary silence followed his speech. Then Mrs. Wilhern said, “We shall leave you to attend Miss Grey. Come, Phoebe.”
Leorah left the room as well, with a backward glance at Julia. She was biting her lip and her brows were lowered, as if she were fighting back a retort.
Julia forced back her own thoughts and answered the doctor’s questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
An hour after the doctor left, a knock sounded at Julia’s door, and Aunt Wilhern entered the room.
“I am pleased you are getting well, Julia.” But Aunt Wilhern didn’t smile or look particularly pleased. She stepped toward the bed, though remained nearer the door than Julia.
“Thank you, Aunt. I feel much better.”
“I want you to know that, contrary to what some gossips are saying, I did not intend to leave you alone to die in this house while we all went to Bath.” Her eyes were in their usual half-closed state, and Julia couldn’t tell if her aunt was looking at her or not.