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? 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.