“Oh, Sarah.” That her friend could be so imprudent as to form an attachment to her employer’s son. She must write immediately and put her friend on her guard.
But perhaps the man did have feelings for Sarah, and perhaps those feelings would translate into a proposal of marriage. It wasn’t completely unheard of. Although Julia couldn’t remember a single instance in which a gentleman’s son had married a governess. All the stories she could remember had ended in the ruination of the governess’s reputation. Story after story crossed her mind of a governess who had fallen for the charm of her employer’s son—or some other gentleman—who had then taken advantage of her and left her heartbroken and ruined.
If Sarah thought being a governess was bad, how much worse off would she be once her character was defamed to the point that she would no longer be accepted in a respectable home?
But Julia was thinking too far ahead. Sarah surely wouldn’t do anything so imprudent. If the man didn’t have honorable intentions toward her, she would not fall for his trickeries. Sarah was a morally upright girl.
Still, her letter gave Julia enough alarm that she vowed to, as kindly and gently as she could, write a letter that would warn Sarah of the dangers of being too familiar with her employers’ son. It was worth the risk of straining their friendship.
Julia turned back to the letter she had already started, dipped her quill in her ink pot, and prayed her words would be as well received as they were meant.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Season was well underway. Phoebe had been despondent the past few days as Mr. Langdon had not been amongst the guests at the last two balls they’d attended. Had he returned to his regiment in the Peninsula?
The next Tuesday, Julia scanned the street for Mr. Langdon’s familiar face as she and Miss Appleby, Felicity’s spinster aunt, who was taking Felicity’s place as her visiting companion, made their way down Bishopsgate Street to visit the Bartholdys. She wasn’t hoping to see Mr. Langdon, precisely. She was only curious, for Phoebe’s sake, and wanted to find out if he had quitted London or would be turning up at the next ball. But did this explain the way her heart fluttered when she saw a hat ahead that looked like Mr. Langdon’s? The way she held her breath until she saw it wasn’t him after all?
It didn’t mean anything. Why would she want to see a man who had such a penchant for teasing her, especially about Mr. Dinklage? Certainly Mr. Langdon had learned by now that Mr. Dinklage had thrown her over because of his mother’s disapproval, and that Mrs. Dinklage had sent him away for the rest of the Season to keep him safe from her.
Safe from me. How ludicrous. But if he married Julia and was cast off by his mother, she would settle the estate upon his younger brother, and he who had been destined for wealth would forever be poor—because of her.
She’d never truly wanted him. So why had she flirted with him?
“Believe me, Mr. Dinklage,” Julia muttered under her breath, “you are safe.”
“Did you say something, Julia?” Miss Appleby asked.
“No, I was only . . . no.”
“You seem very preoccupied lately. Are you sure all is well?”
“Oh yes, very well, Miss Appleby. And you? How are your new spectacles working for you?”
“Very well. I can read much faster now.”
Julia nodded, her mind going back to Mr. Dinklage and why she had flirted with him.
It was because she was afraid. She wanted security, respectability, and safety from poverty. So how could she blame him for wanting the same things, things only the retaining of his wealth could give him? No, she did not blame him.
“Oh, Mr. Langdon,” Miss Appleby cried.
Julia drew in a quick breath as she looked up into Mr. Langdon’s dark eyes.
“Miss Appleby. Miss Grey. Forgive me for startling you.” Though Julia noted that the way the corners of his mouth quirked upward did not indicate remorse.
“How strange that we should meet you here again, Mr. Langdon. Do you have, er, business in this part of town?” Perhaps her question was impertinent, but Julia hoped he would tell what he did there.
“I do, Miss Grey.” He smiled.
When it became clear that he wouldn’t say anything more, she said, “But you will not tell us what that business is.”
“I think it best that I not. Perhaps someday . . . perhaps.”
She would not let her mind speculate on what he meant by that.