His gaze was intent as he seemed to be searching her face for something. “I come to see my friend, Mr. Wilson, and because the children enjoy seeing me. I rather like seeing them as well.” Then he took hold of her hand again and placed it on his arm. “Let me escort you back to the Bartholdys’.”
They walked in silence for a few moments before Mr. Langdon said, “I think you, Miss Grey, of all my acquaintances, might understand.”
Of course she understood. She was an orphan. She was an object of pity at best, scorn at worst, almost as surely as these little neglected children whose lives he tried to brighten. Did he pity her the way he pitied these children? For some reason, the thought made heat rise to her cheeks again. But she was being silly. She had been educated and given a life of privilege and leisure. Her circumstance was blessed beyond anything these poor children of the East Side experienced. He probably was only referring to her friendship with little Henry.
When they arrived back at the Bartholdys’ home, Mr. Langdon stopped Julia a few feet from the door. “Were you truly so curious to see where I was going?” He was smiling again in his teasing way.
Julia smiled too, pretending to make a joke of it. “I suppose I must have a bit of a craving for espionage. But you left me no choice but to spy upon you, since you were so stubbornly determined not to share your secret with me.”
His brown eyes were warm and probing at the same time. “This is a new side of you, Miss Grey.” His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. “A pact,” he said, holding out his right hand to her, “never to divulge the other’s secret.”
Julia and Mr. Langdon shook hands like two gentlemen sealing a business agreement. So why then did the touch of his hand send warmth all the way up her arm and make her dwell on things that could never be?
Yet another ball. Perhaps it was only the rain that made Julia dread exiting the coach and entering the town house of their hosts for the evening, Mr. and Mrs. Fortescue, who were trying to get their two daughters married off. But she could avoid neither the ball nor the rain.
Phoebe sat across from her, adjusting her bonnet, while Aunt Wilhern sat in the corner, looking more alert than she had all day. Her aunt and cousin alighted, and Julia followed.
The Fortescues stood at the head of the receiving line, smiling as though they were anxious to please but not sure how to go about it. They had invited every eligible oldest son in London, as well as a few younger sons with good prospects for either the church or a military career. They’d only invited the Wilherns, Julia, and the other young ladies so as not to be talked of badly—and as bait for all the gentlemen.
Julia would, of course, be as pleasant and agreeable as she always was, no matter what she was thinking, as polite society dictated.
She glanced around the room and was pleased to see Felicity Mayson not far away. But a moment later, Mr. Edgerton turned from speaking to Felicity, and a smile spread across his face as he locked eyes with Julia.
Felicity turned back to Mr. Edgerton, no doubt to distract him so Julia could lose herself in the crowd. Julia quickly set out to do just that.
She worked her way through the press of people, exchanging polite greetings with acquaintances but continuing to move, as though she had an important destination. She took a moment to glance behind her, but she didn’t see Mr. Edgerton.
When she turned around again, she bumped into someone. “Excuse me, I’m terribly—”
“Excuse me, Miss—” Mr. Dinklage stopped when he saw to whom he was speaking. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and his cheeks went pale and then just as quickly turned red.
“Mr. Dinklage. Good evening. I trust you are well?”
He swallowed again before saying, “Miss Grey. I am well, I thank you. And you are well? And your family?”
“We are all well. How very kind of you to ask.”
Mr. Dinklage blinked repeatedly and seemed unable to look her in the eye. “I must go . . . to get some refreshment . . . for my mother.” He blushed even redder at the reference to his mother, and she believed he would have sunk beneath the floor if he could have.
“I bear you no ill will, Mr. Dinklage,” Julia said softly. “Let us be friends. Shall we?”
Finally looking her in the eye in a most grateful way, he grasped her hand. “Thank you, Miss Grey. You are too good, I am sure.” Tears seemed to well up in his eyes. “Better than I deserve. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
Julia gave a tug on her hand, hoping to escape the man before too many people noticed them talking so quietly or overheard them. Besides that, she didn’t want to see him cry.
Finally, he let go of her hand.
“Excuse me,” she said as she turned away from Mr. Dinklage and nearly bumped into—
“Mr. Langdon.” She couldn’t help smiling but then saw that he was eyeing her with raised brows.
“Miss Grey.”