“Do you enjoy playing and singing as much as you enjoy dancing?” he asked.
Was he only trying to make polite conversation? Or was he thinking that her aunt and uncle had forced her to play so that their daughter could dance? At a ball, they would engage a small orchestra to play, but at a smaller party such as this one, Julia usually ended up at the pianoforte. It wasn’t as if she had no choice. But she knew Phoebe wanted her to, and she would do almost anything for her cousin. Some people no doubt characterized Julia as the Wilherns’ “poor relation,” but she owed so much to Phoebe’s parents. The Wilherns had taken her in when her own parents had died, leaving her very little inheritance. How could she refuse such a small act of service?
“I do enjoy playing, and I would rather play than sing.”
“And would you rather play than dance?” She must have looked uncomfortable, because he said, “Forgive my impertinent questioning. I’ve been amongst men, some of them quite rough, for too long. You are equally graceful at playing and singing and dancing.”
Of course, it was the polite thing to say, but he did say it most charmingly.
“Your sister plays well,” Julia said. “She is very gracious to take my place at the pianoforte.”
“Leorah does play well and is gracious but still not quite grown up at heart, I’m afraid. She’s only three years younger than I. Tell me, Miss Grey, would you believe that my elegant little sister used to put toads and lizards in her pockets, walk through muddy creek beds in her bare feet, and defeat her brothers in archery competitions?”
Julia couldn’t help laughing, but then she immediately felt guilty, hoping Phoebe hadn’t seen her merriment under the gaze of Mr. Langdon’s overly cheerful face.
His smile was too appealing for anyone’s good.
“You shouldn’t tell such tales. Your sister would not like it.”
“On the contrary, she loves to tell those stories even more than I. She regaled the entire company of guests at my parents’ last dinner party with how she wrestled a poor defenseless rabbit from the jaws of a fox when she was ten.”
Their turn came and they obeyed the rules of the dance, taking each other’s hand and whirling to the music. When they had another chance to speak, she said, “Your sister reminds me of my cousin Phoebe. Even now she enjoys a good tromp through the woods on the family’s country estate. She would go fishing with the groomsmen if my uncle would allow it.”
They switched partners for a few moments, Julia congratulating herself on again turning the conversation to Phoebe. When she faced Mr. Langdon, he had a strange look on his face.
“When you dance with me, I want to hear about you, not your cousin.”
Blushing as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, Julia tried to think of what to say. Should she give him a good set down? He was rude to tell her what she could or could not speak of. But she sensed that he had caught on to her scheme of trying to manipulate him into an attraction for Phoebe.
How annoying to be so transparent.
“So when a lady dances with you, she must stick to the subject you choose?”
“No.” He leaned his head nearer hers and said softly, “But you should know that I find you quite as interesting as your cousin Miss Wilhern.”
The dance ended. The other participants applauded politely as Julia stared up at him.
“Thank you for the dance, Miss Grey. I hope to have the pleasure again . . . soon.” With that, he bowed politely and turned away.
Julia was staring at his retreating back, just as Phoebe had earlier in the evening. She turned and made her way toward the refreshments.
She stood in a corner, drinking her lemonade and fanning herself. How strange that she should have been caught in Mr. Langdon’s spell. What kind of loving cousin would blush as she remembered the handsome face of the man her cousin admired leaning over her?
She was mostly hidden behind one of her aunt’s potted plants, a large rubber tree, as she stood against the wall, forcing her thoughts back in order.
Taking another sip of her lemonade, she recognized her uncle’s voice very nearby.
“Langdon has the diary? You are sure? We shall have to retrieve it—tomorrow.”
Julia peeked around the plant’s large leaves. Her uncle was talking to Mr. Edgerton. They stood with their backs to her. She should reveal her presence, as it would be very rude to continue eavesdropping on their conversation, but a small frisson of fear stopped her—the harsh tone of her uncle’s voice did not fit with the occasion, as well as the fact that they were speaking of Mr. Langdon.
“How do you propose—” Mr. Edgerton began a question that was interrupted by her uncle.
“You must go first thing in the morning. If you fail, I’ll send a man—two men.” Her uncle lowered his voice even more. “We will talk no more tonight, not till after the guests have gone.”