She practically flew through the corridor and down the servants’ stairs to her own room. She went inside and fell across her bed, still breathing hard, her hands trembling, and a dampness on her forehead and her back.
Spying was quite the most terrifying thing she had ever done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Two days later, as dinner and the hour of Nicholas Langdon’s arrival drew nearer, the excitement in the Wilhern household grew apace until Julia was certain she could feel it in the air. Phoebe had started getting herself ready hours earlier than she usually would. Her hair had been curled and pinned and poked and teased and supplemented by false locks, and it now lay piled high and highly adorned, with a few wisps dangling by her ears. These wisps flew wildly about as she rushed into Julia’s room and slammed the door behind her.
“Julia, do you think this is my best dress?” Phoebe flung her arms out by her sides in a desperate gesture.
The pale mint green was very becoming to Phoebe’s complexion. “It is a good color for you. You look lovely and glowing.”
“Oh, but do you think I should wear my pink one with the green sash? Or maybe my white one with the seed pearls sewn into the bodice. I want to look perfect.”
“Phoebe, you look very well indeed, believe me. I don’t think you should give your dress another thought. Besides, men don’t pay nearly as much attention to dresses as we ladies do.” Although Mr. Langdon was more observant than other men.
“Julia, you always think I look well.” Phoebe sighed in frustration.
Unable to think of anything to say that Phoebe would believe, Julia turned back to the mirror. Molly had promised to come and arrange Julia’s hair after she finished with Mrs. Wilhern. But if Molly didn’t arrive soon . . .
“Julia, do you think Mr. Langdon will think I’m pretty?”
Julia looked into Phoebe’s eyes, which were at once hopeful and anxiety ridden. They were a blue-gray color with pale lashes framing them, and her hair was fit for a princess. Julia couldn’t help but think Phoebe’s good complexion and high spirits would cause everyone to overlook any trifling faults in her appearance. She was a loyal, sweet girl, and Julia truly wanted her to be happy.
But thinking of Phoebe marrying Nicholas Langdon made Julia’s stomach churn.
“Phoebe, you look lovely, as I said before. Now stop doubting yourself.”
“It isn’t that easy.” Phoebe’s lip and chin trembled as tears brightened her eyes. “You don’t feel things the way I do, Julia. You don’t understand how difficult this is for me.”
Two tears, one from each eye, slid down Phoebe’s face as she turned to leave.
Julia tried to think of something to say, something that was both truthful and calming to Phoebe, but she could not.
The maid took so long to come that Julia began to arrange her hair herself. She gathered it up, one strand at a time, and pinned it in place.
Two days earlier, after searching her uncle’s office, Julia had calmed herself, walked quickly to the park, and found the oak tree with the knothole. She stuffed the copy she had made of the coded message she found in her uncle’s desk into the hole and covered it with the rock and then walked back home without encountering anyone she knew. Perhaps this spying would not be as difficult as she had thought.
“Oh, Miss Julia, forgive me.” Molly rushed into the room and quickly took up a handful of pins. “Mrs. Wilhern kept me so late, even though I reminded her—twice—that you were waiting for me to see to your hair. But your hair is easy. I shall have it looking presentable in no time, but I am afraid you will be late.”
“No matter, Molly.” It was better this way. Julia would not be there when Nicholas Langdon and his sister, Leorah, arrived and therefore would miss any awkwardness—and that stab of embarrassment she always felt for Phoebe when she greeted the object of all her hopes, Mr. Langdon.
Julia pictured how he would look, with his frock coat and top hat and walking stick, as he approached their door. His dark hair would be draped just so across his forehead, his snowy white neckcloth tied according to the latest fashion, and his manner and expression everything a gentleman’s should be.
Why did he have to be so perfect?
Even if he wore a tweed coat and scuffed boots and no neckcloth at all, he’d still have that breathtaking smile, those warm brown eyes.
Oh dear. She was over-romanticizing the man, just like Phoebe. After all, he was putting her in danger, asking her to risk everything to help him spy on her uncle. A gentleman never endangered a lady. Did he think less of her than Phoebe? Is that why he had asked her to spy on Mr. Wilhern instead of asking Phoebe? No, logically Julia was the better choice, as she was only his niece, not his daughter. Besides, she couldn’t imagine Phoebe being able to set aside her emotions long enough to see that England’s future was more important than her own. But that was understandable. Difficult enough to spy on your own uncle and guardian but infinitely more painful to spy on your own father.
Molly yanked one last strand of hair into place. She thrust in the last pin, poking Julia’s scalp.