Introducing Miss Joanna
Once a Wallflower
Book Two
Maggi Andersen
© Copyright 2020 by Maggi Andersen
Text by Maggi Andersen
Cover by Wicked Smart Designs
Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.
P.O. Box 7968
La Verne CA 91750
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Produced in the United States of America
First Edition October 2020
Kindle Edition
Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.
All Rights Reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.
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Additional Dragonblade books by Author Maggi Andersen
The Never Series
Never Doubt a Duke
Never Dance with a Marquess
Never Trust and Earl
Dangerous Lords Series
The Baron’s Betrothal
Seducing the Earl
The Viscount’s Widowed Lady
Governess to the Duke’s Heir
Eleanor Fitzherbert’s Christmas Miracle (A Novella)
Once a Wallflower Series
Presenting Miss Letitia
Introducing Miss Joanna
The Lyon’s Den Connected World
The Scandalous Lyon
Also from Maggi Andersen
The Marquess Meets His Match
Beth
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Publisher’s Note
Additional Dragonblade books by Author Maggi Andersen
Introducing Miss Joanna
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Introducing Miss Joanna
She’s hoping to find true love.
He prefers to remain single and bring criminals to justice.
When a dangerous gang threatens her life, his heart is on the line.
London, 1817
When Joanna Dalrymple’s father inherits a fortune from a relative, he sells his haberdashery and turns his attention to seeing his beloved daughter settled in the manner he’d promised her mother. He leases a townhouse in Mayfair for the Season and engages a lady to ease their way into Society.
At her first ball, Jo makes a new friend, Letitia Cartwright, who introduces her to the baron, Lord Reade. Dark-haired and handsome, he towers over most men, and his teasing manner is not what one finds on a ballroom dance floor. Jo learns from Letty that Reade is not looking to marry. It intrigues Jo. There is something mysterious about the baron. An air of danger surrounds him. But Jo has decided her husband must be a quiet gentleman who would welcome her widowed father into their house, so when the elegant Mr. Ollerton, pursues her, Jo welcomes his advances.
Gareth Baron Reade, an agent for the crown, is investigating the disappearances of several young women at the request of the Prince Regent. The lovely redhead, Miss Joanna Dalrymple, has captured Reade’s attention. His interest in her deepens.
His good friend, Brandon Cartwright, has the annoying tendency to read Reade’s mind, and to voice what’s on his. He urges Reade to marry and cast aside the low spirits which have plagued him since Waterloo. But Reade refuses to inflict his dark moods and nightmares on a wife. Trouble is, Joanna, a forthright young woman, becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. Especially when it appears she might be in danger.
Has she become involved with the Virdens, the couple Reade has under suspicion? While he has no intention of caring for anyone again, he becomes determined to protect her.
Will it take a matter of life and death for them to realize they cannot live without each other?
Chapter One
Marlborough, Wiltshire
March 1817
“It’s sold!”
Joanna Dalrymple’s father burst through the door, his face wreathed in smiles. She glanced up from slicing meat for their luncheon at the kitchen table. Their maid, Molly, left her seat, and transferring the bowl of shelled peas to the sideboard, withdrew from the room.
“That is wonderful news, Papa.”
“Not surprising, as the haberdashery is a neat little business.” He brushed a hand over his faded red locks and sat down. “An excellent position, Marlborough being a market town on the Bath Road, it gets all the traffic from London to Bath. Not to mention the shop is on the second-widest high street in Britain, after Stockton-on-Tees.”
“Yes, Papa.” While Jo had heard it all before, she was glad her father no longer had to work so hard after he inherited money from a relative who’d done extremely well in the silk business at Spitalfields and invested wisely. Papa was now a man of leisure, but unused to idleness, he still cast around for something to occupy his days.
“Are you pleased the shop has sold?”
“I am.” He sawed through a loaf of bread with the bread knife and spread butter on two slices. “It’s an excellent time to sell, now with the taxes Pitt has imposed. My best lines, including tea, sugar, soap, candles, and paper, are all heavily taxed because of the enormous national debt. The Corn Laws protect the landowners, so the rich grow richer, and th
e poor grow poorer.” He placed a slice of ham on the bread.
Jo passed him the mustard. She wondered if he would ever accept he was now a wealthy man. “You could own a farm again. Employ men to do the hard work.”
“And I might one day. But now I have a surprise.” His enthusiasm reminded her of their dog, Sooty, after he’d hidden his bone under the sofa cushion.
“A surprise?” Jo grinned as she poured him a cup of tea from the kitchen’s brown china teapot.
“I engaged a business manager to find us a house in London for the Season.”
“London!” Jo squealed. “Papa! How did you manage to keep this from me?”
He folded his arms with a smug smile. “I signed the lease this morning!”
“You did?” Jo couldn’t believe her father would do such a thing. Since her mother died, he disliked disruption of any kind and often lectured her that she was too compulsive, and her desire for adventure was unwise. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“You shall have your debut as your mother would have wished.” A shadow appeared in his green eyes. “I promised her you would have your chance, and here you are at twenty-one. The men you meet at assemblies and church dances are not good enough for my girl. Your mother married beneath her when she chose me, bless her heart. I pray I never gave her cause to regret it.” He sighed. “While I dislike your mother’s family, and what they did to Mary, throwing her out because she took your mother’s side, I have to admit they are well-born.”
“A Season? I can’t believe it,” Jo said, slightly breathless. “Is Aunt Mary to come with us?”
“Your aunt complains of her rheumatism but expresses an eagerness to accompany us.”
“She will enjoy being among society people again.”
“I believe she will. I have promised to purchase that cottage your aunt wants. She intends to move there with her cats after you marry.”
“She has had her eye on that cottage for ages.” While she was pleased for Aunt Mary, Jo felt a quiver of unease. Should she marry, her father would be alone here. He must come and live with her. And any man she married would need an agreeable nature. Someone calm, gentle, and kind.
Her father fed a piece of meat to Sooty, patiently waiting at his feet. “Where is your aunt?”
“She has taken an apple pie to Mrs. Jones, who’s feeling poorly.” Jo jumped up. “When do we leave? I must make a list.”
“Now, I don’t intend to leave immediately! There is much to do to prepare. You have need of a ballgown.”
“We can purchase it in London,” Jo said, fearing something might occur to change his mind.
“Yes. Everything you need, Jo, don’t stint on it. But as to the ballgown, you have nothing to worry about, my girl. I have the matter well in hand.”
“Oh?” she asked uneasily. Her initial excitement dimmed a little when it occurred to her she was about to be thrown into the midst of Society matrons and their debutante daughters.
“I’ve spoken to the seamstress, Mrs. Laverty. She has agreed to make your ballgown.”
“That is good of her.” The widow, Mrs. Laverty, played piquet with her father every Saturday. Jo had hoped they might marry, but her father still mourned her mother.
Mrs. Laverty sewed beautifully but lacked the experience of the London fashions. Jo would study the illustrations in the fashion magazines, but the latest editions weren’t easy to get.
“We’ll depart for London in April,” her father said. “Fred Manion has offered us a ride when next he takes his produce to Covent Garden.”
Jo stared at him in surprise. “In his wagon?”
He chuckled. “Heaven forbid! Fred has been doing well and has purchased a carriage to visit his family in Bath. He will be our coachman, while his son, Henry, will drive the vegetable wagon to market.”
Jo couldn’t help smiling. Her father could well afford a new carriage and a set of prime carriage horses, but she would not dampen his enthusiasm by suggesting it. Especially as she would need a new wardrobe. She’d heard women changed their clothes several times a day in London. Goodness, what an expense!
Some hours later, after she, her father, and Aunt Mary had all contributed their ideas for the trip, Jo retired to her bedchamber to go through her wardrobe. As she feared, nothing was suitable. One wasn’t so fussed with what one wore in the country. She tramped for miles over the fields, in good weather and bad, and her half-boots were scuffed, her pelisse faded, and her best poke bonnet, which was perfectly good for church, had seen better days. The subtle differences between a walking dress and a morning dress or an evening gown and a ballgown escaped her. Accessories were a complete mystery. She had no idea which hats and which gloves to wear with what.
Preparing for bed, Jo flicked her braid back and leaned close to her bedchamber mirror. She pondered whether to take the scissors to her waist-length, dark red hair, but decided it needed to be stylishly cut. Her father always said it was her crowning glory, but none of the women passing through the village wore a huge bun at the back of their heads.
During the following weeks, Mrs. Laverty took her measurements and hunted for the right fabric. Jo, eager to see the ballgown, had given the dressmaker an illustration from a magazine she’d found. It was of a slender lady with impossibly tiny feet in a high-waisted dress. Nothing about Jo was tiny. She was tall, and her feet were long and slim like the rest of her. The dress had a low scoop neck and three tiers of ruffles around the hem, with more of the rosebuds sewn onto the capped sleeves. The overall effect was dainty and feminine.
At Jo’s first fitting, Mrs. Laverty produced the material for the ballgown. “Your father believes green suits you best, and I quite agree, you have lovely eyes.” She picked up the fabric from her table and draped it over Jo’s shoulder. “Perfect!”
In the long mirror, Jo studied the effect. The blue-green silk was flattering, although she would have preferred the white muslin with the roses. Mrs. Laverty had not only taken her scissors to the silk but had stitched it together and was now slipping it over Jo’s head. “There will be the three ruffles at the hem and the short sleeves you asked for,” she said.
The seamstress, enthused by the task, had the gown almost completed by the beginning of the third week. Jo was a little disappointed when she tried it on, but it still needed a few finishing touches.
“It’s as you described,” Mrs. Laverty said, eyeing her carefully. “I couldn’t find any silk rosebuds. The camellias are just as pretty, don’t you think?”
Large flowers decorated the hem and smaller ones on the short sleeves. An even bigger camellia sewn onto the skirt made Jo think of a node on a tree. She admitted she was no expert, so decided it would do. And the color was lovely.
“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Laverty,” she said as the seamstress fussed about with pins in her mouth.
“It does suit you, Jo,” Aunt Mary said. “You look wonderful in it.”
The day of their departure arrived. Their trunks tied on the back of Fred Manion’s carriage, they climbed inside. Fred expressed his satisfaction at having purchased the contraption secondhand at a very good price. The worn seats were hard, and the interior smelled of a sheepdog and something indefinable and unpleasant. However, nothing could rob Jo of excitement as they set out on their journey.
Fred rested the horses at the top of Forest Hill. Then leaving the Wiltshire downs behind them, the carriage rattled on through Savernake Forest, passing tramps, peddlers, and wanderers along the way.
“London, here I come,” she said with a grin.
“You will be the belle of the ball,” Papa enthused.
“She will.” Aunt Mary settled in the corner with several pillows, her eyes shining with anticipation through the lenses of her eyeglasses.
Their first overnight stop was the White Bear at Maidenhead, and without the delays of bad weather, or the need for Fred to use his blunderbuss to ward off highwaymen, they reached Kensington a day later. Their j
ourney was almost at an end. Jo’s bottom was sore from the constant jouncing around, and poor Aunt Mary had become pale and silent.
The bustling city was a revelation. Jo stared through the window at the busy streets, the shops, and the dazzling display of wares encroaching on the footpaths. Women boldly strode the street corners and chatted to passing men. The roads were filthy, the gutters overflowing, and coal smoke turned the sky gray. An all-pervasive dank smell rose from the Thames. But none of it mattered. This was London! The carriage pulled up at a crossroads to allow a wagon piled with vegetables to trundle slowly across in front of them.
“They’re going to Covent Garden,” Fred Manion observed loudly from the box. “That’s where I’ll be off to as soon as I deposit you in Mayfair.”
“So good of you, Fred,” Papa yelled back.
“Pies. Pies,” a hawker called to them from the pavement. Holding his tray against his chest, supported by a leather strap looped around his neck, he shuffled over to them. “Fancy a beef pie with onions, yer lordship? Ladies? A pastry that fair melts in yer mouth. Made by me missus.”
“I’ll have one,” Fred said, leaning down with a coin in his hand. As he bit into the pie, the gravy must have spilled over his pants. With a curse, the reins slipped from his hands. “No need to worry,” he called as he climbed down to retrieve them.
Jo put her head out the window to watch the unfolding scenario with interest.
The pie still clutched in his meaty fingers, Fred was soon up on his box again.
“Eat hearty,” the fellow said and bit into the coin before moving back to his position. His cry went up again.
The traffic cleared ahead.
“What are you, top-heavy? Get a move on, you bacon-brained fellow,” a groom called from beside the coachman on the box of a glossy black coach.
“Cripes! I’m going, no need to get fidgety,” Fred called, waving at them.
Before Fred could move the horses on, the coachman in the black coach took advantage of a gap in the traffic and overtook them.
Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower Book 2) Page 1
