Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  “Reade avoids any romantic entanglements with ladies of the ton,” Letty said. “I have seen women try to snare him, Jo. None of them captured his heart. He shows no interest in marriage. He is a good friend of Cartwright’s and mine, but I see you are interested and must again caution you against him. I should not like to see you hurt.”

  “He is unlike any man I’ve ever met,” she admitted.

  Letty’s eyes sparkled. “Men like Reade and Cartwright are fascinating creatures.”

  It was plain that Letty loved her husband dearly.

  “I have decided upon the sort of gentleman I wish to marry,” Jo said, “A quiet, sensible, home-loving man. I shall not fall under Baron Reade’s spell.”

  “Oh, dear,” Letty said with a smile. “I do hope you change your mind about seeking such a husband.”

  Unsure of Letty’s meaning, Jo glanced around at the elegant guests, drinking champagne and laughing together. “Are there fortune hunters here tonight?”

  “Most certainly,” Letty said. “And impoverished lords with estates to maintain who must marry for money.”

  “But that seems so…mercenary,” Jo protested. How would she know if a man loved her or just wanted her dowry?

  “A marriage of convenience can suit both parties. A man gains a wealthy wife, a woman the title. And sometimes it becomes a love match.” She nodded toward a couple who stood close together. “The Wade’s marriage was a business arrangement. But see how fond they are of each other,” she smiled. “I’m sure London is very different to the country village where you grew up. Wealth, position, and birth rule here. You must try to keep a cool head, Jo. You wish to marry for love, and I can recommend it. But take care. Some gentlemen have a great deal of charm but are not to be trusted. I fear your father and your aunt will not easily see through them because they lack experience of London society.” Her expression darkened. “And there is a wicked side to this city one hopes never to see.”

  She wondered if Letty had seen it. The grave look in her eyes made Jo suspect she might have. She’d love to ask her, and perhaps one day, she would. “Reade gave me a similar warning.”

  Letty raised her eyebrows. “He did?”

  “In a roundabout fashion.” He had piqued Jo’s curiosity and made her look at the gentlemen around her with fresh eyes. Reade, too. Where did he fit in the scheme of things?

  “Don’t look so concerned, Jo! I didn’t mean to worry you.” Letty patted her arm. “Enjoy the pleasures London offers.” She opened her reticule and took out a calling card. “This is my address. Please send word should you need someone to talk to.”

  Jo took it with a nod of thanks. “I am most fortunate to have met you, Letty.”

  “I am glad we are friends, Jo,” she said. “Did you receive an invitation to the Feldman’s rout on Saturday?”

  “Mrs. Millet mentioned it. What is a rout?”

  “Routs are most entertaining. There will be no dancing. Guests cram the reception rooms to indulge in conversation and fine wine. There might be music and card play, with a nice supper.”

  “It sounds…stifling.”

  “They are less formal, and one might stroll the gardens on a warm evening.” She smiled. “But choose carefully who accompanies you.”

  Jo must have appeared disheartened, for Letty laughed. “The time will come when you trust a gentleman well enough to place your safety in his hands.” She rose. “I must go, the supper dance is about to begin.”

  Left to her thoughts, Jo wondered how long it would take to meet the man she would marry. To have her future settled. They were to spend only a few months in London, which would pass quickly. And if no suitor she approved of presented himself, like Cinderella, when the clock struck midnight, she would return to Marlborough. It was where her father was happiest. He chafed at the way things were done, saying he never wished to have a valet fussing over him, or an infernal uppity butler, and liked to eat his breakfast in his shirt sleeves. He missed Sooty and feared their dog was pining for them.

  Although Jo loved their home and the people she had known all her life, she would be devastated to return, having failed to find a husband. Everyone who knew her, which was the whole village, had wished her well and expected to hear of her marriage. Would she soon be back in her old bedchamber, chatting at church, dancing with dull men at assemblies, and retiring when the chickens went to roost?

  She wanted adventure! And she was now accustomed to London hours. It would sadden her father. He would urge her to choose a husband among those in Marlborough who had expressed a wish to marry her. Not one had sparked the remotest interest in her. So few men in London had either, except for Baron Reade and Mr. Ollerton. But Mr. Ollerton had not come to ask her to dance again. Nor had she caught sight of him in the crowd since they danced. He had promised to call on them. She hoped he would.

  Lord Hislop came toward her. Jo had promised him the supper dance. She groaned inwardly. Worry creased his face into deep lines, and he perspired heavily. She rose with a smile as he approached.

  Her father was leading another lady onto the dance floor. Perhaps it wouldn’t be Mrs. Millet, she thought with relief.

  Reade stood with Cartwright, his gaze resting on Miss Dalrymple, performing the supper dance with that poor sod, Hislop. She looked pained, for he’d just trodden heavily on her foot. He fought a surprising urge to wrestle her away from the fellow.

  “I’m told Virden was here earlier,” Cartwright said. “Didn’t see him. He never stays long.”

  Reade shrugged. “Nor I. There must be three hundred people here tonight. I have some news. It appears the bill of sale I found in the Virden’s house was couched in vague terms and inconclusive. Although we’re pretty sure of what goods it refers to, it wouldn’t stand up in a magistrate’s court.”

  “They’re sly customers. Been getting away with their dark deeds for some time.”

  “Let’s hope we reel them all in at their meeting near the docks. But the reason for it worries me.” He frowned. “It can have only one purpose. We must discover where it is held and quickly. I’ve assigned Black and Goodridge to follow Virden. I’ll relieve them when I’m free from my other commitments.”

  “The Regent?”

  Reade nodded. “We fear there could be another attempt on his life. People have grown even more unsettled since the government enforced its system of economy. While it was to reduce debts caused by the wars and the aftermath of Waterloo, people are starving, and the landowners suffer.”

  “Fury is mounting since Prinny ignored the government’s advice to issue a royal command to abandon all the work on his Brighton pavilion,” Cartwright said. “The work goes on unhindered.”

  “When you think of poor Spencer Perceval shot down by a madman, back in ’12, you’d think it would give Prinny pause.” Reade shook his head. “But no. We have our work cut out to keep him alive.”

  “He believes himself invincible, methinks. Did you enjoy your dance with Miss Dalrymple?” Cartwright asked, moving on to a far more pleasant subject.

  “I did. But you are unlikely to see it again.”

  “No? I can’t remember seeing you stand up with a debutante before. I liked her. Nothing coquettish or false about her.”

  “Miss Dalrymple is charming. And quite gorgeous,” Reade added thoughtfully, his gaze still resting on her as she entered the supper room with Hislop.

  “Then, the reason you won’t dance with her again is…?”

  “Really, Cartwright. Must I spell it out? A country lass. An innocent with a romantic view of life. Marriage. An orderly existence.” His eyes widened. “The refurbishment of Seacliffe in the latest style when I have just been at pains to restore it. Not to mention, outfitting the nursery.”

  Cartwright stroked his chin. “I’m afraid I can’t quite make out your meaning.” It was obvious from his smile that he had.

  “Shall we find some decent liquor while I explain it to you? You are obviously a dull-witted fellow.”
>
  Cartwright chuckled. “An excellent idea. There’s a fire and a fine brandy in the library.”

  “You’ve already checked?” Reade asked as they left the ballroom.

  “Always do. Only way to endure these infernal evenings.”

  “Then, why come?”

  “Because Letty enjoys them.”

  “Ah-ha!” Reade laughed. “Precisely what I referred to.”

  “I have no complaints. There are many advantages to marriage you did not mention.”

  “Apart from the obvious, you can list them over the brandy,” Reade said.

  “I prefer to keep you intrigued,” Cartwright said.

  “Who says I’m intrigued?”

  “You may have little desire to discover the delights of marriage for yourself, but it’s my hope you will reach a point in your life when you do wish it.”

  Reade was not about to discuss how very unsuited he was to marriage. “I wonder why married men are always so keen to marry off their single friends?”

  “Because it will mean you’re recovering.”

  “Recovering?” Reade sighed, but he couldn’t fool Cartwright, so he didn’t try. “I fear you are about to tell me, and I must urge you to please don’t, Brandon.”

  “I shall restrain myself.” They entered the library, and Cartwright headed for the drink’s table. He poured them each a glass of brandy, his gaze serious as he offered Reade the glass.

  “Good fellow.” Reade took a long swig and resolutely pushed the lady’s heart-shaped face and big green eyes from his mind. Miss Joanna would find a husband soon enough. A decent fellow, one hoped. The prospect gave him little solace as he took his brandy snifter and wandered over to the fire. His mood had lowered, which happened too often, despite him fighting against it.

  He glanced back at Cartwright, who looked to be gearing himself up for another rousing discussion on how marriage could fix all ills. “You didn’t happen to discover a pack of cards during your reconnaissance, did you? The card room is unpleasantly crowded. And I dislike watching Alvanley put another nail in the coffin of Underbank Hall.”

  Chapter Six

  Jo rose late, and on her way to breakfast, discovered several calling cards the butler had placed on a silver salver on the hall table. At two o’clock, four gentlemen crowded into their parlor, Lord Hislop, Mr. Ollerton, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Gregson. The two younger gentlemen were not long down from Oxford, their faces earnest and slightly pained. Jo suspected they obeyed their fathers’ orders to set themselves up with an heiress. She almost giggled at the thought. Mrs. Millet had done her job too well. Her father was hardly a nabob.

  She relished the opportunity to observe Mr. Ollerton’s face. Without his mask, he was undeniably handsome. He reminded her of someone, though she couldn’t think who it could be for she knew few people in London. His eyes were hazel as she’d guessed, his features finely wrought. He thanked her with his pleasant smile as he accepted an iced cake from the stand. As she passed the teacups around, the aroma of freshly baked pound cake and scones sweetened the air. He and Lord Hislop eyed each other warily, while the other two gentlemen enthused over a pantomime at the Sans Pareil, which Jo had not seen.

  She sipped her tea and searched for a way to enliven the gathering. But she’d learned how strictly ordered morning calls were. She couldn’t suggest a game of charades or cribbage. A distinctly strained air hovered in the room, despite Aunt Mary’s enthusiastic description of their visit to Astley’s Amphitheater.

  Conversation ambled about. Lord Hislop complained about the wet spring following such a chilly winter. Mr. Ollerton spoke in warm terms of Viscountess Lisle’s’ triumphant ball, the superiority of the orchestra, the delicious supper. Mr. Payne enthused about how much fun it had been to be in disguise. Jo, weary after little sleep, fought not to yawn.

  After the half-hour had passed, the two young gentlemen rose to their feet, obviously as eager to be gone as she was to see them go. Lord Hislop and Mr. Ollerton tarried. Lord Hislop stood and looked pointedly at Mr. Ollerton, who remained seated. Finally, Hislop bowed, scowled at Mr. Ollerton, and left the room after Jo declined his invitation to promenade in the park the following day. She had promised to accompany Aunt Mary to the British Museum to view the famous Elgin Marbles brought from Greece a year ago amidst great controversy.

  Aunt Mary, anticipating Ollerton’s imminent departure, said goodbye to him and left the room to fetch her knitting.

  Mr. Ollerton made no move to leave. In his blue coat, which suited his coloring, he crossed his legs and settled back on the sofa, as if readying himself for a nice long chat. “As soon as they fix the wheel on my curricle, I hope you’ll allow me to drive you to the park, Miss Dalrymple.”

  “I look forward to it.” Unsure how to proceed, Jo gestured at the tea tray. “More tea, Mr. Ollerton?”

  “Thank you. Just a drop. I must obey the proprieties,” he said, making no effort to do so.

  She rang for hot water. “What part of England are you from, Mr. Ollerton?”

  After Maude brought hot water, Jo busied herself making the tea. She added milk and handed him a cup and saucer, which he took with a slight inclination of his head.

  He refused the cake plate with a shake of his head. “I am the second son of Viscount Cranswick of Lancashire, Miss Dalrymple. As my brother, Julian is the heir. I was expected to go into the army, or the church, or study law.” His charismatic smile pulled at his lips. “But none appealed to me.”

  “What will you do?” Jo asked. In her opinion, everyone should work.

  “I prefer a simple life. Fortunately, I have inherited some money from my mother. I plan to buy a country property and spend my days there.”

  “It is wise to plan and work hard to achieve it.” She looked up from her teacup and saw him watching her with a speculative expression in his hazel eyes. Was he considering her for his wife? She hoped he wouldn’t mention it. She needed more time. Many ton marriages, made during the Season, seemed so hasty and cold-blooded.

  “And you, Miss Dalrymple?” he asked, putting down the cup. “I hope no gentleman has yet turned your head?”

  Jo disliked the question. As if her head could be turned so quickly by any man, she thought, firmly pushing the vision of Reade away. “I have only been in London a short while, Mr. Ollerton,” she gently chided.

  He placed his cup and saucer on the table, then edged close to take hold of her hand. “I believe I have my answer and can breathe again. I hope we will meet soon. When they’ve mended my curricle, we can enjoy a ride to the park together.”

  Jo glanced down at the slim hand, holding hers, wondering if she should withdraw it from his clasp. She didn’t wish to be rude, but it seemed rather presumptuous. “We have engagements for the rest of the week. Perhaps the Feldman’s rout on Saturday?”

  “I haven’t received an invitation,” he said with a quick frown. “But, I have yet to read my post.” He shrugged. “I confess a reluctance to read it, Miss Dalrymple. So much arrives during the Season, invitations, circulars, charities wishing for support.” He laughed. “No doubt, my butler will place it under my nose when I return.”

  Aunt Mary entered the room, her blue eyes behind her glasses exhibiting surprise at still finding him there.

  Mr. Ollerton released Jo’s hand and stood. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He bowed. “Miss Dalrymple, Miss Hatton.”

  Jo rang the bell.

  “Mr. Spears is down in the cellar, Miss Jo,” Sally said, coming into the room. “May I be of service?”

  “Mr. Ollerton is leaving. Bring his hat and cane, please, Sally.”

  When Sally appeared again, Mr. Ollerton took his things from her with a smile. “Thank you, Sally. I gather from your fresh rosy complexion you hail from the country?

  Sally bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, sir. Coventry, sir. I’ve not been long in London.”

  He nodded, and with a slight bow, said his goodbyes, and left the house.

  J
o went to the window and observed Mr. Ollerton from behind the curtain as he climbed into a hackney. The carriage took off down the road. Moments later, a man on horseback rode in the hackney’s wake. At first, she thought the rider had discovered an acquaintance in Mr. Ollerton, but she was mistaken, for he remained several yards behind him until they were out of sight.

  “Did I see Mr. Ollerton holding your hand?” Aunt Mary settled into a chair with her knitting bag.

  Jo turned. “Yes, he did.”

  “How outrageous! But you have captured his heart, Jo.”

  Jo returned to the sofa. “Perhaps.”

  “Do you like the gentleman?”

  “He is genial and attractive.” She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and brushed a crumb from her lace cuff. She had not fallen hopelessly in love with him, but perhaps such a thing didn’t happen overnight. “We shall need to see more of each other. He mentioned a drive in the park when the wheelwright has mended his carriage.”

  “What about Lord Hislop?”

  “A nice man bowed down with worry. His father died recently, and I suspect it has left him in poor circumstances.” Jo recalled the worn state of his coat. His shoes lacked a good polish. He would seek a wealthy wife, but it would not be her.

  “And the other two gentlemen?”

  “I thought them young and silly.”

  Aunt Mary rummaged in her cloth bag. “But they are a few years older than you, my dear.”

  “Yes.” Jo’s thoughts inevitably went to Reade and Mr. Cartwright, who would be in their thirties. “Older men are more interesting, having had so much more experience of life.”

  “I cannot say I’ve had much to do with gentlemen, apart from my father and brother, and your father.” Aunt Mary’s knitting needles flew, the beige wool trailing from her bag. “All decent, upstanding citizens. But it’s been my observation women do mature earlier,” she added with conviction as the clack of her busy needles filled the room.