Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

Jo was in danger of a breathless collapse when a golden head appeared among a group a few yards ahead. “There she is! There’s my maid, Sally!”

  “Right.” He shouldered his way through, pulling her with him.

  He released her hand at last, and Jo rushed forward.

  “Sally, I was so worried something awful had happened to you.”

  “I’m so glad you’re safe, Miss Jo. A kind gentleman assisted me. He offered to take me home, but I told him I had to help this little boy who is ever so distressed.” She stroked the blond head of the wailing child. About six years old, he had a dirty face but seemed otherwise unhurt. “Poor Sam has lost his mother.”

  “Never mind, lad, we’ll find her.” Reade knelt to address the boy, a hand on his shoulder. “What’s your mother’s name?”

  “’err name’s Alice Crawley,” Sam said with a shuddering sob.

  Reade stood and shouted Alice’s name. His deep voice echoed around the buildings. Those wandering the street turned to stare at them.

  A woman in an apron hurried over to them. “I know ’er. Alice works at the inn near ’ere.” She gestured with an arm. “Saw ’er up that way, ’round the corner.”

  Reade hoisted the boy onto his shoulders and strode off with Jo and Sally hurrying behind him.

  They turned the corner.

  “Ma!”

  Sam’s mother perched on a step in a lane that ran down beside the barracks. Alice held her handkerchief to her cheek. Blood dribbled down her neck. Reade put Sam down, and the boy ran and threw himself into her arms.

  “Sam!” She gathered him up with a sob.

  Reade shrugged off Jo’s effusive thanks as they continued along the street.

  “People will be rounded up and questioned,” he said. “You don’t want to be here when that happens. I cannot accompany you home, but I will see you safely into a hackney.”

  “We are most grateful,” Jo said, chagrined for her earlier disparaging thoughts.

  They entered a busy thoroughfare, and he flagged a hackney carriage. When it pulled up, Jo gave the jarvey the address in Upper Brook Street, Mayfair.

  Reade stared at her for a long moment. He opened the carriage door. “Remember what I told you. You can’t just wander around London unescorted. Your maid can hardly protect you in situations like this.” He assisted them both inside. “You, too, Miss Sally. Country girls come to London and fall into the wrong hands,” he said. “The brothels are full of them.”

  Sally blanched.

  Jo glared at him, shocked at his bluntness. She was grateful for his help, but that was unnecessary. There was no need to alarm Sally. Jo’s benevolent attitude toward him evaporated. Surely there was no need to point out how naive and foolish she’d been. “Thank you for your help, sir,” she said stiffly.

  An amused light sparked in Reade’s eyes. He shut the door and doffed his hat as the carriage pulled away.

  “Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn’t it miss?” Sally fell back against the squab.

  “I wasn’t aware the prince regent was so unpopular,” Jo said. “I only had a glimpse of him and the other gentleman beside him.” What she’d seen of the Regent disappointed her: a sulky, fleshy face, and plump body in an overly ornate coat. But she was pleased that he didn’t appear hurt.

  “It’s the way he goes on, and the government, too. We’re worse off than we might have been if Napoleon had won the war.” Sally wrinkled her freckled nose. “You’ll feel more the thing when you get home and have a nice hot cup of tea.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  The hackney entered the quiet Mayfair streets, the air fragrant with spring foliage and blossoms spilling over walls in the mansion gardens. Jo barely looked at the elegant houses they passed while she mused over how Reade could affect her emotions to such a degree. She basked in the warmth of approval from his dark eyes and hated his criticism so much she rushed to defend herself. And when he laughed at her, her fingers itched to slap him.

  Sally glanced at her. “You were lucky the gentleman came to your aid, Miss Jo.”

  “That I was,” she admitted.

  “And so handsome, too,” Sally said with a gusty sigh.

  “Do you think so?” Jo said, drawing in a breath. “I hardly noticed.”

  Sally raised her fair eyebrows. “All that black hair. And those muscles! Hard to miss ’em.”

  “Let us put the unpleasant episode behind us,” Jo said firmly.

  “Yes, miss. Not as though we’ll see him again, do you think?”

  “I daresay I might at some affair or other, but only in passing, Sally.”

  She wondered if he would attend the rout as the hackney pulled up outside the townhouse. “And here we are.” She smiled at the maid. “That was exciting, wasn’t it? No need to mention it to my father or my aunt.”

  “No, miss.”

  But Jo suspected when she and Reade met again, there would not be a polite exchange of pleasantries. Something had changed between them. There was a beguiling raw power about him, but also a vulnerability that drew her even more. She allowed herself to dream but knew it was foolish to imagine a life with him. The vision of Reade sitting in a drawing room with a napkin on his knee, sipping tea, and speaking of his hopes and dreams made her smile and shake her head.

  Reade turned away as the hackney cab rattled down the road, taking Miss Dalrymple back to the safety of Mayfair. It shook him up to find her in such a dire situation. This investigation stripped his emotions raw and sickened him because it involved vulnerable young women like her. She’d been vulnerable in that mob, but still placed her maid’s safety before her own. She proved herself not only to be brave but good-hearted. Just the sort a man would want for his wife. A delectable armful was Miss Joanna. She was feisty. She’d objected to his strong-arm tactics and scoffed at his warning. Her lovely eyes flashed darts at him.

  A reluctant grin tugged at his lips as he signaled to a hackney to take him to Whitehall. They would question those they’d rounded up after the attack on Prinny. But he doubted they’d find the culprit. He would have been long gone. Pebbles couldn’t shatter a window, nor was it a gunshot, for there was no sign of gunpowder. More would be known once they’d examined the coach.

  An hour later, having learned nothing more, Reade entered through the columned marble foyer of Carlton House. As soon as he reached the crest of the curving staircase, he heard the regent’s raised voice from the Blue Room.

  He knocked and entered. Seated at his desk, a group of anxious gentlemen surrounded Prinny as he espoused his opinions. Few would risk criticizing the regent.

  James Murray, Prinny’s Aide-de-camp, who traveled with him when the attack occurred, had been summoned to the Commons to give evidence.

  A few minutes later, news came that Murray’s recounting of events confirmed Reade’s opinion. It was not a gun because two small holes about a quarter of an inch apart revealed no trace of gunpowder, and they found no shot. An air gun most likely.

  Prinny was full of bluster, ignoring evidence and passing the incident off as some miscreant throwing stones. But after such a violent display from the public, he sank into a foul mood, blaming Sidmouth’s circular suppressing all seditious publications for the rise of discontented people. Prinny dismissed the accusation that his lavish spending and overindulgence in these troubled times were acting like salt rubbed in a wound.

  “We will hold a fete,” he said. “Open Carlton House grounds to the people.”

  “But your highness,” one of his lackey’s protested, “we held a fete a few months ago.”

  Reade clamped down his teeth. Hardly a suitable solution. While the poor went hungry and nothing was done to improve their lot, more events like this and possibly worse would happen.

  “Reade!” Prinny’s gaze settled on him. He beckoned him forward.

  “Your highness.” Reade bowed deeply.

  “What news?” Prinny waved his hands at the rest of the men. “Get out, all of you.”
>
  When the door closed on the last of them, Reade said, “We need to pursue the matter. Find the culprit to settle down the rumors.”

  Prinny shrugged. “Storm in a teacup.”

  “We must double the guard.”

  “No. Make no changes.” Prinny stared into the distance. “The people wish to see me. Let them do so.”

  His attitude didn’t surprise Reade. Despite the indulgent way he lived, Prinny was not one to fuss over an attack on his life. “What have you discovered concerning these missing women?”

  “We have two strong suspects. They are being followed.”

  Prinny nodded. “I rely on you to bring this swiftly to an end.”

  Finally dismissed, Reade wondered again about Prinny’s interest and why this became a matter for the Home Office instead of Bow Street. He knew better than to ask the regent. No doubt, the answer would come when the villains were all either dead or imprisoned.

  He went home to change for the formal dinner he was to attend that evening, thinking of Miss Joanna Dalrymple, who lived in Upper Brook Street. A coincidence? Or something more? Should he be worried about her? It would be wise to look out for her. Cartwright would accuse him of falling for the lady. It would please his friend to believe it, but Reade had no intention of it.

  Chapter Eight

  The Feldman’s rout was just as Letty described. Beautifully dressed guests crammed the reception rooms, gathered around the men who enthralled them with their witty repartee.

  The air was humid with an occasional rumble of thunder in the distance, but it had not yet rained. Such a crush made the rooms unpleasant, the atmosphere heavily laden with scent and sweat. Jo longed to escape for a breath of fresh air.

  Mr. Cartwright and her father went into the salon to play a game of whist. Letty’s husband seemed to have taken to him, for they shared an enthusiasm for farming. Although her father no longer owned any land, he had an excellent knowledge of farming practices.

  Aunt Mary had found an old friend. They’d been debutantes together many years ago and now sat discussing the famous scandals that rocked the bon ton back when they were young.

  Jo’s new acquaintance, Charlotte Graham, did not appear. Jo knew none of the smartly dressed guests, but she refused to cling to the Cartwrights. After Letty’s mama-in-law joined them, Jo excused herself to wander the rooms, attempting to look as if she had a purpose and a place to go. A string quartet competed with the vociferous guests. There was to be no dancing, which Jo considered a dreadful waste of fine music.

  Mr. Ollerton must not have received an invitation, for he was not here tonight. Neither was Lord Reade. Did she regret Reade’s absence more than Ollerton’s? Jo chewed her bottom lip. She was losing focus. The plan she’d conceived for a contented, quiet life no longer seemed to appeal. But she must give Mr. Ollerton a chance, should he wish it. They had hardly spoken, for he seldom appeared at the same social gatherings as she did. And they were yet to drive to the park.

  Routs were not her favorite entertainment, Jo decided as she fanned herself and scanned the crowd one more time for anyone she knew.

  In the supper room, a lavish display of dishes awaited the guests, but it was too hot to eat. Jo took a glass of cider from a footman’s tray.

  As the evening progressed, the heat seemed to worsen. Some of the candles drooped in the silver candelabrum. The drink had done little to cool her. She entered the drawing room, where many guests gathered. Some wandered out through the French doors onto the terrace.

  A refreshing breeze drew Jo to the door. The gardens looked mysterious and beautiful in the lantern light. Could she roam the garden paths alone? There were people doing just that. Perhaps if she didn’t go far?

  Jo was outside before she knew it and gratefully inhaling the cooler, leaf-scented air.

  Guests gathered at the far end of the terrace, engaged in heated disagreement. Something to do with the prime minister and a pamphlet. It was awkward standing alone. Jo feared they might think she was eavesdropping. She descended the steps into the garden, where well-ordered paths led off through clipped hedges and shrubbery.

  A couple laughingly made their way back toward the house and glanced curiously at her as they passed. Jo lowered her head and hurried on. She approached a break in the trees and emerged onto a freshly scythed lawn to find a large fountain filled with waterlilies and lit by two braziers. Even the sight of water was refreshing. “Would anyone mind if I took off my slippers and stockings and cooled my feet?” she murmured with a smile, admiring the marble statue of some Roman god at its center.

  “I wouldn’t object, Miss Dalrymple. Please do.”

  She had thought herself alone. When Jo turned, Lord Reade stood before her in his black and white evening clothes, laughter in his eyes. She drew in a sharp breath, annoyed at how pleased she was to see him. “Does it amuse you to sneak up on people, sir?”

  He grinned. “The grass muffled my footsteps. I’m sorry if I alarmed you. I admit to being tempted to remain silent, however. In hope, you might lift your skirts and wade in the fountain.”

  Jo bit her lip to stop from smiling. “I had no intention of it.”

  “An unpleasantly hot evening, is it not? The water looks cool. Shall we do it together? Or do you think there are fish in it?”

  Jo giggled. “You are absurd, sir.”

  His smile seemed to invite her to take part in something even more risqué. Jo’s face grew hot, but fortunately, it was too dark for him to see. “We may still get wet,” she said inanely. “It’s so hot it must surely rain.”

  He glanced up at the clouds drifting over the sky. “There’s a storm somewhere, but it’s far off. I believe we are safe. You appear to be alone. Might I walk with you?”

  “I’m not sure I want to go farther.”

  Deeper into the gardens? She should go back. Would he take advantage of the shadows to steal a kiss? Jo moistened her lips, admitting she would like him to kiss her. A stolen kiss had no real importance, apparently, here in London. The scandal sheets she’d been able to get her hands on shocked her. Couldn’t she trust him to behave like a gentleman? He had come to their aid during the attack on the Royal Coach. She hesitated. Or could it be that she was unsure of herself? Minutes ticked by while he waited for her answer.

  His laugh was low and inviting, sending electricity racing along her nerve endings.

  “I can almost see the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours, Miss Dalrymple. Am I to learn what you have decided?”

  Jo struggled to take control of herself. She did not want him to know how easily he could affect her, and she suspected he didn’t miss much. “Thank you. I caught sight of a gazebo somewhere ahead of us.”

  “Then you do wish for my company?” he asked with a teasing smile.

  “I do.” She took his proffered arm.

  “It was just that you appeared undecided.”

  She breathed in his familiar smell, the fine material of his sleeve smooth beneath her gloved fingers. “But, I have decided as you see.”

  He chuckled low in his throat. It seemed to rumble through her, warm and desirable. She wanted to laugh with him but held herself back.

  They walked on.

  “You seem not to have suffered any effects from that business concerning the Prince Regent,” he said. “I trust I am right?”

  “Yes, thanks to you. Nor did my maid. Have they found the person who shot at the royal coach?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  They strolled beneath a majestic flowering tree, the air scented with sweet blossom. “What a magnificent specimen,” Jo observed. The crabapple reminded her of her garden at home.

  “I am flattered.”

  She gave a gurgle of amusement. “I referred to the tree.” Reade was being deliberately provocative tonight. She would like to think he came to find her because he liked to be with her but couldn’t quite believe that was all it was. She suspected he did nothing without an aim. The thought slightly u
nnerved her.

  “Then, I am cut to the quick.”

  She smiled. “I believe you shall recover, my lord.”

  “Reade.”

  She nodded, wondering what he meant by such intimacy. They strolled on through the gardens beneath the flickering lanterns. They were not entirely alone. Other couples with the same aim had deserted the overheated house. The air was soft and pleasant, a slight breeze swaying the branches.

  “It’s a wonderful garden,” Jo said for want of something to break the silence which had settled between them.

  “It is a pleasant facsimile of nature. Not equal to the countryside.” He strolled, not rushing her off her feet this time. “Living in a polluted city has its drawbacks. Once the heat of the summer arrives, most leave the city for the country.”

  He sounded disillusioned. Did he prefer the country? She’d thought him a man more suited to town life. She glanced up at him, curious to know what lay behind his words. But attempting to read his thoughts was impossible. She was sure now that he had a reason to be here beyond escaping the heat of the house, and it was not to pay his attentions to her. Something weightier had crept into their conversation. She imagined she’d learn what it was soon enough.

  The path led them to a stretch of lawn, silvery in the moonlight. Reade paused, a foot on the step leading up to an ornate gazebo. He went no further, as two people occupied it, standing close together. “Your father leased Lord Pleasant’s house for the Season?”

  Astonished, she stared at him. “Yes. Why do you ask?” What interest could it possibly be to him?

  They stepped out of the shadows, and she saw that impenetrable expression on his face again. To understand him felt like attempting to scale a high stone wall.

  “Why did your father come to London?”

  She scowled at him. “Does he need a reason?” She’d been right, she thought, disappointed. He was not here to steal a kiss. But what? Her chest grew tight. To learn something from her. “We came for my debut.”

  “And only that?”

  “Isn’t that reason enough?” she asked, eyeing him. Disliking his silence, she continued, “My father inherited some money. He always hoped to honor his promise to my mother for me to make my Come-out. Mama considered it important. She came from a good family.”