“Perhaps you should rest awhile. You’ve been through a lot, Jo. Things a young woman should never see. Virden’s death…”
“I’m made of sterner stuff than you might think,” she blurted. “And will always be eternally grateful to you, Reade. One day I will tell my children how bravely you saved their mother.”
He frowned. “Has an offer been made?” He smiled. “Not one of those three, I gather.”
She forced her lips into a smile. “No, Papa deals with anything of that nature. He has my best interests at heart.”
He stood abruptly. “Then I might wish you happy soon.”
She came to her feet and curled her fingers into her palms, not to reach out to him. To tell him this was all nonsense. That there would be no one for her but him. That she loved him. But would he want to hear it?
“I must go.” He shrugged and smiled. “The Regent awaits.”
“Of course.” She bobbed, ducking her head, afraid her face would give her away. “I hope your journey to Brighten is pleasant.”
“Thank you, Jo,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Please give my regards to Charlotte when next you see her.”
“She will want to thank you herself, Reade.”
“That’s entirely unnecessary. When I return from Brighton, I shan’t be in London long for matters await me in the north.”
With a small bow, he left her.
Jo ran to the window and watched him enter a carriage. Sobs tore at her throat. Her chest heaving, she ran upstairs, fearing her father or Aunt Mary might see her. She didn’t want to worry them. And especially her father, who had been hopeful Reade would ask for her hand.
Sally paused, tidying away clothes. “Oh, Miss Jo. What has upset you so?”
“He doesn’t love me, Sally. I was foolish to think he would cast himself at my feet and promise to give up his work for the crown.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t know you care about him?”
Jo pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I didn’t think it fair. He might have felt pressured.”
Sally’s eyebrows shot up. “Lord Reade? I doubt anyone could pressure him into doing anything he didn’t wish to do.”
“But he could have spoken. He didn’t.”
“With all those gentlemen calling on you?”
The undeniable and dreadful facts remained. “He wouldn’t give up his government position for me. I wouldn’t ask it of him, but I would hate it, Sally, wondering if he had been hurt, or worse.”
“Oh, miss. You look so upset. Let me help you into bed, and I’ll bring you a hot drink.”
“Yes. I think I will.” As she undressed, Jo felt exhausted and more miserable than she’d ever been in her life.
“Thank you, Sally. I am grateful to have you with me.” Jo pulled the coverlet over herself. She dabbed her eyes. In a tree outside her window, a bird fed its fledglings. Spring would soon pass into summer, and before she knew it, they would go home. The stark realization of all that entailed brought on a fresh bout of tears.
As the royal coach took Reade and the Prince Regent to Brighton, Reade arrived at the painful acceptance that some lucky devil would snatch Jo up. Providing her sharp-eyed father approved of him. He’d just better deserve her. Reade had never experienced jealousy. Didn’t think himself capable of the emotion. Why he felt a twinge now when he hadn’t even taken Jo to bed was beyond him. More than a twinge, he decided, folding his arms with a frown.
“You appear not quite yourself, Reade,” Prinny observed, surprising him. The Regent seldom noticed other people’s moods, as the world revolved around himself. “It’s this unpleasant business you’ve had to deal with.” He shrugged. “Such things go on. But to have it touch one’s own family is beyond belief. The matter is at an end. Roland will kick up his heels in France until I permit him to come home. Let him get up to his tricks over there. I am eager to show you the renovations to the Pavilion.”
“I look forward to it, Your Highness.”
“Nash has improved on Holland’s plan by replacing the north and south end bays with pavilions to create music and banquet rooms…” Prinny went on.
“A brilliant example of industrial progress, and the arts, Your Highness,” Reade said when called upon to make a comment.
“Quite so,” Prinny said, jutting out his chin. “It is said that my grand banquet held in January for the Grand Duke Nicholas of Russia was the grandest of all time. Antonin Careme created over one hundred dishes for it. A terrible pity you missed it.”
“It was. My father’s illness prevented my attendance, Your Highness.”
“Yes. Most unfortunate. And his subsequent passing. Ah, here we are!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte sat with Jo at the Duchess of Walbrook’s ball. “I’ve been hoping to see Lord Reade. Mrs. Lincoln wishes to thank him.”
“He might be away at his country estate.” Jo had looked for him at every social event in the last three weeks.
“Mr. Lambton called on me and Mrs. Lincoln yesterday for the third time,” Charlotte said, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “I believe we might suit.”
Jo smiled. “Oh, Charlotte, I do hope so. You like him?”
“I do. He’s sober-minded. And kind, I think. Mrs. Lincoln is confident he’ll propose. She has written to my grandfather.”
“I am thrilled for you.”
“Thank you, Jo. I expected to hear news of your engagement before this.”
“I’ve met no one I want to marry. My father wishes to return home to Marlborough, but he refuses to leave London until my future is settled.”
“I expected it to be Lord Reade. The way you danced together. You looked like a couple.” She sighed. “It will be a lucky woman who marries him.
Jo studied the fan in her hands. “He doesn’t appear to want to marry.”
“Do many gentlemen? Most wait until they’re forced by age or circumstances.”
Jo’s shoulders heaved in a sigh. “But never love?”
“Rarely, I imagine,” Charlotte said pragmatically. “Mr. Lambton is as practical as I am. We have clear ideas for the future.”
Jo’s spirits lowered. She was usually such a cheerful person, seldom down for long. But she’d been struggling to present a happy demeanor of late, which hadn’t fooled her father.
“They’ve called a country dance.” Charlotte rose. “Let me know if you spy Lord Reade among the crowd.”
“I will, Charlotte.” Jo doubted Reade would be here tonight. Even if he was in London, he rarely appeared at these affairs. She arranged her stiff features into a smile of welcome as her next partner approached her.
The gentleman trod twice on her slippers and smelled of camphor. She could not quit the set until the dance ended, or not dance again tonight. And there was always the chance that Reade might come. When she returned to her seat after the set, Letty joined her. “You don’t seem your bright self, Jo.”
“A little tired, perhaps, Letty.” Jo wondered if Cartwright had told her about the Virdens.
“I have sent an invitation to my soiree on Saturday to you. I confess the party to be a sudden whim of mine. I hope you can come at such short notice.”
“We aren’t engaged elsewhere and should love to come.”
“They called the waltz.” Letty patted Jo’s hand and stood as her husband emerged from the crowd.
Jo did not waltz, but sat watching her friends with envy.
When the next dance was called, she steeled herself to dance with a gentleman who always seemed to look down his nose at her. She smiled politely, prepared to endure a dance that only brought comparisons to Reade to mind.
It had become too difficult to remain in London. No man would ever measure up to Reade or claim her heart. And she refused to settle for second best. She must try to convince her father to take her home.
Beyond the window, the sky was a limitless blue. Reade tucked into his breakfast ham and eggs. He’d discovered something surpri
sing since he’d arrived at Seacliffe. His nightmares had ceased, and he slept each night soundly. He looked around the castle with fresh eyes and a new sense of belonging. It wasn’t the improvements, the oak paneling polished in the great hall, the bright carpets laid over stone floors in the salon, or the rich damask curtains at the windows, although they pleased him. Nor was it visiting his tenant farmers and discussing his stock with his steward, a splendid fellow, although he enjoyed all of it. This went deeper, to his very soul.
He hadn’t worked for the crown for money, or praise, for that was rare in this business. And he didn’t do it just for the excitement, like some. Reade considered his experience of war enabled him to be of use to the government. Perhaps he was still fighting a war of sorts, this time against evil. And when evil threatened to destroy the good, he took up the challenge. But he wanted a different life for himself now. He would write a letter of resignation when he returned to London.
Two days ago, as the sea wind, cool and salt-laden, washed over him, he strolled the shore. He watched the gulls dip and soar overhead in the blue-gray sky, and the eternal waves break onto the rocks. His thoughts were not about the sadness that had crippled him for too long in the past, but the future, and with it came the beginnings of hope. Something was missing here to give his home a heart and make him whole. A position only a certain feisty redhead could fill. Would she have him? Or had he deliberated too long and lost her to another man?
The post brought a letter from Cartwright. A loquacious missive from a man normally of few words. Politics and gossip-filled both pages. And then a surprising penultimate sentence. Miss Dalrymple was still in London and not yet engaged. Although several gentlemen remained hopeful, the lady was earning a reputation for being cold.
Cold? What nonsense. Jo was a passionate soul. The letter brought him hope. Was he to continue living a half-life? Or do as Cartwright suggested and take a chance on love? Reade pushed away his plate and called for his valet to pack.
They left for London before luncheon.
Three days later, arriving back at his rooms in Albany, he sat at his desk and went through the post. An invitation to Letty’s soiree the following night was among them. Reade sensed this had something to do with Brandon’s letter. Were his friends trying to bring them together? He expected to find Jo at the soiree.
Had he been a fool and left it too late? Letty would surely know if Jo had met someone. He drank his coffee and began a letter to his solicitor. The lease on his townhouse had expired. He’d initially planned to lease it again but now changed his mind. The house required renovation; the lord knew what condition it was in. He hadn’t lived there since he was a boy. That done, he went out to get his hair cut, and thence to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing studio to let off a bit of steam. And then he would seek Cartwright at his club to accept the invitation.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jo took extra care with her appearance for the Cartwright’s soiree in Grosvenor Square. She wore the white and gold evening gown with her gold locket and gold slippers, and Sally had become adept at arranging Jo’s hair in the current fashion.
The butler admitted them to the drawing room where some forty guests stood drinking champagne. A gentleman played Chopin at the pianoforte. Jo searched unsuccessfully for Reade. He might still be in the country. Letty, in a silk gown the color of strawberries, came with Cartwright at her side to welcome them.
“I’m so pleased you could come. We have some interesting guests here tonight. Sarah Siddons, the great tragedienne, has promised to delight us with a reading. She appears so seldom now since she retired.”
“How wonderful,” Jo murmured. Perhaps she should pinch herself. “The cream of the ton were here tonight.” Jo took a glass of champagne from a footman, her gaze roaming the long, elegant room. Lord Liverpool was engaged in conversation with Lady Jersey. “They make me a little nervous.”
An hour passed while the guests engaged them in conversation before Letty joined Jo on one of a pair of cream satin and gilt sofas. “So, Jo, how are you, really?”
“I am fine, thank you.” Jo wondered if Letty had heard the gossip. She must have. It appeared in a popular scandal sheet. Jo rebuffed all offers. It suggested she had no wish to marry and accused her of being cold-hearted. It made her all the keener to leave London. Her nerves suffered, and it was difficult to refute the gossip because there was a cold-core lodged in her heart.
“Good to see you, Lord Reade,” a gentleman’s voice came from behind Jo’s sofa. “I hear you are off to Scotland, sir.”
Jo’s frisson of delight at hearing his name faded with the realization that he was going to find Mrs. Millet. Her fingers trembled around the glass, and she spilled droplets on her gloves.
Reade came into view, tall and imposing in his black evening clothes, and so handsome, her heart gave a leap. “Allow me.” He produced a handkerchief and offered it to her with a smile.
“Thank you.” Struggling to regain her composure, she dabbed at the almost invisible droplets.
“It is good to see you again, Miss Dalrymple.”
“And you, Lord Reade.” She held out his handkerchief.
He returned it to his pocket and greeted his hostess, who hovered with an enigmatic smile. “Letty.”
“Good of you to come, Reade. You have not been long in Town, Cartwright tells me.”
“I returned as soon as I heard you were to hold one of your legendary soirees,” he said with a bow.
“Charmer,” Letty said with a laugh.
Cartwright shepherded Jo’s father and aunt over to the door. She heard him mention a first edition in the library.
A guest appeared at Letty’s elbow, and she excused herself. For a moment, Jo and Reade were alone. He sat beside her.
“Was your journey north successful?” she asked.
His dark eyes searched hers. “It was. I don’t like those shadows beneath your eyes, Jo,” he murmured. “Are you well?”
“I’m…I’m…” Jo’s lips trembled, and she feared she would cry. She loved him so much. Mrs. Millet would have friends, treacherous ones. Jo couldn’t bear to think of him in danger again. It was impossible not to love him. But he was restless. He would not choose a contented, quiet country life. And she was hopelessly ordinary. A baroness? How absurd. As if he would want her.
She couldn’t bear it a moment longer. “I suppose I am more tired than I thought.”
“Jo…”
She busied herself with her fan. “The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of engagements and callers.”
His dark brows drew together. “You are engaged?”
“My daughter is not engaged, Lord Reade,” her father said at her elbow. “There have been offers, and she has refused them.”
People turned, and conversations paused.
Oh, Papa, Jo thought, they will laugh at you. “I have developed a headache, Papa,” she said faintly, which was true, her temples thumped. “I wonder if you’d take me home?”
Reade had risen to his feet. He said no more, but he watched with concern as they made their apologies to the Cartwrights.
“A pity to Miss Sarah Siddons’ performance, but no matter,” Aunt Mary said in the carriage. “As long as you are all right, Jo.”
“I’ve ruined your evening,” Jo said, trembling with distress.
“Nonsense,” her father said. “You’ve saved me from Siddons. I am not a devotee. It would bore me witless.”
“Does your head hurt terribly, Jo?” Aunt Mary sighed. “You must take Feverfew and go straight to bed.”
“It does a little,” Jo said guiltily. “The pace of London does not agree with me. I would like to return to Marlborough, Papa.”
“If you wish, Jo. But I’m disappointed. Lord Reade…”
“He is about to go to Scotland.”
“Is he? Can’t say I’m sorry to leave London, but I think it regrettable about the baron. I have great respect for him and rather hoped…well, never mind.”
Jo stared at him. “I thought you disliked him, Papa.”
“Not at all. He is the perfect husband for you, my girl. He would look after you. Keep you safe. You have a propensity to go off on tangents, you know. Why there was that time when you…”
Jo didn’t hear the rest. She had pushed Reade away. And yet when she looked into his eyes, she had known he cared for her. When had she become such a coward?
Exasperated, Reade sat in his drawing room with his boots resting on a table, a whisky in his hand. The evening had been worked out in advance like a military campaign. But any campaign run along those lines would have been an abject failure. He had left Brandon and Letty as confused as he was. When he’d told them of his intention to ask Jo to marry him, both expressed delight. Brandon offered to keep the library empty of guests while Letty brought Jo to Reade there where they could be alone.
In those first few minutes, when Jo turned toward him, he could have sworn he saw something akin to love in her eyes. And then she rushed away as if the place was on fire. What was he to make of it? He admitted to his shortcomings in matters of the heart, as Cartwright would no doubt remind him, given a chance. His love life had been far less complicated in the past. He supposed because he’d never cared deeply for anyone. And it now seemed that his life depended on Jo being in it.
He downed the whisky. He wasn’t about to go to Scotland, Lord Derringham had it wrong, but maybe he should. Take the bit between his teeth again. Find Mrs. Verdin before she created havoc and damaged more lives. But the prospect held no attraction for him. The whisky tasted sour in his mouth, and he put the glass down.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Deeply despondent, Jo sat at the breakfast room table alone, sipping her tea, the toast cooling on the plate. There was nothing for it now but to go home to Marlborough.
Introducing Miss Joanna Page 17
