Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,23

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.

Jo 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.

To her annoyance, Jo could not agree, for here she was foolishly thinking of the curly black locks and dark brown eyes of the most unsuitable gentleman in London.

In his bedchamber at Albany, Reade woke when his valet knocked.

“Come.” He threw back the covers. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck. He’d had another nightmare and woken in a sweat. It was always the same dream. Reaching for his pocket watch, he thumbed it open. Nine o’clock. An indecent hour to rise. He ran a hand over his bare chest and yawned.

“You asked me to wake you at nine, my lord,” Minshull said. “I have brought your coffee and hot water.”

Reade took the coffee from him with a nod of thanks. “What sort of day is it?”

“Rained earlier.” His valet went to the window and drew back the curtains, admitting the morning sun into the room. “Clouds have blown away. Promises to be a fine day.”

Reade swallowed the last of the rich brew. He had an appointment at Horse-Guards. He’d be at the Regent’s beck and call on Friday. Prinny had taken to him, demanding Reade be among his entourage when he ventured out.

At the washstand, Minshull poured more hot water into the basin from the jug.

Reade briskly sponged himself all over with the soap he favored. He washed his hair over the basin, then, with a shiver, rubbed icy water over his face and torso with a sponge. Despite the sun, a cool breeze swept in through the window.