Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,29

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