Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,3

you, top-heavy? Get a move on, you bacon-brained fellow,” a groom called from beside the coachman on the box of a glossy black coach.

“Cripes! I’m going, no need to get fidgety,” Fred called, waving at them.

Before Fred could move the horses on, the coachman in the black coach took advantage of a gap in the traffic and overtook them.

Halted by another snarl, they stopped side by side. Jo, clutching the window frame, stared directly into the coach and met a gentleman’s dark appraising eyes. His mouth quirked up, and he removed his tall beaver hat, revealing jet-black hair. “Good day,” he said through the open window.

She suspected she’d turned scarlet at the amusement in his eyes. “Good day to you, sir,” she said crisply.

“Who are you talking to, Jo?” Her father craned his neck to see around her. But the coachman had cracked the whip over the magnificent gray horses and moved the coach on.

Jo’s pulse thudded as she gazed after the disappearing coach. “A polite gentleman, Papa.”

“Life here is not the same as the country. You must never talk to strange gentlemen in London, Jo,” Aunt Mary said, having revived a little at the prospect of the journey’s end. “While I was in London as a girl, we couldn’t put a foot out the door without the footman.”

“Surely times have changed, Aunt Mary,” Jo said. She wasn’t used to being confined.

Mayfair was different from the parts of the city they’d passed through. Trees lined the clean streets, and some of the houses had gardens. The townhouse her father had leased was one of a row of narrow-fronted ornate brick houses in Upper Brook Street, three-stories plus attic rooms, with fancy ironwork in front. Lord Pleasance, the owner, was traveling on the Continent. His servants came with the house.

Once their carriage had pulled up outside the townhouse, two tall, handsome footmen rushed out. One put down the steps to assist them down, while the other removed their baggage.

Jo joined Aunt Mary and her father to farewell Fred before he drove off to Covent Garden, then they climbed the steps to the glossy black front door, which had an arched window over the top.

A gray-haired butler in black garb waited at the door. He introduced himself as Mr. Spears. Sober faced, he escorted them into the entry where they shed pelisses and hats into the arms of a maid.

Aunt Mary considered it proper to meet the staff, so she and Jo descended below stairs to the servants’ quarters to introduce themselves to the cook and the housekeeper. Her aunt was keen to discuss the menus and was quite put out to discover Mrs. Cross, the housekeeper and cook, had the menus for the next week already decided upon. Jo suspected the house ran like clockwork.

Jo’s bedchamber was furnished in rose pink and cream floral wallpaper. Sally, the maid who was to attend her, opened the trunk and took out the primrose muslin. Jo cringed to have her few things revealed to the servant’s gaze. “I am to have a whole new wardrobe made for the Season.”

Sally nodded, her fresh face kind. “There’s a bowl of hot water on the dresser, Miss Dalrymple. I’ll assist you to change, and shall I tidy your hair?”

Jo put a hand to where hair was escaping the pins and sighed. She must get her hair cut. “Thank you, Sally.”

They ate in the dining room at a long table covered in white linen beneath an unlit chandelier. Everything sparkled in the candlelight cast by a pair of silver candelabrum. The footmen served the courses while the butler, Spears, with great aplomb, poured wine from the cellar he’d decanted into crystal glasses. Jo’s father added water to Jo’s. After the dessert course, which was a delicious syllabub and fruit, her father sat back with a hand on his stomach and instructed Spears to compliment the cook. The butler inclined his head but didn’t deem to reply while he poured a glass of port. The man looked down his long nose at her father. Annoyed, Jo held her tongue.

Despite the noisy street below her window, which was so different from the quiet countryside, Jo slept soundly. The next morning after breakfast, while they sat in the parlor making plans for the day, the butler entered carrying a visiting card on a silver salver.

He showed in Mrs. Millet, an attractive, fair-haired woman in her mid-forties, dressed in what Jo considered must be the height of fashion, a spring-green dress and