mind at rest.”
“And should you encounter Virden, or see him with your father, I want to hear about it.”
“My father doesn’t know…”
“We shall see.” He cut her off and took her arm. They returned to the ballroom. Her father was in his chair.
After Reade bowed and left them, her father frowned after him. “What were you doing on the terrace with the baron?”
Jo sank onto the chair, wrung out. “Just taking the air, Papa.”
“I don’t like it. That fellow worries me. He’s an unscrupulous rake, Jo.”
“No, he is not.” While she’d seen Reade flirt with other women, he seemed disinclined to do it with her. It was better he didn’t. He would make a terrible husband. She wondered why her father had such a poor opinion of him.
Jo debated whether to tell her father what she and Reade had discussed. She decided against it. It would only worry him when it wasn’t likely anything untoward would happen. And if she had to meet Reade in the park, her father would never allow it. Riding with him would be so wonderful, she almost hoped something would happen. How foolish she was about Reade. She heaved a sigh and searched the guests for Mr. Ollerton. She’d expected him to be here tonight. It appeared his interest in her had cooled. The possibility failed to disappoint her.
At Whitehall, the next day, Reade discussed the matter with Cartwright.
“It makes sense,” Cartwright said. “They abandoned the maid because people would make a fuss and hunt for her. Strange, though, that it was the Dalrymple’s maid.”
“That’s what worries me,” Reade said heavily.
“What do you think of Dalrymple? Might he be involved in this business?”
“I very much doubt it, although Virden might have wanted something from him. Running one of his scams, perhaps. We’ll keep an eye on him and step in if we must.”
Cartwright looked surprised. “You haven’t questioned him? Is it because of his daughter?”
Reade scowled. “It’s better not to alert him and possibly Virden that he’s under observation. I’m surprised you’d think I’d allow an attachment to a lady to affect my judgment.”
“No need to growl at me like a bear. You wouldn’t be the first man,” Cartwright said with a subtle wink.
Reade grinned. “I have had a degree of difficulty, I might add.” He pushed away the image of a soft, wide mouth, perfect for kissing. He’d been a whisker from doing precisely that in the Feldman’s garden. “But I have no intention of pursuing Miss Dalrymple.”
“While I admit to disappointment that you won’t court the pretty lady, I understand your reluctance,” Cartwright said. “We men cling to our freedom, and then once given up, we wonder why it took us so long.”
Reade cocked an eyebrow. “I realize that as a married man, you consider it your duty to persuade your bachelor friends to embrace the parson’s mousetrap.” Reade gave the hint of a smile. “But I don’t intend to marry for a while. I beg you to warn me should I appear to be in any danger of it.”
Cartwright nodded, a spark of humor in his eyes. “You can rely on me.”
“Brandon, I can rely on you to watch my back should we be facing a gang of footpads in an alley, but I don’t feel so confident in London ballrooms.”
Cartwright chuckled. “That would depend on the circumstances.”
Reade threw up his hands and laughed. “Going into politics soon?”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte failed to appear at the Venetian breakfast, which proved to be just that, a tasty breakfast served around midday, and neither did she come to the picnic in Richmond the following Thursday. Had Mrs. Lincoln’s ill health kept Charlotte at home?
The next morning, Mr. Ollerton left his card. He called after three o’clock. Jo had just farewelled Mrs. Brownley and her daughter, Caroline, who’d issued an invitation to a musicale the following Saturday.
“I’ve come in the hope you’ll allow me to drive you to the park tomorrow, Miss Dalrymple. They have mended my carriage at last,” Mr. Ollerton said, taking a seat in the parlor.
How attractive was his smile? She’d forgotten. “I should be delighted.” Jo was pleased to see him again. How at ease he was chatting with Aunt Mary. So very good-natured.
When he left, her aunt was full of praise for him. “Few gentleman have such exquisite manners,” she said. “Do you think you might develop a tendre for him, Jo?”
Jo wanted to say yes, but a large dark-haired man whose heavy brows often drew together in a scowl rendered her