Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,75

Donaldson?” Jo wondered if she’d misheard him. “Anabel is your wife?”

They shared a smile. “I am. Who is asking after her?”

“Miss Charlotte Graham. They became friends last year. Charlotte became concerned when Anabel disappeared.”

“Ah, I see. Regrettable. When Anabel’s chaperone died unexpectedly, she was forced to return home. I was most fortunate that she did. If she’d remained long in London, some other lucky fellow would have married her,” he said with a chuckle.

Jo laughed.

“May we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Donaldson?” Reade asked.

Donaldson shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Anabel isn’t here. She’s gone to York with her mother. Unless you intend to spend a week here?”

“Unfortunately, we are just passing through,” Reade said.

“I am sorry to miss her,” Jo said. “Please tell her I shall write to Charlotte, who is soon to marry a Mr. Lambton, and give her your address.”

“Anabel will be delighted. It upset her very much to have to leave London in a rush with no time to tell anyone. Nor did she have her friend Charlotte’s address.” He stood. “I am remiss. May I offer you tea in the rectory?”

“Thank you, but no. My wife and I are eager to reach Cumbria before nightfall.”

“Anabel will be sorry to have missed you.” Donaldson followed them out of the church into the sunshine. “Godspeed.” He raised his hand as they settled in the coach.

The horses leapt forward, and the vehicle rocked its way down the road. Jo snuggled against Reade, and he drew the rug over them.

He kissed the top of her head. “Content now, my love?”

“I am, thank you, darling.”

“A happy ending,” she said. “I must write to Charlotte, and Papa, and Aunt Mary, tonight.”

“Tomorrow, Jo.”

She met his ardent brown gaze and smiled mischievously. “Yes, tomorrow.”

Their spirits lifted. They were no longer seeking an answer to the fate of Miss Riley. They laughed and kissed, and they talked. Reade did most of it. His sympathetic bride listened quietly as he told her about his childhood and the tragedy which had changed the course of his life. His father’s coldness drew a gasp of surprise from loyal Jo. For a parent not to love their children was anathema to her. That a father didn’t love a son like Reade, impossible!

He laughed. “I wasn’t lily-white, my love.”

“No boy would be. I imagine our sons won’t be. But you will love them dearly. And wish the best for them.”

“You have a big heart Jo, with room enough for everyone. Not everyone has that capacity.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “But you do.” She traced the straight line of his nose with a finger. Her feather-light touch across his lips and into the dip in his chin brought her close, and his body stirred. “Your work was all about helping unfortunate people, wanting good to triumph over evil.”

He drew her close. She was sensitive and perceptive, his bride. Having her near made him want her. The scent of her skin, her hair, her soft, wide inviting mouth, her essence, and her passion. He took control of himself. “We shall arrive at Seacliffe in an hour or two.”

She sat forward, a casual hand on his knee, warm and inviting. “What were you saying earlier about love and a carriage? she asked, smiling mischievously.

He pulled her onto his lap.

“Might be better to show you, darling.”

Epilogue

It was late in the afternoon when the coach passed through the tiny hamlet, which was the coastal village of Seacliffe. A mile farther on, they entered through a grand set of gates.

Jo clung to the windowsill, staring out as they continued along a drive bordered by hedges and trees bent by the wind. A glimmer of deep gray-blue water appeared through the foliage.

“I caught a glimpse of the ocean!” she cried, her pulse racing.

“The Irish Sea.”

The coach emerged from the trees, and the gravel drive took them along beside a sweep of lawn. A stone castle complete with turret and towers loomed ahead of them with the backdrop of the sea behind it.

For a moment, Jo couldn’t speak, then she turned half laughing, half accusatory. “You didn’t tell me it was a castle!”

As the coachman drew the horses to a stop, Reade edged forward on the seat with his hand on the door handle. “You’re not disappointed? It’s not the neat manor house I know you wanted.”

She poked him in the side. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“Castles are not the most comfortable of residences,” he said, turning to help her down. “I have attempted to make it