Page 11 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

A ruckus outside drew him to the window. A lumbering carriage with swinging lamps passed through the gates and rattled along the drive to the stables. Reade snuffed the taper between his fingers. Home early, curse it.

The snores in the hall ended with a curse and a scrape of a chair as Reade slipped back into the corridor. He made for the servants’ stairs, planning to leave through the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later, he crouched in the bushes to watch the house. The man and woman climbed the staircase; candlelight showed their progress in the long window. He considered going back inside after they fell asleep, but abandoned the idea as unsound and turned away. There was always another night, and what he had in his pocket might well prove interesting enough. He’d let those at the Home Office make a judgment and await further orders.

Once well clear of the house, Reade vaulted a fence and sprinted down the lane to where he’d left his horse tied to a post. He released the reins and mounted. “Enough for one evening, eh, Ash?” he murmured. “You’ll be wanting your dry, warm stall, and I’m tempted to don evening togs and attend a ball to flirt with the ladies.” He thought briefly of the redhead, but in full agreement with Letty’s advice, dismissed any idea of pursuit. “Methinks, I’ll go to bed.” He patted the gelding’s glossy neck and trotted him quietly down the road by the light of a sickle moon.

Chapter Four

An invitation to a masked ball arrived in the post. The demands of the Season surprised Jo. One might dine with friends, then go to the theater or a soiree, before attending a ball, all on the same evening. Guests roamed from one reception to the next. Apparently, hostesses attempted to outdo one another, perh

aps to gain some distinction on the social calendar, sometimes adopting what Jo considered outlandish displays.

Why the ton weren’t all thoroughly exhausted mystified her until she learned that many slept past midday. Jo was wide awake by seven o’clock, no matter what time she climbed into bed. Her Aunt Mary fussed over her and insisted Jo take an afternoon nap when she retired for hers. Used to filling her days productively, Jo lay reading in bed until her father allowed her to get up again.

The evening of the masked ball, they were greeted by the Viscount and Viscountess Lisle and entered the festooned ballroom. Her father excused himself to search for the mask he’d dropped on the way in from the carriage. The last strains of music died away as a country dance ended. From their seats, Jo and Aunt Mary watched the dancers leave the floor, laughing and cavorting and enjoying the freedom of their disguises.

When Aunt Mary complained of the discomfort of peering through slits and fiddled with the ties on her pink mask, Jo realized that it prevented her from wearing her glasses. A half-hour passed, while they wondered where her father had got to.

Mrs. Millet approached them with a slim, fair-haired gentleman at her side. He was of average height and wore a black mask, his crimson cape pushed back over his shoulders.

“Miss Hatton, Miss Dalrymple, I should like to introduce you to Mr. Ollerton.”

“Ah, you have given me away, Madam. Were we not to be unmasked at midnight?” Mr. Ollerton smiled, revealing even, white teeth. The candlelight from the enormous chandelier overhead painted his hair gold.

“Forgive me, Mr. Ollerton,” Mrs. Millet tittered. “I could not introduce you to these ladies otherwise. And you did insist.”

Jo wondered why he wished so ardently to meet her when her mask hid most of her face. But she smiled to welcome him.

He sat for a moment and chatted with Aunt Mary, who was effusively describing her new cottage garden and her cats.

A good listener, Mr. Ollerton seemed kind-hearted.

The waltz was announced, and the musicians tuned their instruments. “Would you give me the pleasure of this dance, Miss Dalrymple?”

Jumping up, Jo bobbed. “Delighted, sir.”

“Jo, I’m not sure you should…” Aunt Mary began.

“No such rule applies at a masked ball,” Mrs. Millet said firmly. She had instructed Jo earlier to only waltz with her father. Jo thought it a silly convention.

The dance seemed perfectly respectable, although perhaps more license might be taken. But she wasn’t about to bring it into question, for she longed to waltz. With a smile, she rested her fingers on the gentleman’s arm, and he led her onto the dance floor.

Mr. Ollerton danced well. At first, surprised by their closeness, she was enjoying her first waltz, when he spoke and drew her attention to what she could see of him below the mask, his mouth and rounded chin shaved smooth.

“You hail from the country, Miss Dalrymple?” He led her through a turn. “Near Bath, I believe?”

“Marlborough, sir.”

Jo waited for him to lose interest as another gentleman had done.

“Beautiful countryside in those parts. I know of the Marlborough white horse,” he said. “I went to view the figure on the hill when traveling once to Bath. It stands out impressively. However, I am not cognizant of its history.”

“A boy named William Canning designed the figure of the horse and marked it out early this century with the help of the other boys from Mr. Greasley’s Academy,” Jo said. “William’s family owned the Manor House at Osbourne St. George.”

“Fascinating,” he said with his attractive smile. “Will you promise to tell me more? If I may call on you tomorrow?”

“I should be happy to,” Jo said, pleased for the chance to see him again.

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