Page 42 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

“No, I’m afraid not.” Jo took the cup and saucer from Aunt Mary. “There seems nothing we can do. Charlotte might have left London.”

He raised his fair eyebrows. “Indeed? With no word to Mrs. Lincoln? While I hate to be condemning, it is not how a person should behave.”

“I’m sure Charlotte had good reason. I shall not judge her.”

“Quite so. How generous.” His smile seemed brittle and insincere to her, or was it because of Reade’s warning? Could Ollerton be one of those fortune hunters they spoke of? “You must forgive me. I am a trifle out of sorts. They have discovered another problem with my carriage. A crack in the axle. Your poor opinion of me for breaking our engagement distressed me so much, I had to come and explain.”

“That was good of you.” Without putting it into words, he pointed out how remiss she’d been not to notify him. She considered it manipulation and refused to apologize to him again.

He rose to make his departure and spent several minutes fawning, in Jo’s opinion, over Aunt Mary. Jo went out with him to find Sally hovering in the hall.

Mr. Ollerton moved past her maid without a glance.

“I need to see you in my bedchamber, Sally,” Jo said.

At the door, Ollerton would not take no for an answer as he extracted a promise to ride to the park with him when his carriage was, at last, in working order.

Jo returned to her aunt. Was he the fraud Reade had suggested? It was possible, although it no longer mattered. She would not see Ollerton again. Reade, whether there was ever anything more between them, filled her head, her heart, and her dreams.

“Such a pleasant gentleman.” Aunt Mary had taken up her knitting. “I hope you approve of me telling him about Miss Graham. When he stood before me looking so dreadfully disappointed, I quaked and found I had nothing in my head! And then the idea came to me. For one should always stick as close to the truth as one can, my father always said.”

“That was wise, Aunt. Where is Papa?”

“Mrs. Millet invited him to view the silverware gallery at the museum, as your father has an interest in engraved pieces.” Aunt Mary’s needles flew, the gloves she knitted taking shape. “I believe he grows fond of the lady, Jo.”

“It has occurred to me, too,” Jo admitted.

“I should be happy for him,” her aunt said. “But I cannot like it.”

Jo had been caught up with thoughts of Reade. Her aunt’s words brought her back with a jolt. “You dislike Mrs. Millet?”

“I can’t imagine her living in Marlborough. She seems very much at home here in London.” Aunt Mary looked up, concerned. “She told me about her cozy cottage here and how she loves her garden, especially her potted camellias. They are in flower. As the plant rarely does well in the city, she considers it quite an achievement. I just can’t imagine your father being content living in London, can you?”

“No. He misses our home, his friends, and Sooty.” Jo sipped the tea. She found it difficult to place her father with Mrs. Millet here, or anywhere. But he may marry whomever he chose. She trusted he would be happy for her to do the same. “I must ask Papa why he doesn’t like Lord Reade,” she said, biting into a jam tartlet.

“It was something Mrs. Millet said to him.”

Jo frowned. “What was that?”

“Mrs. Millet said the baron was a heartless rake who left a young woman…” she flushed and ducked her head, “at the altar when she was expecting his child!”

“What nonsense! I don’t believe it,” Jo said promptly.

“Oh, Jo, do be careful. He could be a despicable rake.”

“He isn’t, Aunt Mary. I am not easily taken in.”

Jo would know instinctively if it were true. She could never be drawn to such a man. But why would Mrs. Millet say such a thing? Letty had warned Jo against Reade, but that was because he didn’t plan to marry. Letty would not be on such friendly terms with him if he’d behaved so immorally. And if Mrs. Millet had heard such awful gossip, then Letty would have, too.

Jo made her way up the stairs to her bedchamber. She sought peace to think about Reade. What he had told her, but also how grave he’d looked. Her musings went on to his graceful stride and the way he moved his dark head, his deep voice. His strength and the masterful way he handled the big horse. A thrill went through her as she recalled being held in his muscular arms. But even in her dreams, she could not forget that he was merely intent on keeping her safe from harm.

When Jo entered her bedchamber, Sally stood nervously, coiling her hands in her apron.

“Has something upset you, Sally?”

“It was that gentleman, Miss Jo.”

“Mr. Ollerton?”

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