Page 62 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Jo’s spirits lowered. She was usually such a cheerful person, seldom down for long. But she’d been struggling to present a happy demeanor of late, which hadn’t fooled her father.

“They’ve called a country dance.” Charlotte rose. “Let me know if you spy Lord Reade among the crowd.”

“I will, Charlotte.” Jo doubted Reade would be here tonight. Even if he was in London, he rarely appeared at these affairs. She arranged her stiff features into a smile of welcome as her next partner approached her.

The gentleman trod twice on her slippers and smelled of camphor. She could not quit the set until the dance ended, or not dance again tonight. And there was always the chance that Reade might come. When she returned to her seat after the set, Letty joined her. “You don’t seem your bright self, Jo.”

“A little tired, perhaps, Letty.” Jo wondered if Cartwright had told her about the Virdens.

“I have sent an invitation to my soiree on Saturday to you. I confess the party to be a sudden whim of mine. I hope you can come at such short notice.”

“We aren’t engaged elsewhere and should love to come.”

“They called the waltz.” Letty patted Jo’s hand and stood as her husband emerged from the crowd.

Jo did not waltz, but sat watching her friends with envy.

When the next dance was called, she steeled herself to dance with a gentleman who always seemed to look down his nose at her. She smiled politely, prepared to endure a dance that only brought comparisons to Reade to mind.

It had become too difficult to remain in London. No man would ever measure up to Reade or claim her heart. And she refused to settle for second best. She must try to convince her father to take her home.

Beyond the window, the sky was a limitless blue. Reade tucked into his breakfast ham and eggs. He’d discovered something surpri

sing since he’d arrived at Seacliffe. His nightmares had ceased, and he slept each night soundly. He looked around the castle with fresh eyes and a new sense of belonging. It wasn’t the improvements, the oak paneling polished in the great hall, the bright carpets laid over stone floors in the salon, or the rich damask curtains at the windows, although they pleased him. Nor was it visiting his tenant farmers and discussing his stock with his steward, a splendid fellow, although he enjoyed all of it. This went deeper, to his very soul.

He hadn’t worked for the crown for money, or praise, for that was rare in this business. And he didn’t do it just for the excitement, like some. Reade considered his experience of war enabled him to be of use to the government. Perhaps he was still fighting a war of sorts, this time against evil. And when evil threatened to destroy the good, he took up the challenge. But he wanted a different life for himself now. He would write a letter of resignation when he returned to London.

Two days ago, as the sea wind, cool and salt-laden, washed over him, he strolled the shore. He watched the gulls dip and soar overhead in the blue-gray sky, and the eternal waves break onto the rocks. His thoughts were not about the sadness that had crippled him for too long in the past, but the future, and with it came the beginnings of hope. Something was missing here to give his home a heart and make him whole. A position only a certain feisty redhead could fill. Would she have him? Or had he deliberated too long and lost her to another man?

The post brought a letter from Cartwright. A loquacious missive from a man normally of few words. Politics and gossip-filled both pages. And then a surprising penultimate sentence. Miss Dalrymple was still in London and not yet engaged. Although several gentlemen remained hopeful, the lady was earning a reputation for being cold.

Cold? What nonsense. Jo was a passionate soul. The letter brought him hope. Was he to continue living a half-life? Or do as Cartwright suggested and take a chance on love? Reade pushed away his plate and called for his valet to pack.

They left for London before luncheon.

Three days later, arriving back at his rooms in Albany, he sat at his desk and went through the post. An invitation to Letty’s soiree the following night was among them. Reade sensed this had something to do with Brandon’s letter. Were his friends trying to bring them together? He expected to find Jo at the soiree.

Had he been a fool and left it too late? Letty would surely know if Jo had met someone. He drank his coffee and began a letter to his solicitor. The lease on his townhouse had expired. He’d initially planned to lease it again but now changed his mind. The house required renovation; the lord knew what condition it was in. He hadn’t lived there since he was a boy. That done, he went out to get his hair cut, and thence to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing studio to let off a bit of steam. And then he would seek Cartwright at his club to accept the invitation.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jo took extra care with her appearance for the Cartwright’s soiree in Grosvenor Square. She wore the white and gold evening gown with her gold locket and gold slippers, and Sally had become adept at arranging Jo’s hair in the current fashion.

The butler admitted them to the drawing room where some forty guests stood drinking champagne. A gentleman played Chopin at the pianoforte. Jo searched unsuccessfully for Reade. He might still be in the country. Letty, in a silk gown the color of strawberries, came with Cartwright at her side to welcome them.

“I’m so pleased you could come. We have some interesting guests here tonight. Sarah Siddons, the great tragedienne, has promised to delight us with a reading. She appears so seldom now since she retired.”

“How wonderful,” Jo murmured. Perhaps she should pinch herself. “The cream of the ton were here tonight.” Jo took a glass of champagne from a footman, her gaze roaming the long, elegant room. Lord Liverpool was engaged in conversation with Lady Jersey. “They make me a little nervous.”

An hour passed while the guests engaged them in conversation before Letty joined Jo on one of a pair of cream satin and gilt sofas. “So, Jo, how are you, really?”

“I am fine, thank you.” Jo wondered if Letty had heard the gossip. She must have. It appeared in a popular scandal sheet. Jo rebuffed all offers. It suggested she had no wish to marry and accused her of being cold-hearted. It made her all the keener to leave London. Her nerves suffered, and it was difficult to refute the gossip because there was a cold-core lodged in her heart.

“Good to see you, Lord Reade,” a gentleman’s voice came from behind Jo’s sofa. “I hear you are off to Scotland, sir.”

Jo’s frisson of delight at hearing his name faded with the realization that he was going to find Mrs. Millet. Her fingers trembled around the glass, and she spilled droplets on her gloves.

Reade came into view, tall and imposing in his black evening clothes, and so handsome, her heart gave a leap. “Allow me.” He produced a handkerchief and offered it to her with a smile.

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