Page 10 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

“Good heavens, no. This is my third Season.”

“Oh.” Jo didn’t know quite what to say to that. She never imagined some girls would come Season after Season without finding a husband.

“It happens. I haven’t taken.” Charlotte smiled good-naturedly. “My grandfather insists I come every year, even though he’s of the opinion that I’m too tall to attract a husband. My dowry isn’t particularly large, either.”

“Do you enjoy coming to London?”

“I don’t mind. Our small Devonshire village is rather dull. The worst thing is I make friends among the debutantes but see little of them after they marry.” She eyed Jo appreciatively. “You won’t be sitting here like a wallflower for long. A gentleman will snap you up.”

“A wallflower?”

“That’s what we call ourselves.” Charlotte shrugged. “I made a good friend last Season. Miss Anabel Riley. But she disappeared from London.”

“Did she get married?”

Charlotte shrugged. “No one seems to know what happened to Anabel. She was an orphan, here with an aged aunt who has since died. Some say she eloped, but I don’t believe it. Anabel never mentioned a beau.”

Charlotte stood as the Master of Ceremonies announced the next dance. “I’d best return to Mrs. Lincoln. That’s my chaperone. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”

Jo smiled. “I hope we meet again.”

“We will,” Charlotte said. “I’ll look out for you.”

Charlotte’s feather headdress could be seen above many heads as she moved through the crowd. Jo hoped they could be friends. A gentleman came to claim the dance she had agreed to earlier. As he led her onto the dance floor, she wondered what had happened to Anabel Riley. Perhaps her family came and took her away. But no, Charlotte had said she was an orphan.

Jo enjoyed the evening but didn’t go into raptures about the ball when her father questioned her on their way home. The dark-haired gentleman friend of the Cartwrights had not appeared. She wondered if she would ever see him again. Surely it shouldn’t matter whether or not she did. But it seemed to matter a great deal.

Her father declared the Season to be a splendid success. “As I knew it would be.” He gazed fondly at her.

“Did you especially like any of the gentlemen, Jo?” Aunt Mary asked.

“Not really, Aunt.” Jo supposed she was used to country folk, who were plain speaking.

Some of her dance partners used an oddly affected manner of speech. One gentleman had ridiculously padded shoulders, and another older one creaked mysteriously as he led her through the steps of the quadrille, and was so heavily perfumed, she wished to hold her nose. Some of her dance partners barely spoke, so Jo was hard-pressed to think of an appropriate topic of conversation, while others talked about themselves, their last successful hunt, the acquisition of a curricle, one gentleman went into raptures about his tailor. None showed any genuine interest in her. “I made another friend, Miss Charlotte Graham, Papa. I hope to meet her again.”

“I’m so pleased for you, Jo,” Aunt Mary said, wearily.

“That’s nice, Jo,” her father said. “I hoped you might meet some fellow…well…it’s early days.”

Might he want to go home? He expressed some concern about Sooty, although their dog was enjoying a holiday on a farm. Perhaps London wasn’t her father’s cup of tea.

As she drank her chocolate in bed the following morning, Jo went over the previous evening. She had difficulty bringing her dance partners to mind, except for Mr. Luttrell. And she only remembered him because he’d taken her into supper. His interest was horses. While he talked about the finer points of the thoroughbred he’d purchased at Tattersall’s horse auction, Jo fixed an interested expression on her face and allowed her gaze to wander, seeking a tall, dark-haired gentleman.

She sighed and put down her cup. Licking the chocolate from her upper lip, she admitted she’d spent the entire evening on the lookout for him. But neither he nor the Cartwrights attended the ball.

There were few clouds to shadow the moon, for which Reade was grateful. He found his way with ease across the lawns without stumbling over the many flowerpots the lady of the house seemed overly fond of and reached the brick wall at the rear of the house. Most of the building lay in darkness, but for a lamp in the front hall and a glimmer from a sconce on the upstairs landing.

He circled the house, moving through the shadows. The two occupants were out for the evening. The servants had retired to their attic rooms, except for one who awaited his employer’s return. Reade tried several windows and found them locked. He couldn’t risk jimmying a window open. On closer inspection, a casement window on the second floor was ajar, but there were no trees nearby to aid his climb.

It would have to be the drainpipe. He prayed it would bear his weight. When Reade took hold and shinnied up, the pipe shifted alarmingly beneath his hands and threatened to come away from the wall. But his luck was in, for it held, and he reached the next floor without mishap. His searching fingers located a crevice in the bricks. He swung himself across to the window and levered himself up onto the sill. Swinging his legs over, he dropped soundlessly onto the carpet.

Moonlight flooded in, revealing the room to be a bedchamber as he’d expected, and of no use to him. He stalked soft-footed to the door and listened. No snoring reached him, only the clunk of a clock and the scrabble of mice in the walls. He knew the residents were at a ball and unlikely to return until close to dawn. That should give him a few hours to inspect the library at his leisure.

On the landing, a guttering candle flickered in a sconce, lighting the stairs. Descending, he grimaced at the sharp creaks of the treads beneath his boots. One of the annoying things about being large. Reade was a heavyweight and always had to make allowances for it. He could handle himself well in a skirmish, but smaller men in the game had the advantage in matters of stealth.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, loud snores greeted him from the servant slumbering on a chair near the front door. Having some knowledge of the layout of the house from previous visits, Reade located the library without mishap. He entered and quietly closed the door, then went straight to the desk set against the far wall. Moonlight shone in through the break in the velvet curtains and revealed a stack of papers scattered over the oak surface, but not bright enough for him to read them. It forced him to pull the curtains shut and strike a taper. A dangerous move, but necessary.

The feeble light enabled him to scan them. He had splendid night vision. Two letters were immediately of interest. A delivery notice and a letter detailing the date of a meeting somewhere near the docks, but not the exact address. He slid both into his coat pocket, where his pistol rested, then turned his attention to the others.

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