Page 71 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Jo met the smile. “We would like to see the vicar.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. The vicar is away. He’s not expected back until Tuesday.”

“Then perhaps you can help us,” Reade said.

“I hope so. I’m the curate here. Donaldson is my name.”

“Mr. Donaldson, we are seeking news about one of your parishioners,” Reade said. “She came to London for the Season last year but left shortly afterward. A friend is most concerned about her and wishes to know how she fares.”

“Who is the lady?”

“Miss Anabel Riley.”

Donaldson’s eyes widened. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

Icy fingers ran down Jo’s spine.

“I am a little surprised,” he said. “There’s no longer an Anabel Riley.” He smiled. “But there is an Anabel Donaldson.”

“Mrs. 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.”

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