Her attempt at flirtation failed, for his gaze sharpened. “On a dance floor. But keeping you safe outside of a ballroom might be harder.”
She almost gasped at the change in him. “Am I at risk of harm?”
“You, and every young woman in London.”
This was more than an idle warning. What did he refer to? She must tell him about Sally. Impossible while waltzing with him. Jo fell silent as the dance continued. Reade didn’t question her lack of conversation. He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.
The dance ended.
They crossed the floor toward where Aunt Mary sat with her friend, Mrs. Butterworth. Jo’s father was talking to some people farther down the room. Who knew when she would see Reade again. She steeled herself. “My maid, Sally, was abducted from Piccadilly while we were shopping,” she said. “And before you scold me for venturing out without a proper escort, I must explain that Sally arrived home unscathed the following day.”
His hand tightened over hers, halting her. “They snatched her from the street? Was she molested?”
“No, not that. The most extraordinary thing. A man put a hood over her head and took her to a house and then…”
“Not here.” Reade took her by the elbow and led her out through the French doors. On the terrace, a cool breeze swept across her hot face. Jo noted his grim expression in consternation. Why had she told him? He was angry with her, although what right he had to be so was beyond her. It had been so frightening to lose Sally that she did feel guilty, and waited, tensing for the rebuke.
“Tell me the whole.” The concern in his dark eyes made Jo’s chest tighten and fight tears. It was not what she’d expected. She related the incident while he prodded her for more information. “I don’t know where he took Sally, but the hackney bringing her home passed a sign to Soho Square.” She glanced anxiously up into his face. Reade’s heavy eyebrows lowered, his expression dark and angry. She quaked, for his reaction frightened her. “Sally has fully recovered.”
“I am sorry your maid has suffered such an ordeal.” His quiet voice surprised her. “Sally is a fortunate young woman.”
“Fortunate?” Ice trickled down Jo’s spine. She shivered. “Is she safe now?”
“Yes, it appears they don’t want her.” He moved close, and she drew in an anxious breath, finding his masculine smell reassuring. “Joanna,” he murmured, his use of her first name startling her. “You must be very careful.” His eyes were steely and yet imploring. “Promise me?”
Jo swallowed. “Yes. I wish you’d tell me why they took Sally. You know, don’t you?”
“I am fairly sure someone intended Sally for a brothel. And something made them change their mind.”
Her throat had become tight, and she struggled to speak. “But what could it be, Reade?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” He turned away from her and rested his hands on the banister rail, staring out into the dark gardens. “I intend to find out. If anything happens which worries you, send word to me at my rooms at Albany in Piccadilly.”
Jo shivered. Did he expect something bad to happen?
His long fingers curled around hers and gently squeezed. “I’ve frightened you,” he said, his voice low. “You can come to me.” He paused. “Not at Albany. Your presence at a gentleman’s residence would not go unnoticed. We must arrange a suitable meeting place.”
“But…where?” she drew out, still trembling.
“Do you ride?”
“Yes. I hadn’t planned to in London. There’s no reason why I can’t hire a couple of hacks at the Hyde Park stables for Sally and me.”
“If you need my advice, or if something important occurs, send me a feather.”
She stared at him. “A feather?”
“I’m sure your hats can spare one. Best we meet before the fashionable hour. Let’s make it noon at the Brook Street gate.”
“Yes. Thank you, that has put my mind at rest.”
“And should you encounter Virden, or see him with your father, I want to hear about it.”
“My father doesn’t know…”
“We shall see.” He cut her off and took her arm. They returned to the ballroom. Her father was in his chair.
After Reade bowed and left them, her father frowned after him. “What were you doing on the terrace with the baron?”
Jo sank onto the chair, wrung out. “Just taking the air, Papa.”
“I don’t like it. That fellow worries me. He’s an unscrupulous rake, Jo.”
“No, he is not.” While she’d seen Reade flirt with other women, he seemed disinclined to do it with her. It was better he didn’t. He would make a terrible husband. She wondered why her father had such a poor opinion of him.
Jo debated whether to tell her father what she and Reade had discussed. She decided against it. It would only worry him when it wasn’t likely anything untoward would happen. And if she had to meet Reade in the park, her father would never allow it. Riding with him would be so wonderful, she almost hoped something would happen. How foolish she was about Reade. She heaved a sigh and searched the guests for Mr. Ollerton. She’d expected him to be here tonight. It appeared his interest in her had cooled. The possibility failed to disappoint her.
At Whitehall, the next day, Reade discussed the matter with Cartwright.
“It makes sense,” Cartwright said. “They abandoned the maid because people would make a fuss and hunt for her. Strange, though, that it was the Dalrymple’s maid.”
“That’s what worries me,” Reade said heavily.
“What do you think of Dalrymple? Might he be involved in this business?”
“I very much doubt it, although Virden might have wanted something from him. Running one of his scams, perhaps. We’ll keep an eye on him and step in if we must.”
Cartwright looked surprised. “You haven’t questioned him? Is it because of his daughter?”
Reade scowled. “It’s better not to alert him and possibly Virden that he’s under observation. I’m surprised you’d think I’d allow an attachment to a lady to affect my judgment.”
“No need to growl at me like a bear. You wouldn’t be the first man,” Cartwright said with a subtle wink.
Reade grinned. “I have had a degree of difficulty, I might add.” He pushed away the image of a soft, wide mouth, perfect for kissing. He’d been a whisker from doing precisely that in the Feldman’s garden. “But I have no intention of pursuing Miss Dalrymple.”
“While I admit to disappointment that you won’t court the pretty lady, I understand your reluctance,” Cartwright said. “We men cling to our freedom, and then once given up, we wonder why it took us so long.”
Reade cocked an eyebrow. “I realize that as a married man, you consider it your duty to persuade your bachelor friends to embrace the parson’s mousetrap.” Reade gave the hint of a smile. “But I don’t intend to marry for a while. I beg you to warn me should I appear to be in any danger of it.”
Cartwright nodded, a spark of humor in his eyes. “You can rely on me.”
“Brandon, I can rely on you to watch my back should we be facing a gang of footpads in an alley, but I don’t feel so confident in London ballrooms.”
Cartwright chuckled. “That would depend on the circumstances.”
Reade threw up his hands and laughed. “Going into politics soon?”
Chapter Eleven
Charlotte failed to appear at the Venetian breakfast, which proved to be just that, a tasty breakfast served around midday, and neither did she come to the picnic in Richmond the following Thursday. Had Mrs. Lincoln’s ill health kept Charlotte at home?
The next morning, Mr. Ollerton left his card. He called after three o’clock. Jo had just farewelled Mrs. Brownley and her daughter, Caroline, who’d issued an invitation to a musicale the following Saturday.
“I’ve come in the hope you’ll allow me to drive you to the park tomorrow, Miss Dalrymple. They have mended my carriage at last,” Mr. Ollerton s
aid, taking a seat in the parlor.
How attractive was his smile? She’d forgotten. “I should be delighted.” Jo was pleased to see him again. How at ease he was chatting with Aunt Mary. So very good-natured.
When he left, her aunt was full of praise for him. “Few gentleman have such exquisite manners,” she said. “Do you think you might develop a tendre for him, Jo?”
Jo wanted to say yes, but a large dark-haired man whose heavy brows often drew together in a scowl rendered her silent. Was she falling in love with Reade?
“Your father worries that you might become too fond of Baron Reade,” Aunt Mary said as if reading Jo’s thoughts.
Jo gaped at her aunt. “Why? Did Papa give a reason?”
“Not precisely, but you have a certain way of looking at him.”
“I don’t think I look at Reade differently to any other gentleman.” Did she? Was she that obvious?
“And the way he looks at you.”
Jo’s heart thumped. “What do you mean, Aunt?”
“I can’t put it into words.” Thankfully, Aunt Mary’s eyes remained on her knitting. “But I recognize that look.”
How could her maiden aunt know such things? A shiver of yearning passed through her. It was entirely too foolish to think of Reade that way. But she couldn’t help it. Even though she reminded herself of the many reasons she shouldn’t, she woke each day hoping to see him again. But while Reade wished to protect her from harm, he did not love her. And he had no intention of marrying.
She must give Mr. Ollerton a chance. “Mr. Ollerton wishes to take me for a drive to the park tomorrow.” It was always difficult to distract her aunt once she’d settled on a course of conversation.
“How pleasant,” Aunt Mary said, winding wool into a ball. “You make me wish I was young again, Jo.”
She had often wondered about her aunt. “Was there never anyone you wished to marry?”
Aunt Mary’s cheeks grew pink, and her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses became misty. “When I was young. Lord Denzil, Fallbrook’s heir, and I were to become engaged after he returned from the war.” She took up her needles again. “But he did not come back.”
“Oh, Aunt, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“He was the one. I wanted no one else.”
The one. For some women, was there only one true love? And should fate intervene to break them apart, could another man’s love ever be as sweet? Might Jo be one of those women? She feared she could be. As it was for her father. Although he had been seeing more of Mrs. Millet. He’d taken the lady to tea this afternoon. Jo had still failed to warm to Mrs. Millet. But she wanted her father to find happiness again. She picked up the ball of wool that rolled onto the floor and replaced it on the chair. “If Charlotte doesn’t appear at the Johnson’s card party tonight, I’ll call on her tomorrow, before my carriage ride with Mr. Ollerton. She gave me Mrs. Lincoln’s address.”
“Quite the correct thing to do, Jo. I shall come with you. I’ll take some chicken soup. Cook swears it’s a cure for all ills.”
Charlotte wasn’t at the card party. Perhaps she hadn’t received an invitation. Jo played several hands of whist but found it hard to concentrate. Reade did not come, nor did Mr. Ollerton, and the evening seemed overlong. When it drew to a close, she was pleased to go home.
After luncheon the next day, she and Aunt Mary called on Mrs. Lincoln.
Mrs. Lincoln, a small bird-like lady, rose from her chair when the maid admitted them. She clutched a handkerchief in her fingers. “Have you news of Charlotte?”
“No,” Jo said with alarm. “She is not here?”
“No. Oh! I was hoping…” Mrs. Lincoln’s eyes were red-rimmed, her white cap askew. “Do sit down, please, Miss Hatton, Miss Dalrymple.”
She sent the maid away with the chicken soup. “When did you last see Charlotte, Miss Dalrymple? I am beside myself with worry. She went out days ago and did not come home.”
Jo gasped. “Where did she go?”
“Mr. Verdin took Charlotte for a ride in his carriage to the park. A delightful gentleman. He called Charlotte yesterday in answer to my letter and expressed his surprise and dismay to learn she hadn’t returned. He’d left Charlotte at the gate after she’d asked him not to accompany her to the door.” Her eyes filled with tears. “But why would she do such a thing and not come inside? Have I been unfair to her? Has she returned to the country? I have heard nothing! What if she has eloped with a gentleman?” She reached for her smelling salts with a trembling hand. “I declare, I am close to hysterics! Her grandfather must be informed. I shall write today. I have delayed writing in the hope she would return.”
“Shouldn’t you call a constable?” Aunt Mary asked.
Mrs. Lincoln’s face paled. “But that would cause a dreadful scandal. It would end any chance Charlotte might have for a good marriage. Her grandfather would blame me. He would say I have been lax in my duties.” She looked up at them imploringly. “Have I been too careless? I believed it was proper for her to ride in the park in an open carriage with a gentleman. It was a curricle, so I could not have gone with them.”
“It was perfectly acceptable,” Jo said. “Might someone have seen her? Your neighbors?”
Mrs. Lincoln sagged in her seat. “I asked our neighbor, an elderly gentleman, but he never puts a toe out the door. The house on the other side is empty. I didn’t consider it wise to knock on doors. Gossip spreads so quickly in London.”
Jo leaned over and patted the lady’s trembling hand. “I shall make discreet inquiries, Mrs. Lincoln. We will find Charlotte, never fear.” But how very odd it was. Charlotte had not mentioned a gentleman apart from Mr. Virden. This didn’t seem like her at all. She must ask Reade for help. She would send him a feather in the hope he would meet her in the park. Jo stood. “I must go, Mrs. Lincoln. Please send a note if you hear from Charlotte.”
“You don’t wish for tea?”
“No, thank you. I have something urgent I must do.”
“That poor woman,” Aunt Mary said in the hackney on the way home. “Do you think Charlotte has run away with some man?”
Jo frowned. “I find it hard to believe. It seems most unlike her.”
“What are you going to do, Jo?”
“I will ask Lord Reade to help us. He has invited me to ride in the park with him,” Jo said.
“But what about Mr. Ollerton?”
Jo took Aunt Mary’s hand. “Aunt, I need you to do something for me you will not like. I don’t have Mr. Ollerton’s address, so when he comes to take me out, you must make my apologies. Will you tell him something urgent has come up? Say I had to rush away to help a friend.”
“Oh, dear. I’m not good at this, Jo. I always thought, hoped, that you and he…”
Jo thought of Sally’s experience and couldn’t help fearing the worst. “Charlotte’s life might depend upon us acting quickly.”
“But what can you do to help? Your father won’t approve of you riding with Lord Reade. You know he doesn’t like him. And Mr. Ollerton will be quite put out. I shake at the thought of telling him. I am not good at deception.”
“It isn’t a lie, Aunt Mary. I am trying to help a friend.” The hackney pulled up, and she helped her aunt down, then opened her coin purse to pay the jarvey.
She passed her aunt on the steps. “I shall have to hurry. I’m sorry, but I fear for poor Charlotte. London is a dangerous place. Remember what happened to Sally.”
“My goodness,” Aunt Mary murmured as she followed her inside.
Jo sent for Sally and ran upstairs to her bedchamber. When the maid came in, Jo was struggling with the buttons on her rifle-green habit. She went to the mirror and put on her wide-brimmed black hat. “Have you something suitable to wear horse riding, Sally?”
Sally gasped. “No, Miss Jo.”
“You have ridden a horse?”
“Yes, old Peter, the farmer’s horse.”
“Then we must find you a good-natured mount,” Jo
said. “I brought my old riding habit with me, the gray wool, I think it will fit you.” Jo plucked a feather from a bonnet. “Put it on while I go down to give this feather to Jed.”
“Why would the footman need an ostrich feather, Miss Jo?”
“I haven’t time to explain, Sally. Hurry and dress, please.”
In the library, Jo tucked the feather within the folds of a letter, added Reade’s address, and marked it urgent. She went in search of Jed and found him with the butler in the cellar. Aware of the sharp eye of Mr. Spears, she gave Jed careful instructions.
“Go now, please.”
“Yes, Miss Dalrymple.”
“And return immediately to complete your duties,” Mr. Spears said. “Don’t dawdle.”
Jo hurried upstairs. What if Reade didn’t get the letter today? She would ride every afternoon until he came. But she sensed time was crucial, although she did not understand why. It seemed absurd to imagine Charlotte snatched from outside her home in a respectable part of town. But where else might she have gone? Reade would listen and do what he could to find her. She had complete trust in him.
At the Hyde Park stables in Westbourne Street, Jo chose a hack for herself, a neat roan mare. They mounted Sally on a smaller bay with calm eyes.
They reined in inside the Brook Street gate. Jo glanced at the watch pinned to her chest. It was almost noon. “We shall have to wait, Sally.”
Sally rode her horse up and down the strip of grass. “Is this to be another adventure, Miss Jo?”
“Not like the last one, thank the Lord,” Jo said. “Shall we dismount?”
It was half-past twelve, and the horses were growing restive when Reade, in a black coat, buckskins, and glossy riding boots, rode through the gate on a beautiful steel gray horse. Jo’s heart hammered as she fought to put into words what she must tell him. He did not look happy to see her.
He greeted them both as he pulled up. “Well, Miss Dalrymple, shall we trot the horses down Rotten Row?”
Jo turned her horse’s head to follow him. Even at this unfashionable hour, a few riders cantered down the Row, and carriages circled on the South Carriage drive.
Introducing Miss Joanna Page 11