Chapter One
Marlborough, Wiltshire
March 1817
“It’s sold!”
Joanna Dalrymple’s father burst through the door, his face wreathed in smiles. She glanced up from slicing meat for their luncheon at the kitchen table. Their maid, Molly, left her seat, and transferring the bowl of shelled peas to the sideboard, withdrew from the room.
“That is wonderful news, Papa.”
“Not surprising, as the haberdashery is a neat little business.” He brushed a hand over his faded red locks and sat down. “An excellent position, Marlborough being a market town on the Bath Road, it gets all the traffic from London to Bath. Not to mention the shop is on the second-widest high street in Britain, after Stockton-on-Tees.”
“Yes, Papa.” While Jo had heard it all before, she was glad her father no longer had to work so hard after he inherited money from a relative who’d done extremely well in the silk business at Spitalfields and invested wisely. Papa was now a man of leisure, but unused to idleness, he still cast around for something to occupy his days.
“Are you pleased the shop has sold?”
“I am.” He sawed through a loaf of bread with the bread knife and spread butter on two slices. “It’s an excellent time to sell, now with the taxes Pitt has imposed. My best lines, including tea, sugar, soap, candles, and paper, are all heavily taxed because of the enormous national debt. The Corn Laws protect the landowners, so the rich grow richer, and the poor grow poorer.” He placed a slice of ham on the bread.
Jo passed him the mustard. She wondered if he would ever accept he was now a wealthy man. “You could own a farm again. Employ men to do the hard work.”
“And I might one day. But now I have a surprise.” His enthusiasm reminded her of their dog, Sooty, after he’d hidden his bone under the sofa cushion.
“A surprise?” Jo grinned as she poured him a cup of tea from the kitchen’s brown china teapot.
“I engaged a business manager to find us a house in London for the Season.”
“London!” Jo squealed. “Papa! How did you manage to keep this from me?”
He folded his arms with a smug smile. “I signed the lease this morning!”
“You did?” Jo couldn’t believe her father would do such a thing. Since her mother died, he disliked disruption of any kind and often lectured her that she was too compulsive, and her desire for adventure was unwise. She felt like pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.
“You shall have your debut as your mother would have wished.” A shadow appeared in his green eyes. “I promised her you would have your chance, and here you are at twenty-one. The men you meet at assemblies and church dances are not good enough for my girl. Your mother married beneath her when she chose me, bless her heart. I pray I never gave her cause to regret it.” He sighed. “While I dislike your mother’s family, and what they did to Mary, throwing her out because she took your mother’s side, I have to admit they are well-born.”
“A Season? I can’t believe it,” Jo said, slightly breathless. “Is Aunt Mary to come with us?”
“Your aunt complains of her rheumatism but expresses an eagerness to accompany us.”
“She will enjoy being among society people again.”
“I believe she will. I have promised to purchase that cottage your aunt wants. She intends to move there with her cats after you marry.”
“She has had her eye on that cottage for ages.” While she was pleased for Aunt Mary, Jo felt a quiver of unease. Should she marry, her father would be alone here. He must come and live with her. And any man she married would need an agreeable nature. Someone calm, gentle, and kind.
Her father fed a piece of meat to Sooty, patiently waiting at his feet. “Where is your aunt?”
“She has taken an apple pie to Mrs. Jones, who’s feeling poorly.” Jo jumped up. “When do we leave? I must make a list.”
“Now, I don’t intend to leave immediately! There is much to do to prepare. You have need of a ballgown.”
“We can purchase it in London,” Jo said, fearing something might occur to change his mind.
“Yes. Everything you need, Jo, don’t stint on it. But as to the ballgown, you have nothing to worry about, my girl. I have the matter well in hand.”
“Oh?” she asked uneasily. Her initial excitement dimmed a little when it occurred to her she was about to be thrown into the midst of Society matrons and their debutante daughters.
“I’ve spoken to the seamstress, Mrs. Laverty. She has agreed to make your ballgown.”
