“Really, Cartwright. Must I spell it out? A country lass. An innocent with a romantic view of life. Marriage. An orderly existence.” His eyes widened. “The refurbishment of Seacliffe in the latest style when I have just been at pains to restore it. Not to mention, outfitting the nursery.”
Cartwright stroked his chin. “I’m afraid I can’t quite make out your meaning.” It was obvious from his smile that he had.
“Shall we find some decent liquor while I explain it to you? You are obviously a dull-witted fellow.”
Cartwright chuckled. “An excellent idea. There’s a fire and a fine brandy in the library.”
“You’ve already checked?” Reade asked as they left the ballroom.
“Always do. Only way to endure these infernal evenings.”
“Then, why come?”
“Because Letty enjoys them.”
“Ah-ha!” Reade laughed. “Precisely what I referred to.”
“I have no complaints. There are many advantages to marriage you did not mention.”
“Apart from the obvious, you can list them over the brandy,” Reade said.
“I prefer to keep you intrigued,” Cartwright said.
“Who says I’m intrigued?”
“You may have little desire to discover the delights of marriage for yourself, but it’s my hope you will reach a point in your life when you do wish it.”
Reade was not about to discuss how very unsuited he was to marriage. “I wonder why married men are always so keen to marry off their single friends?”
“Because it will mean you’re recovering.”
“Recovering?” Reade sighed, but he couldn’t fool Cartwright, so he didn’t try. “I fear you are about to tell me, and I must urge you to please don’t, Brandon.”
“I shall restrain myself.” They entered the library, and Cartwright headed for the drink’s table. He poured them each a glass of brandy, his gaze serious as he offered Reade the glass.
“Good fellow.” Reade took a long swig and resolutely pushed the lady’s heart-shaped face and big green eyes from his mind. Miss Joanna would find a husband soon enough. A decent fellow, one hoped. The prospect gave him little solace as he took his brandy snifter and wandered over to the fire. His mood had lowered, which happened too often, despite him fighting against it.
He glanced back at Cartwright, who looked to be gearing himself up for another rousing discussion on how marriage could fix all ills. “You didn’t happen to discover a pack of cards during your reconnaissance, did you? The card room is unpleasantly crowded. And I dislike watching Alvanley put another nail in the coffin of Underbank Hall.”
Chapter Six
Jo rose late,and on her way to breakfast, discovered several calling cards the butler had placed on a silver salver on the hall table. At two o’clock, four gentlemen crowded into their parlor, Lord Hislop, Mr. Ollerton, Mr. Payne, and Mr. Gregson. The two younger gentlemen were not long down from Oxford, their faces earnest and slightly pained. Jo suspected they obeyed their fathers’ orders to set themselves up with an heiress. She almost giggled at the thought. Mrs. Millet had done her job too well. Her father was hardly a nabob.
She relished the opportunity to observe Mr. Ollerton’s face. Without his mask, he was undeniably handsome. He reminded her of someone, though she couldn’t think who it could be for she knew few people in London. His eyes were hazel as she’d guessed, his features finely wrought. He thanked her with his pleasant smile as he accepted an iced cake from the stand. As she passed the teacups around, the aroma of freshly baked pound cake and scones sweetened the air. He and Lord Hislop eyed each other warily, while the other two gentlemen enthused over a pantomime at the Sans Pareil, which Jo had not seen.
She sipped her tea and searched for a way to enliven the gathering. But she’d learned how strictly ordered morning calls were. She couldn’t suggest a game of charades or cribbage. A distinctly strained air hovered in the room, despite Aunt Mary’s enthusiastic description of their visit to Astley’s Amphitheater.
Conversation ambled about. Lord Hislop complained about the wet spring following such a chilly winter. Mr. Ollerton spoke in warm terms of Viscountess Lisle’s’ triumphant ball, the superiority of the orchestra, the delicious supper. Mr. Payne enthused about how much fun it had been to be in disguise. Jo, weary after little sleep, fought not to yawn.
After the half-hour had passed, the two young gentlemen rose to their feet, obviously as eager to be gone as she was to see them go. Lord Hislop and Mr. Ollerton tarried. Lord Hislop stood and looked pointedly at Mr. Ollerton, who remained seated. Finally, Hislop bowed, scowled at Mr. Ollerton, and left the room after Jo declined his invitation to promenade in the park the following day. She had promised to accompany Aunt Mary to the British Museum to view the famous Elgin Marbles brought from Greece a year ago amidst great controversy.
Aunt Mary, anticipating Ollerton’s imminent departure, said goodbye to him and left the room to fetch her knitting.
Mr. Ollerton made no move to leave. In his blue coat, which suited his coloring, he crossed his legs and settled back on the sofa, as if readying himself for a nice long chat. “As soon as they fix the wheel on my curricle, I hope you’ll allow me to drive you to the park, Miss Dalrymple.”
“I look forward to it.” Unsure how to proceed, Jo gestured at the tea tray. “More tea, Mr. Ollerton?”
“Thank you. Just a drop. I must obey the proprieties,” he said, making no effort to do so.
