After they reached the terrace, Jo dropped her hand from his arm as if it burned her. “Thank you for your company, Lord Reade. I enjoyed the garden.” A group turned to observe them. Let them think what they liked, she thought crossly. “And for such an enlightening conversation.”
Reade raised an eyebrow, bowed, and left her.
Jo entered the house and went in search of her father. He’d finished his card game and now sat with Aunt Mary.
Jo hurried over to him. “Papa, do you know a Mr. Virden?”
“That’s odd. Mr. Cartwright just asked me the same thing. I’ve never met the fellow.
“Is he here tonight?” Did you want me to meet him?”
“No, Papa.”
“What is this all about, Jo?” Aunt Mary asked.
“I don’t know, but Lord Reade seemed to think Papa knew him,” Jo said. “He is obviously mistaken.”
“Yes. My memory for names is excellent. I would remember Mr. Virden,” her father said. “We must find our hostess and thank her for such a pleasant evening. Aunt Mary wishes to retire. She is a little weary.”
“Yes, I am too, Papa. I will say goodnight to Letty and Mr. Cartwright.”
There was no sign of Reade as she made her way through the reception rooms. She would have enjoyed demanding he apologize for grilling her in that fashion, now that she was certain he’d been wrong. But it gave her pause, for why did he think it?
Reade went in search of Cartwright to discover if he’d had better luck with Dalrymple than Reade had done with his daughter. He understood why Miss Dalrymple had been angry and defensive for her father’s sake. It was regrettable. He wished he could ease her mind, but he needed to know why Virden visited their home. It seemed clear Joanna knew nothing about Virden. The alternative that she might and was covering up for her father didn’t bear thinking about. Reade dismissed the notion. He didn’t want to believe she was capable of doing that. But he must not allow her allure to cause him to lose focus.
Dammit, he still wanted to kiss away the worry he’d seen on her pretty face. But one kiss might lead to more, and then where would he be? Far wiser, surely to leave Miss Joanna Dalrymple alone wherever possible.
And he fully intended to do so.
“I mentioned the man’s name and drew a blank,” Cartwright said. “He either doesn’t know him, or he has the best poker face in London.”
Who was Virden meeting at Lord Pleasant’s house? At some stage, Reade would need to confront Joanna’s father with the evidence of Virden’s comings and goings and demand an explanation as unpalatable as this would be.
It was frustrating how every avenue led them to a dead end. There was no evidence pointing to the man behind this gang. If they didn’t get him, he could continue to operate even with the rest of them in jail. It was not these few felons they were after. They wanted their leader, who had tentacles that stretched far beyond England’s shores.
Chapter Nine
Aunt Mary was unwell with a headache the next day. Jo’s father was engaged in writing letters home, hoping for news about the new owner of the shop and Sooty.
Idleness never appealed to Jo, and as the efficient staff took
care of everything, she decided on an excursion to the Pantheon Bazaar in Oxford Street. Surely even Reade would not consider it reckless, as she and Aunt Mary had visited Piccadilly without harassment a few days earlier. Elegant carriages had filled the street while well-dressed women browsed the shops with their liveried servants.
Jo descended from the hackney with Sally onto Oxford Street, right outside the splendid building of the Pantheon Bazaar. Exotic smells greeted them as they walked into the grand entry with a high arch above. Any lingering doubt Reade might have instilled in her vanished as they joined the others roaming the shops. Every sort of item one could wish for was on display, novelties, jewelry, and furs. Jo tried on a becoming wide-brimmed hat trimmed with cerulean blue ribbons and promptly bought it, together with a straw bonnet decorated with artificial primroses for Sally to wear to church.
Another hour passed as they purchased more items. When Jo opened her coin purse to pay for a tortoiseshell comb decorated with pearls, she found she only had enough money left for the hackney ride home. She put the comb down and closed her purse.
“I have never seen the like of these shops, Miss Jo,” Sally said, who seemed thrilled with her new hat.
“I intend to come back soon,” Jo said, admiring the wares in shops as they passed. They carried the milliners’ hat boxes and their other packages through the bazaar, searching for the way out. The arched windows revealed the lowering sun above the rooftops. How quickly the hours had passed. Her father would be anxious.
She spied a door leading outside. “We’d best find a hackney.”
The street was unfamiliar. “This is not Oxford Street, where we came in.” She spied a signpost. “It’s Marlborough Street.” There were no hackneys in sight. “We might have better luck around the corner where there’s a hackney stop.”
They passed young gentlemen who lounged about in conversation or sauntered up and down. Dressed in tight coats, some wore canary-yellow trousers, others striped waistcoats, their cravats elaborate creations.
“My father calls them coxcombs,” Jo murmured.