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“Where is Lord Penderdale?” she asked a footman as he took her pelisse.
“His study, my lady,” the footman answered.
Joan nodded and headed in the direction of Morgan’s study, her boots making determined little clicks on the wooden floor as she closed the distance.
As she walked into the room, she paused, at odds about where to even begin.
“He told you,” Morgan said by way of greeting as he finished signing a document. Blowing across the ink, he waited a moment for it to dry and then set it aside. “Your stride gave you away. Quite a determined sound, I must say.”
Joan narrowed her eyes at her brother.
“My question is…” He rose and stepped from behind his desk and started toward her. “Am I going to answer questions or get attacked by them?” he asked playfully, then paused, holding up a hand as if to stop her from answering. “I’m sorry. For all of it. I should have told you, but I did not. I’m not sure how Rowles addressed it, but for what it’s worth, it truly changes nothing. You’re my sister. Simple as that. I couldn’t love you any more or less. I love you like I loved Percy, and that hasn’t ever changed nor will it. Mother and Father loved you as much as they loved Percy and me as well. There was never any discrimination between the three of us. You were equal in every way.” He glanced down, all earlier humor and teasing gone. “And for fear that you’d question that truth, we decided to keep it from you.”
Joan nodded, her eyes stinging with tears as she listened to her brother’s words. “Rowles said as much,” she admitted finally.
“He was always quite good with words and difficult situations. He’d talk himself out a fight—”
“And you’d knock out the aggressor.” Joan smirked even through her tears. Yes. What Morgan said was true. There was no change in their relationship. Morgan was her brother in every way that mattered. “I still wish you had told me sooner,” she confided, still irked because they hadn’t.
“I’m sure you do, and for that I apologize. Mother and Father wished to keep it secret.”
“Just as you want me to trust your love for me, I wish you had trusted my love for all of you,” Joan said, her brows pinching. “You’re still my brother, and our parents were still my parents. The truth might have raised questions, but it never changed the most important thing—my love for you.”
“I realize that now.” Morgan nodded, his brown eyes meeting hers. “Forgive me, Joan.”
“Forgiven,” she replied quickly. “Rowles said you looked for information and other things. He mentioned a blanket?” she asked, her curiosity burning.
Morgan quickly swiped his hand across his eyes as if removing tears and nodded. “Indeed, follow me.” He led the way from the study to the stairs. “It’s in the old nursery.”
Joan followed him down the hall to the room they hadn’t used for years, not since she’d been out of leading strings. As Morgan opened the door, memories of her childhood flooded her mind. It had been a good one, filled with pestering her older brothers and adoring her parents. In adopting her, they’d given her a gift she didn’t even understand.
And even more, she owed the mother of her birth. Whomever she was, she had given her daughter the best life possible, without even knowing. She’d been selfless, surrendering her child—if it was anything like with most foundlings at the hospital. Joan knew what drove women to make those difficult choices. And it was hope.
Hope that their child would live.
Hope that their child would thrive.
Hope that they were giving their child a future they couldn’t give themselves.
“Here.” Morgan had opened the wardrobe and withdrawn several boxes, one wooden with a lock. “The key was lost years ago, or so Mother had said. I broke into it a few days ago, when I was certain that Rowles would tell you.”
Joan nodded, then had a question pop into her mind. “Why Rowles? Why did you ask him to tell me, instead of telling me yourself?”
Morgan took the wooden box to a nearby table and considered her with a weary expression. “I didn’t know how, or where to begin, and in truth, I was afraid.” The honesty of his answer rang through his words. “But it was a matter of honor to tell Rowles. I know him well enough that he wouldn’t cast you aside because of your adoption. Heaven knows he’d marry you if you were a scullery maid, and damn the consequences.”
“He’s romantic like that.”
“Call it what you will, but notwithstanding, I knew I could trust him, and he needed to know since he was to be your husband.”
Joan’s irritation simmered. “I find it difficult to understand how my future husband needed to know something I did not.”
Morgan paused. “When you put it that way, I have no good answer. It seemed logical at the time, but that won’t suffice now, I understand.”
“At least you admit it,” Joan said with less fire.
“My humility knows no bounds,” Morgan said with a little sarcasm, enough to be teasing.
“For that, I have no response.” Joan gave a soft chuckle. “What’s in the box?” she asked, her irritation soothed slightly.
