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“That’s quite the story.”
Morgan nodded. “And because we’d skipped spring season, when we returned with an almost one-year-old girl in tow, people simply assumed that Mother had been in confinement and that was why they’d skipped the season. Mother and Father never corrected people’s assumptions.”
“That worked out quite tidily,” Joan remarked.
“Indeed, as if God planned it so.”
Joan nodded, her mind whirling with all the implications and details. All the things that could have gone wrong but went so very right instead. “It’s incredible, really.”
“I thought so. And Percy and I were so young that we didn’t really know what was going on. For all we knew, that’s how babies were made and how we came to be in the family as well.” He snickered. “It wasn’t till later we found out, which led to other questions, and I can still remember Mother scolding us for asking how babies were made, since they weren’t only picked up at a church.”
Joan burst into a laugh. “Oh my, I can’t imagine Mother doing anything but blushing a crimson red.”
“She did that, and then sent us off to our father. Who explained some, but not much.”
“Speaking of which…”
“No. That is a conversation you will have with your husband when the time is right. I am not up to that challenge.”
“You delegate quite a few things to my future husband for being so dead set against my interest in him to begin with.” Joan placed a hand on her hip.
“I had my reasons, and all of them are no longer necessary. I stand by my decision.”
“You would.” She held the blanket to her chest, then gently placed it back into the box. “Well, I suppose I’ll never truly know. But…I wonder.” She tipped her chin and looked at him. “I wonder if I would have been handed over to the Foundling Hospital. Maybe there was some deep part of me that knew, and that’s why I was drawn to help there.”
“Perhaps. It’s impossible to say, but you have a tie to those children, and that is a lovely thing, Joan. I’m sorry that this has all presented you with more questions than it has answered.” He sighed.
“Yes, but it also gave me answers I didn’t know had questions,” she replied.
“Yes, well, I’m sure Rowles is curious how all this went. Would you like to invite him for dinner?”
Joan nodded. “Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea.” She closed the box and wiped a gentle and loving caress over the top before turning to her brother. “I’m not sure how I feel about it all.”
“It’s a lot to consider, that is to be certain.”
“I–I think I’m glad…that I didn’t know sooner. I think I would have questioned much and now, looking back, I didn’t have the burn of that truth when I was too young to grasp it.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. For better or worse, we thought we were doing the right thing.” Morgan took the box and put it back in the wardrobe.
“I know. Which makes it easier for me to accept.” Joan studied her brother. “Though I must say, it is impressive you kept this a secret from me.” She frowned.
“Indeed, it was a challenge to say the least. I had to be very careful not to look at you, to avoid any conversation about your birth, but generally that was pretty easy.” Morgan hitched a shoulder. “Now, if you’re ready, I’m sure your betrothed is impatiently waiting to hear from you. I must say, it’s a wonder he’s waiting to have the banns read.”
“His patience is far more impressive than my own. But it’s two weeks. I think we can survive that,” Joan answered bravely.
Two weeks… It wasn’tthatlong.
Except, in her heart, it felt like an eternity.
Thirty-five
For Rowles, the next week passed with each day a test in fortitude and patience as one day bled into the next with exasperating slowness. Each day, he’d break his fast and then go over to Penderdale House, or Joan and Morgan would come to Westmore. Mrs. Adams and Joan had made considerable progress on arrangements for the wedding breakfast, and the final fitting for Joan’s wedding dress was tomorrow afternoon. She’d said as much yesterday, with a great amount of enthusiasm. It was going to be a day above all others. Today, Rowles had one important task to accomplish: arranging the wedding trip.
Deliberately, he’d waited till it was only a week away, lest his impatient nature overtake his good sense. It was a time of celebration, one where he and Joan would celebrate their marriage and enjoy every ounce of intimacy it offered. His heart pounded as his blood raced through his veins at the thought. He’d never wanted a woman so much in his life, never experienced the overwhelming need and ache for anything like he wanted Joan. For those reasons, he’d waited to plan the time he’d fully explore those delightful pleasures. But he’d put that off long enough, and it was time. Steeling himself against the onslaught of tempting thoughts, he forced himself to think clearly.
At first, he’d considered his estate in Bath. She’d mentioned wanting to visit the Roman ruins, but upon further consideration, he decided that precious little sightseeing would happen on the wedding trip. It would be better to visit a place where they could be comfortable and not feel the pressures of exploring anything but each other. So, for that reason, he penned a letter to his butler in Cambridge. The house wasn’t grand, but it was homey and comfortable. It was cozy, intimate, and everything he’d loved about his past combined with everything he loved about his future.
If they wished to get a bit of fresh air, he could take her to the college, show her where he’d worked and studied, and share that side of his life with her. It was perfect. So with a few strokes of his pen, he let the housekeeper know to prepare the home for his arrival with his new bride, with a few particulars for Cook to procure—champagne and a plethora of biscuits. He’d remembered how much Joan loved them at Westmore House, and the same recipe was used at his Cambridge house.
