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Was someone pretending to be him? Framing him? Or was it simply a very unlucky coincidence?
“Aye. That’s what I said.” The man leaned back in his chair, watching them with a speculative glare. “Bloke said he worked for an investigator, so I didn’t think I was doing anything that would be wrong.”
Joan had to remind herself to breathe.
Morgan tapped the table. Joan watched as his body radiated tension. “Then why were you convicted, if you were assisting one of us?”
“I’m not sure. And you can imagine my panic when they sent me to the bloody tower…”
“Yes, well, turns out someone determined you had betrayed them and tried to do away with you before you could tell your tales.”
“I figured. That’s why I told you just now.” He shrugged. “Sorry for scaring you, miss.” He turned to Joan.
“We will see that no harm comes to you, Mr. Brewer.” Morgan stood and nodded. “The officer will see you back to your house, and we will confirm your story.”
“Will I go free when it checks out?” Mr. Brewer asked, lifting his shackled hands.
“We shall see,” Morgan answered, then gestured for Joan to leave the room ahead of him.
It wasn’t till they were in the carriage that Morgan spoke again. “Well, this has been an interesting afternoon.” He released a long sigh. “What I thought would be a confirmation of the story we’d heard from our informant turned into a twisted story of someone using my name.”
“There’s…there’s no one else with that title, is there?” Joan asked, curious and concerned at the same time. If someone was masquerading as her brother, heaven only knew what else they would do, and how it could affect Morgan.
“The title is my own, but it could be someone’s surname. It’s possible—not likely, but possible. I need to inform the War Office and see if they have any information that could add clarity. For all we know, there could be another Penderdale who works for king and country.”
“I hope it’s the latter, rather than someone using your name. Heaven only knows how that could end up badly.”
“It’s my title, not name, so I’d worry less.” He reached over and patted Joan’s hand. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Joan sighed. “I don’t feel like I was much assistance. He was a pretty simple person to read. You could have probably figured out what his body language meant without my help.”
“It’s always good to have two perspectives.”
“True.”
Morgan paused, his fingers fiddling with his hat as he sighed. “I want you to know I sent a missive to Rowles this morning regarding this meeting.”
Joan tipped her head, waiting for him to continue. That he told Rowles wasn’t all that surprising. “And?”
“And I thought you’d like to know how your betrothed replied.” He lifted his attention from his hat to her face. “It was four words, and I thought they carried a bit of weight. He said, ‘Do what you must.’”
Joan’s lips spread into a grateful smile, and she gave her head a slight shake. How blessed was she? Not only to find a worthy husband who loved her, but to find one that understood her need to contribute. Four words, but they spoke volumes. They spoke of his trust in her, his respect for her work, and his faith in letting her be herself.
“That is utterly romantic.” Joan sighed delightedly.
Morgan frowned. “Well, I suppose it can be thought of that way. I was only thankful he isn’t a closet tyrant. I didn’t expect him to be, but it pleases me that he values your experience and skill.”
“Like I said, romantic.”
Morgan huffed a laugh. “I do not think I’ll ever understand women.”
“That is a very likely truth.” Joan chuckled.
“If I haven’t said it yet, I’m happy for you, Joan. You and Rowles. I couldn’t part with you for anyone less.” He reached across the carriage and patted her hand.
“I love you too,” Joan replied as she squeezed his hand.
Thirty-seven
