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“And you started with the Foundling Hospital because of your friend who leads the women’s group, correct?”
“Yes. You’re correct. It’s also where I met my new friend, Miss Bronson,” Joan answered.
“And are you still reading Mary Wollstonecraft?”
“Yes, but we won’t meet again till next month. Lady Sandra is away from town so we’ve postponed.”
“That’s surely a welcome diversion,” Rowles added.
“Yes, she will be in Bath.”
“It can be quite healthy, I’ve heard.”
“Indeed. I wouldn’t mind visiting Bath as well. It’s been at least five years since we’ve been to our estate there.” She turned to her brother. “Hasn’t it?”
Morgan was watching the two of them cautiously. “At least five years, but it’s a small estate and doesn’t need much hands-on management. My steward is the best in the shire.”
“Murtaug is quite capable, but it would be fun to return, even for a few days,” Joan suggested hopefully.
“We shall see, perhaps after the season.” Morgan’s scrutiny shifted to Rowles, then back to his meal.
If all went as Rowles hoped, the decision to visit Bath would rest upon his shoulders. By the end of the season, Joan could be his wife. But Morgan could have been conveying his disapproval by sending the message that he would still be in control of Joan’s future come the end of the season.
Which meant a refusal.
All the nuances of the social scene wore on Rowles, and with a soft sigh, he turned his attention to Joan.
“Bath is lovely. My family has an estate not far from there as well. You’re more than welcome to visit, with Morgan, of course,” Rowles qualified, giving a curt nod to Morgan.
His friend didn’t return the gesture, and Rowles considered his demeanor. After all, he’d seen Morgan in a fit of temper. He’d seen Morgan broken with the loss of his own brother. And he’d seen Morgan at a loss for how to address a difficult situation. But never had he encountered this full concealment of emotion from his friend, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it meant exactly.
For him.
For Joan.
For their future.
Or, worse yet, for the lack thereof.
Dinner passed with the same sort of tension, and as the final plates were cleared, Morgan waved a hand toward the door. “Care to join me for a snifter of brandy?” He rose from the table and started toward his study without a backward glance.
Rowles gave a bow to Joan, offered the most reassuring look he could, and followed his friend, wondering if the defining moment had finally arrived.
As Rowles stepped into the study, Morgan called to him. “Close the door, if you will?”
The door clicked shut, and Rowles turned to his friend.
Morgan held out a snifter of brandy and took a generous sip of his own. “If Joan will accept you, I will not hinder your marriage. In fact, I’ll give you my blessing, but…” He took a deep breath and regarded Rowles with a piercing look. “There are a few things you should know. I will tell you one, and Joan will have to tell you the others.”
Rowles nodded, his heart racing with the revelation that his suit was accepted. Relief washed over him, only to give rise to new tension. Joan would accept him, wouldn’t she?
“Take a seat.” Morgan sat as well, waiting for Rowles to settle. He drew a deep breath, paused, then took a long swallow of brandy. He inhaled another slow breath and then leaned forward.
Rowles’s shoulders tightened with tension at his friend’s actions. What secrets could he be harboring? Certainly nothing that would change the way Rowles felt about Joan. Yet the tension remained.
“Joan is my sister in every way…save blood,” Morgan confessed softly, as if the walls had ears and were waiting for the secret as well.
Rowles blinked, frowned, and then tipped his chin. “But—”
