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There would be no need to take a visit to Doctors’ Commons.
As of today, he was in mourning.
Twenty-eight
It is true I wished to escape; and so I wish still. Is not this lawful for all prisoners?
—Joan of Arc
The clock had struck nine in the morning when the butler arrived with a missive. It had been a difficult night for Joan, and she’d awoken uncommonly early, only to find her brother in a similar state. They’d adjourned to the library after breakfast. Joan took the linen paper from his silver tray, immediately recognizing Rowles’s seal. She’d been waiting, and she couldn’t open the missive quickly enough to satisfy her curiosity.
Dearest Joan,
I regret to inform you that my mother passed last night. It was a peaceful passing, but I am currently making arrangements for her funeral, which will take place in two days’ time. Hold my heart close; it’s in your hands. I will see you tomorrow.
All my affection,
Rowles
Joan placed her hand over her mouth as she read the missive again, her heart plummeting as she felt the sorrow in her beloved’s note.
“Is something amiss?” Morgan asked from his chair near a bookshelf. He set the novel he was reading aside and stood, his face furrowed in concern.
“His mother passed,” Joan answered, her hand falling limp at her side.
Morgan paused in his approach and gave a curt nod. “I see. Well, she’s at peace now. Heaven knows she hasn’t been at rest for nearly half a decade. I suppose it’s a blessing.”
“It’s still a loss, Morgan,” Joan chided gently. “And I’m sure Rowles is hurting.”
Morgan shook his head. “Yes, yes, you’re correct. I didn’t intend to be hard-hearted, merely logical.”
“I understand.” Joan quickly forgave him, her attention straying back to the missive.
“This will mean that he will not procure a special license today,” Morgan said softly.
“I know,” Joan replied. Her selfish heart had understood that first off. “I understand and we need to honor his mother.”
“The rules of mourning are not hard and fast, Joan. Give it a few weeks for the reading of the banns, and you shouldn’t raise too many questions with a wedding. Not to be a cad, but the whole of London knew his mother’s condition. They won’t expect him to spent the six months in mourning, not fully.”
Joan shrugged. “I understand, but I won’t let my impatient nature pressure him into anything.”
Morgan chuckled. “Ah, dear sister. I don’t think you’re any more impatient than he is, and that is exactly as it should be.”
Joan giggled in spite of herself. “You know, I do believe you’ve made a correct assessment.”
“What was that?” He cupped his ear and grinned. “You said I was correct about something? It is truly a time of miracles. First you come to my rescue, which thankfully was uneventful, and then you give me credit. I can die a happy man.”
“You can’t die yet, so don’t get too comfortable with the concept. Which reminds me…” Joan quit the room and quickly ran up the stairs to her bedchamber. She had withdrawn the pilfered missive from her widow’s cloak and placed it in her desk for safekeeping. She quickly plucked it from her desk drawer and returned to the library where Morgan waited.
“This.” She lifted the missive. “I’m not sure what it is, but I noticed the older man, the one I pulled from his horse, patting his chest. He patted his pocket, as if reassuring himself it was still there. I thought it might be important, so I stole it at the first opportunity.”
“At one time, I regretted teaching you so much. As it turns out, it was somewhat useful.” Morgan stood beside her as she slid open the shallow wax seal. Two letters fell out, and she opened the first. Ink was smeared across the top, as if the letter had been written in haste, closed before the ink fully dried. Joan read the words, her face puckering as she did so.
“Did you ever find out why the false orders sent that prisoner to the London Tower?” Joan asked, rereading the letter.
“I think we may have uncovered it.” Morgan’s expression lifted as he read over her shoulder.
“Indeed.”
