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“I’ll put in a good word for you,” Joan flirted back as he led them out of the room and down the hall back to the stairs.
“It pleases me that you like it here,” he confided.
“It pleases me that you want me to love my new home,” Joan replied.
Rowles put on a brave face, but the light didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a silent few moments as he led them to the parlor, then closed the door all but a few inches. “Joan, sit with me?” He signaled to a sofa near a table ready for tea.
“Of course,” Joan replied, swallowing her tension.
Rowles took her hands in his, his thumbs smoothing over her wrist, then her palm, as if soothing her before he even spoke.
“Hurry up, it’s making me more nervous by the minute,” Joan said, her chest tight.
Rowles gave a wry grin. “My apologies. I’m only trying to do this well and…I’m not sure I will.”
“I appreciate a frank word as much as kind one,” she offered.
Rowles sighed. “Morgan told me something that I feel is important for you to know about, since it pertains to you, dear Joan. And I have vacillated between telling you and not telling you because it doesn’t change anything concerning your future with me, my love for you, or anything of the sort. But…I think it’s wise that we have this conversation so that if it ever did come to light later in life, it wouldn’t be something I was intentionally keeping from you. I want no secrets between us, Joan.”
Joan nodded, her throat dry. “Go on… I trust you, Rowles.”
“I have but one question. Do you wish to know? After hearing that it won’t change anything, do you still wish to know?” He took a breath. “You trust me, but I also trust you, Joan, and I will abide by your choice in this matter.”
Joan frowned. She hadn’t truly considered that she didn’tneedto know. Curiosity burned through her, but…in the end, did it need to be satisfied? “Morgan told you, but hasn’t ever told me?” she asked, piecing together some of his earlier words.
“Yes.”
“And my parents knew, I assume?” she questioned further, a twinge of understanding pulsing through her chest.
“Yes.” Rowles gave a single nod.
As with a puzzle missing the most crucial piece that gave the design clarity, understanding snapped into place.
She breathed deeply, letting her heart and mind adjust to the concept, to the idea that had never once entered her mind till that moment. But so much of it, so many different details made sense.
She’d always felt sorry for her mother. She’d been the last child they had been able to conceive, left feeling like it was her fault, that she’d harmed her mother in some way.
Except…she wasn’t.
Because she wasn’t a Morgan by blood.
No.
She’d been adopted.
Thirty-three
Rowles’s chest burned as he realized he’d been holding his breath. He released the pent-up air and intentionally breathed in, and out, all the while keeping his complete focus on Joan.
Watching as she gained comprehension without him even telling her. Yes, he’d been right in saying something. She was far too keen of understanding and aware of others to have this secret remain buried. It was a miracle that she’d not discovered it earlier. Morgan was stealthier than Rowles had given him credit for.
“Who knows?” she asked, turning eyes full of warring emotions upon him.
“Morgan and myself,” Rowles answered gently. “Your parents didn’t wish for you to know, and as Morgan explained it to me, I can in some part understand why.”
“Why, then?” Joan asked, but without the harsh tone that could have accompanied such a question.
“Because pedigree can be prized, and they didn’t want you to feel that pressure or have to succumb to society’s cruel gossip in such matters should the truth come to light,” he answered. “It was all in effort to protect you. It changed nothing concerning their love or devotion to you, or yours for them, so I think they felt that there was no true benefit in you knowing.”
