Morgan’s expression darkened. “Don’t tell me you’re still involved with those bluestockings who are papering London with their voting demands.”
“Are you so against a woman having a voice?” Joan stood and placed a hand on her hips while the other held her plate.
“No, which you very well know. I don’t believe that society’s way of going about change is the most effective.”
“Well, try not, succeed not.” Joan nodded. “It’s our motto.”
“And a good one it is. However, I wish you would support it from afar. It’s unfashionable and frowned upon for a lady of thetonto participate in bluestocking endeavors.”
“As you’ve said. On multiple occasions. I suppose I’m a bit unique… Oh wait.” She gave a wry expression. “We already knew that, didn’t we? I cannot change my spots, Morgan. Besides, knowing what you know about me and my insight, doesn’t that indicate the importance of such an effort? That I see its soul-deep merit for others should encourage you to support women’s rights.”
“I do, but I am concerned about you. And of the two priorities, you are my first.” Morgan nodded, then stood as well. “Be cautious, and don’t take the family carriage.”
“I’ve already hired a hack and Mrs. Gunthrie’s sister is my chaperone.”
Morgan nodded. “Well, then you are all situated. Be safe.”
“I will.” Joan hitched a shoulder with a cheeky smirk. “And I’ll be back in plenty of time to hear all the sonnets the gentlemen have worked to write since the ball last eve.”
“At that, I’ll take my leave.” Morgan chuckled. “Goodbye.”
Joan watched her brother leave the study and sighed. The plate was heavy in her hand even though it held little. Perhaps it was her mind that was heavy. She wasn’t dishonest about the women’s rights convocation, but she knew that Morgan was correct; it was a difficult path ahead. But difficult did not mean impossible. How often were the right things the very ones that required a fight to be achieved? Usually, so Joan chose to fight for those causes.
The hall clock chimed, and she straightened her spine and nodded to herself. Never let it be said she backed down from a worthy challenge. Rather, let her be the one to rise to meet it!
After all, what good was it to be named after someone significant if you didn’t do your best to honor the legacy that person left? Joan strode to the breakfast hall and considered the idea. She might not be working to free France like Joan of Arc, but working to expand women’s freedom? That was certainly a worthy cause.
And one worth all her effort.
Five
It was fascinating how four words could have so much power.
Rowles watched the steam curl upward from his teacup, disappearing into the air as he thought over the previous night. It had been a crushing success, the come-out for Lady Joan, but all of the evening faded into the background at the memory of her simple words.
“You’re not like her.”
Dear Lord, he’d felt infirm, had feared it for so much of his life he couldn’t remember anything prior, but to have someone speak that fear out loud and renounce it so confidently… Well, it nearly made him believe it as the truth.
He wanted to, desperately.
But the greatest enemy to truth was the simple question, “What if?” And thousands of those questions peppered his mind with doubts. Yet he continued to remember Joan’s words, and the tone with which they were spoken.
Quiet, unassuming confidence.
It reminded him of his theology professor at Cambridge, Professor Dory. Joan’s words had carried the same soft-spoken assurance. Professor Dory’s lectures were Rowles’s favorites, and he’d adored the way Professor Dory spoke with conviction that came from a solid truth, a firm foundation for knowledge that left only room for faith to believe it. Rowles shook his head at the memory. He would never have expected that years later he would take over those lectures in that very hall after Professor Dory passed away and teach those same principles to his students.
And though Rowles had tried, desperately tried, he couldn’t replicate that same soft reassurance of his predecessor. But Joan—rather, Lady Joan—spoke with it effortlessly.
It was alluring, captivating, and frightening as hell. Because what peace surrounded her mind and heart to put such unshaking resolve in her words? Perhaps she didn’t notice it. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed either, had he not already been exposed to that same sense of conviction by his predecessor. But it called to him.
Made him want to believe whatever authority gave her the raw intensity in her words.
He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. He was the professor, the educated one. He had studied at Cambridge, had spent countless hours in the library poring over books and memorizing whole chapters of the Bible to grasp the truths he sought. Only to later teach them, and still lack the principles the slip of a woman presented last night. It was humbling.
Rowles took a sip of tea, his mind wandering to the events of the day ahead. His mother had been at rest for the past few days, not leaving her rooms, even to break her fast. It wasn’t unusual, but in the past, she would at least have ventured to the library where she’d stand in front of the wide window that faced the front of the estate. For hours, she’d watch the carriages pass, but even that didn’t currently interest her.
Guilt laced through him. If he were a better son, he’d take a deck of cards upstairs to at least attempt to play with her, or even bring along a book and read to her. But he’d hired people to do that in his stead. It seemed like a good choice but he wondered if his true intentions were to avoid her. Resolved, he took a final sip of tea and set the cup back in its saucer. He could very easily take tea with his mother, rather than sit in solitude in his study. Leaving the quiet of his sanctuary, he took the stairs to the second floor and then turned right to take the hall that would lead to his mother’s rooms.