“A time to be born, a time to die.” She glanced up to her brother, then back to the words and kept reading. “A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to be born and a time to kill.” She frowned as she reread the words.
Hadn’t she been thinking about that same passage? It was from the very book and chapter she’d been musing over before Morgan had come to find her. “What makes you think it’s a message for dissent?”
Morgan waved his hand over the desk. “We intercepted it from a long-standing French sympathizer.”
“I see.” Joan studied the words again, then closed her eyes. “This isn’t as easy as figuring out which is the ruse and which is accurate, like last time.”
“No, no, it is not. Which is why I was hesitating to ask for your help.”
“Because you know I’ll need to see them, face-to-face.” She remembered her recent encounter with Lord Archby. She wasn’t as well-versed in behavior as she was in handwriting, but she was willing to try.
“Yes.”
Joan nodded to her brother. “Then lead the way.”
Morgan sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
“You say that, but isn’t it? After all, what if I was born for this? What good is my education and skill if I refuse to take the risk of using it to protect my country? My family? I refuse to back down because my brother sees a potential risk. And yes, let us emphasize the word:potential. Not a sure risk. A possibility. Besides, you’ll be with me, won’t you?”
Morgan tapped his fingers on the desk and studied her. “Yes, I will.” He hesitated for a moment and then gave a nod. “Very well. Let’s get this over with.”
“You have the messenger in custody?”
“Yes. You’ll have to…change.”
“Ah, you mean a disguise.”
“Yes, exactly. In fact…” He frowned. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this.” He paused, then straightened. “Yes, that will be best. As unconventional as it is, that will be best.”
“What…what will be best?” Joan asked, her tone skeptical.
“Sister dear, you’re going to be my groom.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ll go and collect livery for you, and that way you’ll be unrecognizable.”
“I’m to dress as a groom? For your carriage?” She blinked. “And a male one, to boot?”
“No one will be the wiser, and you’ll be safe.”
“This is not how I imagined this afternoon playing out,” Joan replied with a shocked tone.
“I thought you were willing to do whatever was necessary,” her brother challenged.
Joan glared at him. “Very well. Do your worst, but don’t cut my hair.”
Morgan had the good grace to look offended at the thought. “We won’t need to go that far. Go to your rooms, and I’ll knock and leave the uniform by the door when no one is looking. Dress quickly and then knock three times on your door when you’re finished. I’ll collect you when the hallway is clear, and we’ll escape through the back. I’ll have my curricle ready.”
Joan giggled. “Why do I feel naughty, like I’m doing something wrong rather than doing something right? I surely won’t tell anyone,” Joan replied as she started toward the door.
“Nor will I.” Morgan gave her a wink. “Go. I’ll be by shortly.”
Joan nodded and took the stairs to the second floor. Once she got to her rooms, she waited.
As promised, Morgan knocked and left the navy-colored livery of their household servants outside her door. Scooping it up, she said a brief prayer of thanks that her dress didn’t button up the back, making the solo costume change much easier. Once dressed in the breeches and buttoning the coat, she turned to the mirror and studied her reflection. The clothes were, thankfully, a little large, hiding her feminine form. Still, she took off the jacket and wrapped her chest with a long cloth, binding her breasts to make them even less noticeable under the coat. Approving of the change, she turned her attention to her hair. Morgan had left a top hat beside the clothing, and she fleetingly wondered if she could pin it in place. Surely it was similar to a ladies’ hat, was it not? If she could tuck her hair into a high knot, then pin the hat, it should work.
Several minutes later, she studied her reflection and decided it would have to do. The hat was tipped forward so that it would be easier to hide her face if she lowered her chin. This was an addlebrained idea, but it would prevent anyone asking questions about why Lord Penderdale would take her to the holding place of criminals.