“I understand. Thank you,” Joan replied honestly. “Maybe it was a mistake, the come-out.”
Morgan shook his head. “No, you deserve to have a life, a future. Your come-out shouldn’t define you, merely be a facet of your beauty, inside and out.”
“Thank you.” Joan sighed.
The butler stopped by the entrance to the study with a silver tray.
“Come in.” Morgan called the older man into the room and lifted the card. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered so softly Joan almost missed it. “Show him in.”
Joan gave her brother a quizzical look as the butler departed.
“Well, it looks like perhaps we shall see how the land lies.”
“Pardon?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow and nodded to the door.
Joan turned, her belly filling with fluttering butterflies at the sight of the Duke of Westmore. Then as he met her gaze, the fluttering stopped, replaced by a heavy feeling of disappointment.
He wasn’t here to see her.
Eleven
Rowles’s observation shifted from Joan to Morgan and back. Indecision gave him pause in how to proceed. In truth, he wished to talk to both of them, but separately.
After this morning’s gossip pages, he knew something had to be done. And he wished to discuss that aspect with Morgan. But conversely, he’d prefer not to offer a heartfelt apology to Joan in front of her older brother. However, standing there in such an awkward manner wasn’t helping with either task.
“Good afternoon.” He bowed. “I, that is, would you mind terribly if I had a word with you, Morgan?” He flickered his attention to Joan, hoping she could read the apology in his expression.
But after last night, he wasn’t sure she could read him as well as he’d thought.
“Of course. Joan and I were finishing our discussion.” He gave his sister a nod and alook.
Rowles wasn’t sure what it meant, but it certainly meant something.
“Of course.” Joan curtsied in his direction and gave a silent nod of understanding to her brother.
Rowles missed the silent communication often to be had with siblings. A wave of sadness tinted his heart for a moment at the memory of his brother. Pushing the thought aside, he bowed to Joan when she moved toward the door. A cold chill ran up his spine as she passed him without a pause.
Perhaps he should have asked to speak to her first.
Except he couldn’t, not without her brother’s permission.
Blast it all.
“Won’t you sit?” Morgan waved to a pair of chairs opposite his desk.
“Thank you.” Rowles selected a seat and noted the gossip page in the middle of the desk. “I see you’ve read it too.” He gestured to the sheet.
“Indeed. Joan hadn’t seen it yet. She left before it arrived this morning.” Morgan sat behind his desk and folded his hands over the offending paper.
“I see.” Rowles nodded, then said, “She was certainly out early this morning.”
“Yes, well…” Morgan paused, then continued with a bit of a mournful expression. “I’m afraid she’s fond of a women’s society that champions women’s rights. She was at her chapter meeting his morning. Bluestockings, the lot of them. I’ve tried to dissuade her, but she’s stubborn.” He shook his head. “Please keep this information to yourself though. Society can be unkind to ladies who favor social change.”
“Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn’t mention anything.” Rowles tapped his fingers against his thigh, a piece of the puzzle of last night’s conversation falling into place.
No wonder she was unfriendly toward his answer. She’d be operating under the premise he didn’t have sympathy for the cause.