To such a bloodline?
Not him. Never him.
Which meant he could never pursue Joan.
And that thought, that realization, was far more painful than any of the words his mother had said.
And every bit as condemning.
Because loneliness was a wicked master, and he had no option but to surrender to it.
Sixteen
Joan offered a welcome to the approaching Lord Blackwood. More than a few years her senior, he bowed with a stiff movement and asked for her next available dance.
“Of course, Lord Blackwood. I have a reel available,” she offered, wondering if he’d be up to the challenge of such a spirited dance.
“Allow me.” He took her card and signed his name, his attention shifting from the card to her décolletage and then back to the card, clearly assuming she wouldn’t notice.
Her opinion of him wasn’t favorable and had not improved. He gave another bow and left, promising to return for his dance.
“That one is all mouth and trousers.” Morgan’s amused chuckle broke through her distaste.
Joan choked on a laugh of surprise as she turned to study her brother. He was sipping claret and staring straight ahead, dodging her scrutiny.
“If you don’t stop staring at me, people will guess I delivered a witty remark about your visitor,” he challenged.
Joan turned away. “It was a very well-placed barb, I must say.”
“And true.”
“Indeed,” Joan replied. She scanned the room once more, searching the faces for one in particular. “I thought the duke said he’d be in attendance tonight.”
Morgan gave a cough. “He sent his apologies earlier. I thought I had mentioned it.”
Joan turned to him, but he shifted away, lifting his hand to greet another gentleman.
“No, you didn’t mention it,” Joan replied, and then a chill went up her spine. “He’s not ill, is he?” She moved to meet her brother’s scrutiny, placing a hand on his arm.
Morgan’s expression was open and surprised as he quickly answered her. “No, no. He said nothing of the sort. I’m sure he’s right as rain, Joan. Just wasn’t going to attend tonight.” He gave her hand a pat. “Do not fret.”
That would be far easier said than done. But if the duke wasn’t ill, why did he not attend? She had learned her lesson and wasn’t going to ascribe intentions to him without first being certain, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d perhaps offended him.
Or if he truly was ill but didn’t want to tell Morgan, in an effort to protect her. That was certainly something he would do, was it not?
“Joan?” A familiar feminine voice cut through her worried musings, and she turned to see the welcome face of a friend.
“Miss Bronson! I was hoping to see you tonight.” She offered her friend’s hand a squeeze.
“I thought you’d be in attendance, but one never can tell and I quite forgot to ask you earlier,” Miss Bronson said, her observation shifting behind Joan and then back.
“Oh, dear me. Allow me to introduce you. This is my brother, Lord Penderdale.” Joan still struggled with the title for Morgan, knowing that it only reminded her of the loss she’d worked so hard to heal from.
“Ah, yes.” Miss Bronson curtsied prettily, her dark lashes brushing against her cheeks. “A pleasure, my lord.”
Morgan bowed crisply.
“All me to introduce you to Miss Bronson. She is a dear friend of mine.” Joan stepped back to allow the introductions.