Perhaps it was because he’d lost his brother, but the unity of family was of the utmost importance in his opinion, and he hated that he was causing trouble.

But Joan…

His eyes studied her. Every nuance, curve, and breath spoke to him. Called his name like a siren he couldn’t ignore, and regardless of how he felt about the tension between the siblings, he wouldn’t regret speaking the truth.

He wanted her for his wife.

Simple.

True.

Real.

And if there was one thing he’d learned from his studying divinity and the Bible, it was the power of the truth.

It set you free.

Joan’s eyes shifted to his, a myriad of emotions shifting through their mossy green depths before her lips bent into a welcoming expression. “I arrived home earlier only in time to see your carriage depart, Your Grace.”

“Ah, a disappointing revelation.” His own lips lifted in an answering grin.

“And my brother”—her eyes shifted toward him, then back to Rowles—“was exceedingly tight-lipped about your social call. A pity, that.”

“Joan, do you think it possible to get through dinner before you begin raking me over the coals? It’s harder to endure with an empty stomach,” Morgan drawled, shooting his sister a warning glare.

“Rake you over the coals? And they say women are the ones who exhibit theatrics.” She shook her head, a teasing glint in her eyes.

“We all have our moments,” Morgan replied with a heavily sarcastic tone.

Rowles bit his lip to keep from chuckling at their interaction. Regardless of Joan’s frank question, it had served a purpose, breaking the tension. Morgan’s posture was far more relaxed, and a ghost of a smile, wry as it was, appeared on his lips.

Joan turned to him, her eyes dancing with amusement. Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the butler arrived to announce dinner.

It wasn’t till they were seated at the table that Joan turned back to him. “And how was your day, Your Grace?”

Rowles waited for the footman to set a bowl of soup in front of him before he answered. “It wasn’t nearly as exciting as this evening has turned out to be,” he replied. “How was your day, Lady Joan?”

She took a delicate sip of soup. “I was assisting at the Foundling Hospital today. It was research on a child who possibly had kin associated with the hospital nearly two decades ago, so I was looking through the archives. It was an interesting name, Agneau. French, I believe. I think it was a baby girl.”

“Lamb,” Rowles translated.

Morgan’s spoon dropped into his soup with a splash. Muttering a curse under his breath, he made a quick apology while the footmen cleaned the splattered soup. “Slipped,” Morgan said to Rowles, then to Joan before lifting the new spoon given by a footman and beginning to take another bite.