“Good. Then, without further ado, why don’t we call for Joan to join us? I believe you may have a question to ask her.” Morgan stood and strode to the door, presumably to fetch his sister.

“May I have a moment with her?” Rowles asked, standing as well.

Morgan turned to him, nodded once, and disappeared.

Rowles took a short sip of his brandy and set the snifter on the side table, then breathed deeply through his nose.

So much weighed on him, especially after that conversation with Morgan. But he pushed it all out of his mind. This was the defining moment he was waiting for.

Joan walked into the room, her gaze finding his.

His body warmed with anticipation.

He walked toward her, his eyes fixed on hers, willing calm as he reached out a hand toward her.

A question.

One that would start the most important conversation of his life.

Twenty-two

Once Morgan had invited Rowles into the study for brandy, Joan was at loss as to how to pass the time till she was called upon. Frankly, she was irritated at the custom that excluded her from their company after dinner, even if it was only for a short time. Yet her irritation solved nothing. She’d retired to the library to wait upon her brother’s leisure, her mind evaluating the dinner conversation. As she sank into a soft wing-backed chair, her irritation softened. Rowles was down the hall, and there was some reason her brother had invited him to dinner. The tension was too high, and Morgan was in too foul of a humor for it to be anything less than significant. When she’d asked her brother why the duke had called earlier, he’d said, “You.” That conveyed volumes.

And yet, nothing specific.

She rose from the chair and began to pace. Was it foolish to hope that Rowles could offer for her? Proposals were given for far less than they had already shared in conversation. What plagued her mind was her brother’s resistance. Did he truly question his friend’s acceptance of Joan’s work for the War Office? Yet for her brother to be so reluctant gave her pause, made her wonder if perhaps rather than her brother making too much of it, she was making too little.

“The carpet is showing signs of wear.” Her brother nodded to where she paused her pacing. He was leaning against the doorframe of the library, watching her with an expression that wavered from concern to sorrow to something she couldn’t see before he turned away quickly.

“An excuse to buy a new rug,” Joan suggested with a teasing tone. “Unless it’s a secret favorite of yours.”