From there it was simple to deduce the root of it. After all, everyone in London knew about his mother’s ailments. And if she were in his place, the one question that would plague her would be…what if?

What if it happened to me?

Is that my future?

What will happen if…?

It was deduction.

And those fears were unnecessary.

His heart was as solid as the vivid blue of his eyes, his expression and mannerisms clear. It was in the way he held her gaze and the peace that she saw residing deep within. Those who harbored the weight of deception didn’t display such a demeanor. Didn’t he deserve to know the truth so he could release the burden he carried?

She had used that as justification to tell him…when he pressured her. But again, doing so had been going too far.

And it revealed too much of herself, of what secrets she kept.

Morgan had cornered her after the ball as they made their way to find their beds for the night.

“Anything I should know about?” he’d asked.

Unable to lie, she cast her look to the floorboards.

Morgan had sighed, then tried a gentler tone. “Is there anything I should know about?”

“No.”

It wasn’t a lie because sharing personal information about others didn’t pertain to her brother…so she could refuse with a clear conscience.

Sleep had eluded her ever since and was still persistently avoiding her, so she decided to rise from bed and find a book. She lifted a leather-bound copy of Ivanhoe and sat in her wing-backed chair beside the crackling fire, careful to enjoy its warmth but not get too close. Warily, she pulled her knees in tight as she flipped through the pages to find the last one she’d read.

The lines became blurry after the second page, and before she started the next chapter, Joan was startled awake by the sound of the book hitting the floor after slipping through her drowsy fingers. She picked up the book and then climbed into her bed, thankful sleep was finding her at last.

The soft morning song of birds slowly called her awake as morning dawned, but a moment later their song was interrupted by her maid’s voice.

“Miss? Your brother is asking for you.”

Joan’s eyelids were heavy as she fought against the sleep that sweetly called her back into oblivion.

“Very well,” she mumbled, then forced herself to rise and blink.

In short order, she was dressed and her hair twisted into a simple knot as she took the hall stairs to the breakfast room.

Morgan would have to wait till she had her tea.

And toast.

And perhaps a few rashers of bacon.