Joan wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t all the light that spilled into the room, making it feel as if it were a courtyard rather than a bedroom. The farthest wall had four windows, all identical and close together, the source of the bright light that cast the rest of the room in a cheery glow. Roses lined the vanity in crystal vases, and the hearth boasted a glowing fire. Joan covered her mouth as she smiled far too widely for polite company and gave her head a slight shake. “It’s…perfect,” she murmured.

“I thought you’d like it. In a way, it reminds me of you,” Rowles said softly.

She turned. “How so?”

“It’s warm, cheery, and sheds light on everything it can.”

“You are in fine form today… Such a pretty compliment. Should I expect a sonnet later?” she teased, then turned her attention back to the room. There was a delicate writing desk in the corner and a large vanity with an oval mirror. On the opposite wall was the bed, a four-poster and canopied confection in pink roses that looked as soft and inviting as a bowl of whipped cream. “I can’t imagine one thing I’d change.” She turned to Rowles and then the housekeeper. “Thank you. I can see there was much thought and care put into its preparation.”

Mrs. Adams stood up a little straighter with the praise. “Thank you, my lady.”

Joan turned to Rowles, one question filtering through her mind. “Was this your mother’s room?” She kept her tone light, but she was curious.

Rowles shook his head. “A long time ago, yes. But she moved to a separate room when my brother took over the title.” Rowles looked down at the mention of his late brother.

Joan bit her lip, her heart hurting for his loss.

For her losses as well.

Death had a way of becoming a bold reminder of the preciousness of life.

“Thank you for showing me. I truly adore it,” she added, changing the subject back to a cheerier topic. “What else would you wish to show me?”

Rowles beamed at her. “I don’t believe you’ve seen the ballroom, and I have a lovely hall that is lined with art, but first, tea. Don’t you agree?”

At the mention of tea, her stomach gave a silent churn of hunger. “Tea is an even better idea.”

“Mrs. Adams?” Rowles asked. “Please have tea sent to the blue parlor.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She left to do his bidding, casting a backwards look as if worried about leaving them unchaperoned. Then, as if deciding that she trusted her master, she disappeared down the hall.

“I think Mrs. Adams is concerned about my reputation since we’re alone,” Joan whispered teasingly.