“Ah, there you are. I thought you’d been swallowed up by your bed,” Morgan said by way of greeting. He lowered the London Times only enough to see her, then returned to whatever article he’d been reading.

“What’s so dreadfully important that you needed to send my maid to pester me awake?” Joan replied without preamble.

“Aren’t you jolly this morning.”

“I’ll be jolly when I have tea and breakfast.”

“Then by all means.” Morgan released one hand from the paper and waved toward the sideboard.

Joan breathed deeply of the sweet scent of bacon and jam, then selected several items for her plate before finding a seat beside her brother.

She poured herself a cup of tea, breathing in the steam with a greedy impatience as she sipped the hot liquid. Then she sighed and turned to her brother. “I’m ready.”

“Took you long enough. I thought you’d want to see this.” Morgan carefully folded the paper in half and laid it beside her plate, pointing to a bold headline on the third page.

FRENCH SMUGGLERS CAUGHT OFF THE COAST OF CORNWALL

Joan read the article. “It was a smuggling operation?”

“Yes, and thanks to your efforts, they were easily located and arrested. You saved the War Office much time and many provisions by eliminating the need to set up surveillance at two areas. Well done, Saint.” He winked.

Joan smirked at her brother. “Well, that is a great start to the day, is it not?”

“I thought so, but you needed some convincing.”

“I’ve changed my attitude,” Joan replied saucily as she took another sip of tea.

“Oh, and this might be of some interest as well.” Morgan lifted a society page from beside his empty plate. “The society papers work harder than the actual news, I believe. This was a quick turnaround as far as gossip is concerned.”

Joan plucked the single sheet from his hand and read it. It was the Tattler page that often circulated after notable events or parties. That it came the day after her come-out was an indication that the party had been a very important one. Joan blushed at the implication.

It was a lovely evening, with lovely people with lovely gowns and evening attire. But the highlight was the way the pure English flower danced with a duke whose name bears a dark, ominous cloud. Can beauty overcome the stigma of blood? One has to wonder…and we’ll be curiously watching from afar.

“That’s odd.” Joan frowned as she reread the phrasing that most intrigued her. “I’m not sure I’d insult the Duke of Westmore in such a way. It’s utterly inaccurate as well.”

When Morgan was silent, she turned her attention to him.