“He was always quite good with words and difficult situations. He’d talk himself out a fight—”

“And you’d knock out the aggressor.” Joan smirked even through her tears. Yes. What Morgan said was true. There was no change in their relationship. Morgan was her brother in every way that mattered. “I still wish you had told me sooner,” she confided, still irked because they hadn’t.

“I’m sure you do, and for that I apologize. Mother and Father wished to keep it secret.”

“Just as you want me to trust your love for me, I wish you had trusted my love for all of you,” Joan said, her brows pinching. “You’re still my brother, and our parents were still my parents. The truth might have raised questions, but it never changed the most important thing—my love for you.”

“I realize that now.” Morgan nodded, his brown eyes meeting hers. “Forgive me, Joan.”

“Forgiven,” she replied quickly. “Rowles said you looked for information and other things. He mentioned a blanket?” she asked, her curiosity burning.

Morgan quickly swiped his hand across his eyes as if removing tears and nodded. “Indeed, follow me.” He led the way from the study to the stairs. “It’s in the old nursery.”

Joan followed him down the hall to the room they hadn’t used for years, not since she’d been out of leading strings. As Morgan opened the door, memories of her childhood flooded her mind. It had been a good one, filled with pestering her older brothers and adoring her parents. In adopting her, they’d given her a gift she didn’t even understand.

And even more, she owed the mother of her birth. Whomever she was, she had given her daughter the best life possible, without even knowing. She’d been selfless, surrendering her child—if it was anything like with most foundlings at the hospital. Joan knew what drove women to make those difficult choices. And it was hope.

Hope that their child would live.

Hope that their child would thrive.

Hope that they were giving their child a future they couldn’t give themselves.

“Here.” Morgan had opened the wardrobe and withdrawn several boxes, one wooden with a lock. “The key was lost years ago, or so Mother had said. I broke into it a few days ago, when I was certain that Rowles would tell you.”

Joan nodded, then had a question pop into her mind. “Why Rowles? Why did you ask him to tell me, instead of telling me yourself?”