“Lamb,” he translated. “The name Agneau, or something quite similar was pinned to your blanket when they found you on the church steps.”

“So that might be my family name?” Joan asked, shocked.

“It’s possible, but it could also be a decoy since it’s a common surname. I’m not sure, but I thought you should know,” Morgan added.

Joan nodded. “Thank you.” She sucked on the corner of her lip as she absentmindedly clutched the blanket to her chest. “Morgan, you said I was found at a church, and I realize I haven’t asked how Mother and Father even found out about me.”

Morgan’s shoulders relaxed. “Ah, that is a story I do know.” He had a relieved expression. “Come, sit down with me.” He pointed to a pair of rocking chairs in the corner by a bookshelf.

“Mother couldn’t have any more children, not after Percy and I were born. The doctors said it was a miracle she survived our birthing at all.” Morgan frowned as he stared at his folded hands. “I’ll admit I’ve carried years of guilt over that, but at the same time, it was that very reason that Mother and Father adopted you, so I couldn’t feel too guilty. I was far too happy to have you…most times.” He winked.

“I did enjoy pestering you.”

“Did? As in past tense? You still enjoy it, and far too much so.”

“This is true and not going to change. I’m utterly unapologetic about it.” She cast him a saucy grin.

“Nonetheless, they never gave up wanting more children, and one spring, Father decided to skip the season. There wasn’t much need for him in London, so we stayed in our estate in West Sussex, near Chichester.”

“Oh! I love that place. Wait, is that why we didn’t go there often? Were Mother and Father concerned that the vicar would somehow let the secret out?”

Morgan nodded. “They were quite certain it wouldn’t be divulged, but rather than test that theory, they decided that if you were out of sight, you were equally out of mind.”

“I see. Continue, please?”

“Well.” He leaned back in the chair and rocked a few times. “The Church of the Holy Trinity had finished their evening service, and as the vicar was about to close the doors, he heard a cry. In the bustle of people leaving the service, no one had noticed someone leave a baby in a basket to the side of the front entrance. The vicar took you in and read the note attached to your blanket.”

“How old was I?” Joan asked.

“I’m no expert, and I was young myself, but I think quite new. A week, maybe?”

“I was so small,” Joan added, unable to imagine being all along and so young.