Joan smiled. “He’s not infirm, but his mother likely is.” She flicked her wrist. “I’ve never met her, but he’s not. I can tell you that for certain.” She went back to her tea and took a sip. “I recently read Juan Luis Vives’s—”

The silence made her stop and look from her plate to the newspaper and then finally to her brother. His expression indicated that Morgan was mulling over her commentary. He folded the paper and braced his hands on the table as he leaned forward. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” Joan asked, an uneasy sensation unwinding in her belly. Morgan’s talents included relentlessly ferreting out the truth.

“What you said so casually concerning your dance with Rowles.”

“Waltz, actually. If we’re to be as detailed as you’re attempting to be.”

“Cheeky thing,” Morgan drawled. “Very well, you waltzed with him, and even the society gossip pages took notice.”

“May I remind you that I waltzed with him because he was obliging you?”

“Not important.” Morgan waved off her words impatiently.

Joan sniffed at his rebuttal and took a sip of tea, eyed the laid out food, and started to fill a plate. She needed a moment of distraction to collect her thoughts.

“What did you do? Because for you to be so sure of something—”

“Do you think he’s…like his mother?” Joan asked impatiently. She set her teacup down and leaned toward Morgan.

“Heavens, no.” Her brother had the good grace to look offended by such a question.

“Why?” she asked, her dry tone earning a scowl from him.

“Because I’ve known him for over a decade. You, on the other hand, know him only through my acquaintance, so forgive me if I question my very…perceptive sister”—he looked around, taking into account the servants present—“about her convictions.”

Joan twisted her lips.

Morgan’s stare pierced her. “Are you finished?” He gestured to her still-full plate.

“No. I’ve been arguing with you and haven’t had much opportunity to do anything else,” Joan replied, then took an exaggeratedly slow bite of bacon and chewed methodically. It was amusing to watch Morgan’s ears turn red with irritation.

“Bring it with you and follow me.” He gave a pointed look to the footman beside the sideboard and stood, indicating for her to rise as well.

She sent him a scowl. “You’re awfully pushy today.”

“I’m sure I could come up with some accurate adjectives for your behavior as well, seeing as my ‘pushy’ attitude is a reaction to you.” He resettled her chair under the table for her, then led her down the hall.

Joan lifted the last rasher of bacon to her mouth and chewed as she followed Morgan to his study. He closed the door behind them and took a seat. Drat, she was in for a lecture and it wasn’t even half eleven in the morning.