Because what if he didn’t return the interest?

She thought back to the suitors who had paid her court the day after her come-out and would probably come to her at-home hours today as well. The duke had not participated in the courtship ritual of paying a social call. No, his social call had been directed at her brother.

She had seen him first and proceeded to have a conversation.

A conversation that she still carried with her.

Drat the man.

The carriage came to a halt in front of her home, and with a resigned huff, she straightened her gloves and stepped out onto the gravel of the driveway. Taking the stone steps, she made her way through the door and down the hall toward the grand staircase. What she wanted was to find a distraction from caring about the Duke of Westmore and wondering whether he happened to care about her. She was almost to the stairs when she heard her brother’s voice.

“Ah, there you are.” Morgan’s boots clicked on the wooden floor at a quickened pace.

Joan paused in her steps and turned toward the sound. “Yes. I only this moment arrived,” she replied, her tone clipped even as she tried to be polite. It wasn’t her brother’s fault she was in a sour mood.

Morgan slowed his progress and studied her. The lines on his forehead drew together as he frowned a moment, then nodded as if understanding dawned. “You’ve seen it, then.”

It was Joan’s turn to frown as confusion momentarily distracted her from irritation. “Seen what, exactly?”

“The papers? Well, the Tattler. Not sure I should call that by the same name as the Times.” He shrugged.

“The society papers? Good mercy, what have they said this time?” She stopped a fraction shy of an eye roll. Her patience was wearing thinner by the moment.

Morgan rocked on his heels once. “So you haven’t. Then why the devil are you acting like you’re angry?”

“Turns out I have other concerns than the on-dit of the moment.”

“Even if you are the on-dit of the moment?”

Joan paused her next breath. “Pardon?”

“Come, follow me.” Morgan turned and headed toward his study. “I have the sheet on my desk.”

Joan followed him down the hall and through the open door of his study. The cheerful light was the opposite of her mood. Morgan lifted a single sheet from his desk. The print was familiar, the same gossip publication that had been circulating for the past half a year. Joan plucked it from her brother’s hands and began to read.