“Because…” Morgan sighed, his shoulders caving ever so slightly. “Because he’s London’s most eligible bachelor with a mother fit for Bedlam, and when…if he found out about your education and how you use it freely, he wouldn’t necessarily appreciate it for the gift that it is. Rather, he’d likely see it as a precursor to his mother’s malady. She was…she was quite educated in her youth, and there were rumors of her working as a spy…” He paused. “All I know is that there are similarities, and enough of them that it’s not a stretch. And…I want better for you than that, Joan. The last thing you want is for someone you have a tender affection for to think you’re a bit unhinged.”

Chest tight, Joan struggled to take a deep breath. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” Morgan asked, his tone soft and…defeated.

“Think I sound unhinged? That something is not right with me? Because I love to study handwriting and behavior and use that skill for my king and country?”

Morgan frowned, his jaw clenching. “Joan, you’re my sister. I would fight the fires of hell for you. And I’ve seen firsthand from day one your abilities. But that is far different than someone coming to understand them right now. I know you’re perfectly sound of mind and heart.”

Joan released the breath she’d been holding. It was silly, she knew. Morgan had always been her champion, but she needed to hear it again.

Because sometimes she did feel a little different.

Like an outsider.

Even in her own family.

“But I also have eighteen years of your consistency to prove it. Others…do not. This is why we had that conversation before your debut,” Morgan continued.

“I understand. Thank you,” Joan replied honestly. “Maybe it was a mistake, the come-out.”

Morgan shook his head. “No, you deserve to have a life, a future. Your come-out shouldn’t define you, merely be a facet of your beauty, inside and out.”

“Thank you.” Joan sighed.

The butler stopped by the entrance to the study with a silver tray.

“Come in.” Morgan called the older man into the room and lifted the card. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered so softly Joan almost missed it. “Show him in.”

Joan gave her brother a quizzical look as the butler departed.

“Well, it looks like perhaps we shall see how the land lies.”

“Pardon?”

Morgan raised an eyebrow and nodded to the door.

Joan turned, her belly filling with fluttering butterflies at the sight of the Duke of Westmore. Then as he met her gaze, the fluttering stopped, replaced by a heavy feeling of disappointment.

He wasn’t here to see her.

Eleven

Rowles’s observation shifted from Joan to Morgan and back. Indecision gave him pause in how to proceed. In truth, he wished to talk to both of them, but separately.