Rowles turned toward the door, watching with amusement as she gave her brother a challenging expression.

“Chaperoned, of course.” Morgan repeated Rowles’s declaration.

“I’ll ask Mary to accompany me. I’ll only need to fetch my pelisse, and I shall see you in a moment,” Joan offered to Rowles, her expression unreadable.

Rowles answered, “Of course.”

When Joan quit the room, Rowles turned back to Morgan, meeting his irritated stare.

“You realize this will cause more talk, do you not?”

“Talk happens with or without the situation to warrant it,” Rowles returned.

“Indeed. However, consider your actions and be cautious.” Morgan’s words were clipped, and Rowles had the distinct feeling of being chastised.

“I will be circumspect in every way.”

“See that you are, and don’t be out long. Thankfully, it’s not the social hour, far too early for the park to be busy.”

“I’ll avoid the commonly used paths, if you’d like.”

“Which would only create greater suspicion, as if you didn’t wish to be seen.” Morgan’s tone bordered on hostility.

“What would you have me do, Morgan?” Rowles asked in frustration.

“Make it quick and be about your business.” He leaned forward on his desk. “Forgive me, I’m trying to protect my sister. Rowles, she’s all I have, and I won’t see her reputation or chances at a match hazarded by your misguided sense of chivalry and busybodies coming to the wrong conclusions.”

“I understand.” And he did. In this, Rowles couldn’t fault his friend. He was doing what he should to protect his sister.

Rowles stood, studying his friend. “I’ll be cautious, and no damage to her reputation will come at my hands.”

“Thank you.” Morgan’s shoulders sagged as if bearing a weight he couldn’t fully shake.

Rowles left the study and made his way to the front step of the house, awaiting Joan. A few minutes later, the door opened. Joan stepped into the sunshine with a maid close behind.

“Shall we?” Rowles gestured to the cobbled road before them.

Joan nodded and started down the stairs. He stepped quickly to catch up with her. The town houses lined the street with stone grandeur, silent sentinels with watchful eyes. One was never truly alone in London due to far too many windows and even more wagging tongues. Rowles turned from the scenery to study her.

Joan’s eyes were fixed ahead, her hands grasping the fabric of her skirt tightly. Was she nervous? Whatever it was, she felt ill at ease if her posture were any indication. He wished to dispel any tension, but he was unsure how to begin.

Taking a breath, he started to speak only to find she had come to the same conclusion and tried to speak as well.

He gestured for her to go first.

“No, please,” Joan replied.