“Are you well, Your Grace?” a gentleman asked. Joan didn’t even glance over to take note of who it was. Her eyes were fixed on Rowles, on the way the water darkened his sandy-blond hair and his blue eyes flashed with tempered amusement.

“I’m very well and excessively refreshed,” Rowles added with a jaunty bow.

The movement made his boots squeak, adding to the effect.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my leave.” He turned to Morgan. “Shall we?”

“Oh, indeed,” Morgan replied, his hand concealing his wide smile even as his words were little more than a chuckle.

Rowles turned to her, nodding once. “Lady Joan.”

“Of course. I… That is…” She took hasty steps toward the retreating gentlemen. “I’m so terribly sorry, Your Grace,” she whispered, her face heating with humiliation.

“Seeing as it was an accident, I do not think an apology is necessary.”

“Regardless—”

“I do believe that was one of the rare occasions when I was caught completely off my guard.” He chuckled softly. “I must say I’m impressed. This is a day that I will not soon forget, Joan.”

“Oh, Your Grace—”

“Rowles,” he whispered softly, so as not to draw Morgan’s attention. Her brother had stepped quicker than they had, giving a few feet of privacy.

Joan met his eyes, only seeing amusement. There was no resentment, anger, or frustration; well, perhaps a little frustration but that was understandable. One never appreciated walking in wet boots.

Or breeches, for that matter.

“Again, I apologize.”

“Are you hurt?”

His question caught her off guard. “Pardon?”

He nodded to her. “You fell. Are you hurt?”

She blinked, then nodded. “I’m quite well, certainly better than I dare say you are, Your… Rowles,” she corrected herself.

He gave her a conspirator’s smirk. “I dare say the water was a gentler fall than the wet grass, but I’m glad you’re none worse for it.”

Joan grinned in spite of herself. “I’d say the water was a gentler fall. But perhaps with greater consequences.”

Rowles chuckled, then motioned to his wet coat. “Indeed.”

“What are you two murmuring about?” Morgan turned, then smirked at his friend as the fabric of his coat dripped onto the gravel path. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in such a state, Rowles. It’s not a sight I’ll soon forget.”

“I wish I could say the same for you, but unfortunately, I’ve seen you in worse situations,” Rowles added with a touch of sarcasm in his tone.

“Oh? I do believe I wish to hear this story,” Joan chimed in, earning a glare from her brother. She was certain there were many stories of Morgan’s escapades she hadn’t been privy to, and she was all too enthusiastic to hear them. Any ammunition against one’s brother was useful.

“Misery does love company, Morgan,” Rowles threatened.