“Don’t,” Morgan answered, his eyes narrowing.

“Why?” Joan asked sweetly, thankful the conversational topic had shifted from her blunder to something else entirely.

The walk to their house in Grosvenor Square was indeed short enough, but she had the feeling that any length of walk would be too long in such conditions as the duke found himself. Any sort of diverting and distracting conversation would be most welcome, she assumed.

As well as entertaining, especially if it concerned her brother.

“Well, I do remember you were once sitting by the Cam behind one of the colleges in Cambridge. Which one was it?”

“Trinity,” Morgan ground out. “And that wasn’t my fault.”

“Nor was this ours,” Rowles replied, then shot an apologetic smirk to Joan. “It had rained that morning, and you were walking to St. John’s Kitchen Bridge, but a bird… What was it again?”

“A swan.” Morgan sighed.

“That’s why you hate swans?” Joan asked, surprise raising the pitch of her voice.

Morgan glared at her. “It’s reason enough.”

Joan shrugged and turned back to Rowles. They had just exited the park and were heading toward the square.

Rowles looked to her, mirth making his blue eyes twinkle. “The poor creature was only trying to land.”

“The bloody thing weighed at least two stone,” Morgan all but shouted. He scanned the area about him and then turned to Joan. “Pardon me.”

She waved off his offering. It wasn’t as if she’d never heard her brother use language like that before, nor would it be the last time. But they were in public, so she supposed that required some sort of contrition.

“Regardless, the swan must not have seen you. I do believe you were wearing a green coat. Maybe it thought you blended in with the grass?”

“Perhaps,” Joan added playfully, earning an approving nod from Rowles.

Morgan gave the two of them a baleful glare.

“Anyway, the bird clipped your shoulder as it tried to land in the river and sent you sprawling into the water with it.”

Joan held up one gloved hand to cover her wide smirk as she laughed at the image that created in her mind.

“I was a few steps behind your brother, luckily, and watched the whole sordid event transpire. I’m not sure who was more confused, Morgan or the swan.”

Joan covered her mouth with both hands. It wasn’t polite to laugh so boisterously in public, but the tale and the imagery being portrayed threatened her decorum. She breathed in through her nose and laughed, willing her body to calm but it was no use.

She snickered.

She held back a snort.

And then as if sensing her delicate balance of self-control, Rowles arched a brow and squeezed a stream of water from his coat onto the path.