Her brother nodded, his lips twitching in what she was certain was an effort not to crow in victory.

“I’ll go tomorrow, then.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why this sudden fascination with the orphanage?”

She shrugged. “I was told that they needed ladies to help train, teach, and mentor the young girls there.”

He studied her. “Is this information gleaned from your women’s society?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Very well. I know I won’t be able to hinder you in an effort you see as worthy and serving, so go. But be cautious.”

“Because orphans are so dangerous.”

He signed the bottom of a missive. “Nevertheless, use caution.”

“Always,” she added cheekily, and then took her leave of the study, her mind tickling with something she couldn’t name.

It felt like suspicion.

But it was more.

Her brother wouldn’t lie to her.

He couldn’t.

Could he?

Thirteen

Rowles had never been so grateful to don dry clothing in all his life. By the time he’d arrived at his residence, his breeches had chafed something awful and his wool coat had shrunk tight to his shoulders. Blisters were forming on his feet, and he sent longing looks to his now-ruined boots.

But if the loss of a jacket and boots were the cost of Joan’s unrestricted laughter, he would pay the price gladly.

Again and again.

His lips tugged into a bemused expression as he remembered the way her gray eyes narrowed into slits when she lost the battle of her amusement, her laughter like chiming bells on Christmas Day and every bit as spectacular.

Of all the restrictions of society on women, he was especially irritated with the fact that a lady couldn’t do more than simper and giggle behind a fan without being considered impolite.

Laughter, laughter like Joan’s, was music, and should be shared, explored.

It wasn’t an impolite action.

It was a reward.

To the reason for its unleashing.

“Your Grace.”

Rowles turned to face the voice, his merriment fading as he noted the butler bringing news of his mother.

“Yes.” Rowles stood, taking a deep breath.

The butler bowed, then straightened. “The doctor has finished situating your mother’s new staff and is ready to move her, upon Your Grace’s command, to her new situation.”

Rowles nodded. “Begin at once.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.” The butler bowed. “I’ll inform the servants, and I will inform you when your mother is situated in her new environs.”

“Excellent,” Rowles answered.

The butler quit the room, taking with him all the earlier amusement that had filled Rowles’s spirit.

The doctor had procured what he considered the greatest and most able nurses in London as well as a staff capable of managing his mother, should she fly into a violent rage once again.