Rowles wiped a hand down his face. It had been necessary to keep her sedated on laudanum for the interim. He couldn’t risk her harming his staff any further, or himself. It broke his heart, but what other recourse did he have? None.

He strode over to the wide window overlooking the back garden of his home. The stone steps led down to a small hedgerow with roses and lilies, all blooming, all boasting life and color. But he felt none of it, at least not anymore.

He wanted to hear her laugh again, Joan. It would certainly be balm to his aching heart and plagued mind. But was that fair to her? He thought not. Furthermore, would it be fair to subject any woman to a mother-in-law such as his mother would be? He knew his answer to that as well. At least not now, not when he had to restrain his mother to keep her from attacking others. If he were to become engaged, the woman would want to meet her future mother-in-law. Which, under the circumstances, was impossible and would only lead to questions and result in answers he really didn’t wish to give.

While London knew his mother was ill, that knowledge was far different from telling his future wife that same blood ran through his veins and could run through any future progeny’s veins. Who would want to be saddled with that, title or not? Dukedom or not? He knew the answer: only those truly only concerned with the title. Which meant he wasn’t interested in them at all.

It was an equation in which there was no winner: only losers. He would rather lose alone than make someone else lose along with him.

A carriage pulled up into the drive and he recognized the crest.

Penderdale.

Why in heaven’s name was Morgan seeing him again after so recent a visit? A cold chill ran down his back as a suspicion grew in his mind. And it was no less than what he’d concluded himself only a moment ago. Rowles quit his rooms and took the stairs to the main floor as the butler answered the door.

“Let him in,” Rowles called, earning a bow from his butler and a nearby footman.

“I assume this isn’t purely social, is it, old friend?” Rowles asked, taking in the grim line of his friend’s countenance.

Morgan nodded.

“Come with me.” Rowles turned and led his friend to the study, then closed the door behind them. “Brandy?”

“No, thank you,” Morgan replied, his tone subdued, tired even.

“What plagues your mind?” Rowles asked, taking a seat on the couch beside the wide window. He gestured to another chair beside the fire.

Morgan nodded, sat, and leaned forward. “I…sense an attachment on Joan’s part and…I wish your assistance in severing it.”