Page 83 of My Dearest Duke

“You look like a scolded five-year-old,” Joan retorted.

“You sound like an old fishwife.”

“You both have no idea how thankful you ought to be,” Rowles cut in. Joan turned her attention to him, for the first time noticing the tension in his face, the tight draw of his lips.

Morgan must have sensed it, too, for he fell quiet as well.

“You’re so blessed to have each other. Stop your bickering and appreciate the fact you’re both alive and well. Good Lord, my heart nearly stopped, watching my betrothed singlehandedly halt horses and pickpocket a thief.” He looked heavenward as if also praying for strength.

“You saw that, did you?” Joan asked sheepishly.

“I’d hate to bump into you on Bond Street. You’d rob me blind.” He softened the words with a warm tone. “My Joan, a woman of many talents.”

Morgan froze, then moved his attention between them. “I gather that he knows?”

“Yes,” Joan replied, unable to stop herself from returning Rowles’s warm expression.

“I see. I suppose that went better than I expected.”

“Although I’d much prefer to be told information before I find myself on the way to perform some rescue in the future.”

“Understood.” Joan nodded, her smile still firm on her lips.

“Thank you,” Morgan added a moment later. “I suppose it’s in order to say as much.”

“I should think so,” Joan replied with a touch of irony. “Please, don’t take such action again.”

“And have you follow me? I think not,” Morgan replied. “How did you discover it, anyway?”

Joan went on to explain how they’d been searching for him, only to remember with sadness the condition of Rowles’s mother.

“When we arrived back at home, we should check on your mother,” she added, her earlier joy evaporating.

“What happened?” Morgan asked, leaning forward on his seat and resting his elbows on his knees.

“She had an episode. Only this time she confiscated the bottle of laudanum and started to drink…” Rowles’s expression closed off, his blue eyes full of walled-off sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan whispered, his brows knitting together as he spoke.

“So far it hasn’t been fatal, but that does lead me to the reason we were searching for you.” Rowles sighed. “I have an important question for the both of you to consider.”

Joan nodded, sharing a look with her brother.

Rowles continued. “Should the laudanum prove fatal for my mother, I’ll be in mourning. Which doesn’t exactly prevent our wedding, but it might not be looked upon with approval should we wed so quickly after my mother’s passing. The question is: In the event that my mother passes, what plan of action do you wish to take?”

Joan released a pent-up breath. She hadn’t considered that the duchess’s death would inhibit their wedding, yet as Rowles mentioned it, she wondered how she had missed such an obvious problem.

“You could marry by special license tomorrow,” Morgan suggested.

“If my mother makes it through the night, yes, but then I would be in mourning for our wedding trip,” Rowles added. “I suppose the question truly is, while it matters not for me—my only concern is for Joan’s reputation—what do you wish to do? Wait till mourning is over, or marry regardless?” Rowles posed the question to Joan, his blue eyes trying to keep his own feelings on the topic hidden.

Joan reached out and touched his face, cupping his jaw.

Morgan cleared his throat.

“Tomorrow. If your mother makes it through the night, we shall marry tomorrow.” Joan stroked his cheek with her thumb, watching as his eyes betrayed his relief at her words. “I don’t wish to wait any longer than I need to. You have my heart, might as well give me your name.” She bit her lip at her bold words.

He lifted her hand from his face and kissed her fingers. “I’ll go to Doctors’ Commons in the morning, if possible. If not—”

---