Unfortunately, the time of the wedding was at ten in the morning, instead of eight as he’d originally hoped. But as the carriage took him home, he considered that Joan might appreciate a few extra hours of preparation.

Yet his lighthearted and joyful mood had one damper—the news Morgan had disclosed last night concerning Joan’s birth.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he considered the quandary. It mattered not to him that she was not titled by blood, but it did put pressure on him that made him consider the best option for her.

Unlike the proposal, information about her birth wasn’t a question he could pose to her. Once he spoke the truth of it, there was no taking it back—no unrevealing what had been revealed.

He considered his own reactions if the situation were reversed. Would he want to know? Yes. Likely he would. Did the truth change anything? No. It didn’t.

He twisted his lips as he considered anything that could be gained from telling her the news. He couldn’t think of any benefits from knowing. However…the one thought that plagued him was the truth that in knowing something but keeping his silence, he was in a way choosing to be dishonest. And should the truth ever come to light, and she discovered that he knew and didn’t tell her, that would be far more damaging than any other aspect. It could cripple their friendship, their relationship. And that possibility was a risk too great.

It was settled; he would tell her. The only question left was when? He was still mulling that over when he stepped from the carriage once it stopped in front of his house.

“Your Grace.” His butler met him at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door. “The doctor is waiting for you in your study,” he stated softly, but with purpose and intention.

Rowles met his stare, nodded once, and entered the house, his steps purposeful as he turned to the study door.

“Doctor,” Rowles greeted his visitor, his earlier elation evaporating at the haggard appearance of the man.

“Your Grace.” The doctor bowed, then paused.

“Did something happen?” Rowles asked, his impatience gnawing at his mind.

The doctor nodded. “Your Grace, I think it is best for you to come and see your mother. There was…an event this morning that—”

“What happened?” Rowles asked with a clipped tone, needing more information than was being offered.

“She overdosed on laudanum,” the doctor admitted quietly, as if whispering of the news would soften the blow.

“How?” Rowles asked, his heart pounding with understanding. Laudanum in any excessive dose was lethal.