A time and season for everything—including weddings—and he wouldn’t rush his for selfish reasons.

That wasn’t love.

And Joan deserved everything he could offer.

He remembered his words as he had proposed. He wasn’t the best man, but his love would be the best love.

And he vowed they would be true.

The carriage halted in front of the town home that housed his mother, and with a deep sigh of concern for what he would find within the doors, he slowly stepped from the carriage and took the steps.

The door opened, and a footman bowed as a relieved expression lit his face. “Your Grace, please come in. The doctor sent word.” The footman motioned to the stairs and Rowles nodded, taking the steps two at a time.

As he reached the landing, the older doctor bowed at Rowles’s approach. The two nurses from earlier curtsied and stood beside the doctor.

“Doctor.”

“Your Grace,” the doctor greeted. “I have evaluated your mother’s condition and it is in fact deteriorating. I wouldn’t expect her to last the night. I wanted you to be aware, should you need to make any arrangements.”

Rowles released a silent breath and nodded in understanding. “I see. May I?” He gestured to the closed door.

“Yes, of course.” The doctor opened the door and waited as Rowles walked into the room. Candles were lit, giving the room a cheery glow but the air was still, as if death lingered.

The furnishings, all so familiar, gave the room a comforting feel, even with the stillness. The fire burned quietly in the hearth as Rowles stood beside his mother’s bed, then kneeled.

Her expression was drawn, her lips tight and unmoving, as if already frozen in that position. He placed a hand on her folded ones, the chill of her skin sending shivers through his body. Her breathing was labored, much more so than earlier; with short pants, she was breathing in and out, quarter breaths rather than full ones, as if her lungs couldn’t take in more than a teaspoonful of air at a time.

“Mother?” Rowles asked, whispered, begged.

Her eyelids didn’t flicker. The only movement was the short breaths that were both silent and useless.

He squeezed her hands tenderly, his eyes closing against the brimming tears that threatened to fall.

The guilt was as bad as the sorrow because he wouldn’t miss who she’d become.

But he’d forever miss who she had once been.

But that…that woman he’d lost a long time ago, long before his brother died. And now all that was left was a shell that wasn’t a shadow of who was once the grand Duchess of Westmore.

Saying goodbye was bittersweet. Sweet because she would suffer no longer. Bitter because it meant that he was the last one.

The only surviving member of his family.