He placed a finger under her chin, lifting it till her eyes met his. “I see you.” He breathed the words, promised them. “I see your strength, your determination, your stubborn nature and fierce devotion. I see your capabilities, your kind heart, and the honesty that flows through your veins. I see the love you have for others, for your family, and beyond all my understanding, the love you have for me, and it touches my soul in ways I never knew existed.”

Her green eyes widened, softened, and with the gentlest touch, her lips met his. Her hand cupped his chin, drawing him in as she deepened the kiss.

Rowles was undone.

He made love to her mouth, with every stroke of his tongue and graze of his lips; he worshiped her. His soul fused with hers, his heart matched her cadence as he pulled her in closer, his arms banding around her shoulders as his fingers traced down her arms, only to dance up and down her back, mapping every soft inch he touched.

“I love you,” he whispered as he paused between kisses, needing to say the words, hear them in his own voice, speak them over her.

Without breaking contact, Joan said, “I love you.”

The clinking of china filtered through Rowles’s fevered mind, and after a moment, he kissed her one final time and reluctantly withdrew. He allowed his fingers to trace down her arms, savoring one last touch before he noted with approval her bee-stung lips.

Joan frowned as if confused, but as the maid came in with a tray of tea things, her eyes dawned with understanding as her cheeks bloomed with color anew.

Rowles squeezed her hand and nodded his thanks to the maid, who set the tea service on the small table before them.

Taking up her former place against the wall, awaiting the instructions of her mistress, the maid once again became a silent sentinel keeping watch.

Joan sighed softly; it was a sound of contentment but also wistfulness. “I’ll pour. How would you like your tea?”

“Thank you. With cream and sugar, please.” And with a grin he whispered, “However, nothing is as sweet as you, so why even bother?”

Her blush gave away her pleasure at the artless compliment.

And as Rowles sipped his tea, he couldn’t help but thank the heavens that while he mourned, he was also blessed with the greatest promise of future joy. A life with Joan.

Thirty

Joan took in a deep, determined breath through her nose as she focused on anything but her reflection.

She would stand by Rowles tonight as he said his final goodbyes to his mother, but in doing so, it would freshen the memories of her own goodbyes.

Her father.

Her mother.

Her brother.

So much loss.