The words filtered through the air and landed on Joan’s ears with an odd familiarity. While not memorized, they were certainly recognizable. And comforting, reminding the listener that it wasn’t the end, but a new beginning.

She liked to think of it that way. Less final, less painful, and full of…hope.

The world could use more hope. The litany continued.

O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered: Accept our

prayers on behalf of thy servant the Duchess Westmore,

and grant her an entrance into the land of light and joy,

in the fellowship of thy saints; through Jesus Christ thy Son,

our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit,

one God, now and forever. Amen.

Finally, the coffin containing the duchess’s body was lowered into the earth, and with a final word, the curate left his post. Rowles stepped forward, drawing Joan along with him as he approached his mother’s final resting place. His shoulders were rigid, and he lowered his head in silent prayer. Joan lowered her eyes, studying the fresh dirt. She offered her own silent words, praying for the troubled woman’s soul, hoping it finally found rest. Surely the God of Grace would give her peace. Finally.

As Joan opened her eyes, she studied Rowles, rigid and staunch next to her, a soldier standing guard. She yearned to lay her head on his shoulder, or wrap a comforting arm around his waist, but they had gone against society’s customs enough as it was. Rowles led her away, and they watched as torches were lit, and the mourners continued their wailing, but now in more subdued tones. It was finished.

Later, after the mourners had left, they walked back to the carriage that would carry them home. Rowles held himself firm; Joan could feel his bunched muscles in his arm as he escorted her, with Morgan on her other side.

“Thank you for attending.” Rowles met Morgan’s gaze and turned to meet Joan’s. “I know I said it earlier, but it bears repeating.”

Morgan gave a curt nod. “It is finished, and I always found that to be a relief.”

“Indeed, you are correct,” Rowles agreed.

Morgan cleared his throat and shuffled his feet.

“I didn’t realize how much so,” Rowles began. “But I find I’m…optimistic.”

Joan watched him, thankful for his words. “Truly?”

“Yes, it’s the final obstacle. Unless you count time,” he added.

“Time?” Joan asked.

“Yes, time. Two weeks, to be exact.” He tapped her nose with his finger. This time the amusement that lit his features brightened his eyes as well.

“And what exactly happens in two weeks?” Joan played along, lifting a shoulder.

Rowles chuckled. “I’m certain it will be an event that will bear the title of best day of my life.”

“That’s a heavy expectation.”

“And I have no fear of it being fully realized,” he said.