I gazed out the window of my bedchamber at Thorne Estate, watching autumn leaves dance across the grounds. How many seasons had I witnessed from this very spot? Too many to count now. My breath fogged the glass slightly—a reminder that winter approached, though I would not live to see it.
"More tea, Your Grace?" Edmund asked, his voice gentle. The grandson of our beloved Alistair had served me faithfully for decades, just as his grandfather had served my grandfather.
"Thank you, Edmund," I replied, my voice weaker than it had been even yesterday.
He helped me back to my bed, arranging pillows behind me with practiced ease. At ninety-three years, my body had finally begun its final surrender. The physicians had confirmed what I already knew—my time approached its end.
"The family has gathered in the drawing room," Edmund informed me. "Shall I send them in?"
I nodded, settling against the pillows. "All of them, yes."
