Her heart swelled. Woodland Priory.Home.
Giant, happy tears swelled in her throat.
“If you’re asking what I think you’re asking…” She inhaled deeply, then exhaled with certainty. “I’d love that.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “So, you’ll marry me?”
“Yes.”
Relief flickered across his features before he pulled her close, his lips capturing hers. “We have so much time to make up for,” he murmured against her mouth. “So many kisses…”
“And more,” she whispered.
Their lips parted, and Alastair cradled her face in his hands.
“I lost you once, and that never should have happened,” he said. “I was reckless to trust my uncle with my heart, with my legacy. Going forward, I want to be more involved at the Priory. I can’t change the past, but I can make better choices for the future.”
“I like the sound of that.” Daisy traced a finger along his jaw, her smile growing. “I can still make my soaps.”
“You can do whatever you like,” he vowed.
She could teach the tenant wives her craft—help them earn a better livelihood for their families.
“I’ll hire a tutor for Gilbert,” Alastair added. “And when he’s ready, if he chooses, we can send him to Eton.”
Daisy’s breath caught. It was surreal, making plans for a future she had never allowed herself to dream of. And yet, here they were.
And today, right now, they were alone.
She searched his face. “Are you sure?”
Alastair’s eyes burned with conviction. “More than ever.”
She would finally belong to him. And he would belong to her.
“My sweet duke,” she whispered.
She reached for him, captured his mouth in a kiss that tasted of love, of promise.
“Sweet duke of mine.”
EPILOGUE
AUTUMN, WOODLAND PRIORY
Daisy sighed as she nestled closer to Alastair, her cheek pressed against his chest, her fingers lazily tracing the embroidered crest on his waistcoat. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of honeysuckle—remnants of summer clinging stubbornly to the vines that were climbing their willow tree.
“It still feels strange sometimes,” she murmured, watching a russet leaf twirl lazily from the branches looming around them. “Being here like this.”
Alastair hummed, his hand drifting absently along her back. “Strange in what way, love?”
Daisy tipped her head up, vaguely counting the gold flecks in his green eyes—six in the left, eight in the right.
"That this is real?” Daisy murmured, stretching languidly beneath the canopy of golden leaves. “That Woodland Priory is our home? That we’re lying beneath this very tree again—except this time, we’re properly wed, and your uncle isn’t lurking about?"
Alastair chuckled, shifting onto his side, propping himself on one elbow so he could stare into her eyes. "Andno one is here to interrupt us, either,” he said. “Not even Mrs. Farley.”
Daisy sighed, recalling exactly what they’d been doing just moments ago—and what they would no doubt be doing again. "She’d be positively scandalized."
