Unfortunately, and occasionally a little vexingly, Mrs. Farley considered it her Godly duty to keep Daisy appraised of her opinion—on other families who lived nearby, as well as the state of Daisy’s soul, which was in peril, seeing as how she, a woman of seven and twenty, insisted upon living her life without the protection of a husband.
But Daisy would deal with Mrs. Farley later.
For now, with the stranger showing signs that he might live, Daisy had an altogether different concern.
What on earth was she going to do with him?
EYES FLECKED WITH GOLD
When Daisy checked on her patient after supper, she was pleased to find that his fever had not returned. And for now, his sleep seemed restful. Restorative.
She hadn’t allowed herself to contemplate the shock she’d felt when she had first looked into his eyes. Not until later that night, when the house was quiet and the world had slowed.
Lively green eyes. Identical to the ones she had lost herself in years ago.
Except, Alastair’s eyes had always held light. Hope.
The man in her pantry? He mostly just looked confused and lost—when he was conscious enough to look any way at all.
Later, after she had finished her chores and long after Gilbert had completed his homework and gone to bed, Daisy crept into the pantry and lowered herself onto the small stool beside the mattress.
Now that his fever had broken, she could finally study him properly.
After washing out the dirt and blood, his dark hair had emerged sleek and silky, just as Alastair’s had once been.
But the beard was wrong. It had thickened with each passing day, obscuring the lines of his cheeks, his jaw, his mouth.
It made it impossible for her to be sure.
Ten years had passed.
Alastair would be nearly thirty now—a titled gentleman, not the reckless young man on the brink of adulthood she had once known.
Would his shoulders be this broad?
The stranger stirred, and Daisy jumped. And then his eyes opened again, reaching inside her heart and squeezing it.
She’d never seen anyone with eyes like Alastair’s—that striking green, flecked with gold.
Until now.
His gaze met hers, steady, searching.
“Hello.” The word came out gravelly, and Daisy had to clear her throat. “Do you remember where you are? My name?”
He blinked, his expression unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse from disuse—and the fever.
“Daisy.”
The name landed like a stone in her stomach.
For a half-second, she thought—it is him.He knows me.
But then, his next words pulled her right back into reality.
“You’ve been nursing me—caring for me.”
Her heartbeat steadied. Of course. She had introduced herself before. Hadn’t she?
