And in her, he saw something greater than birthright or station. She was proof that there was truth in the writings of John Locke—that every soul entered this world as a blank slate, shaped not by the accident of their birth, but by their choices, by the fire in their spirit.
And his soul, his heart, his very being… had already been shaped by her.
“You must know I have loved you from the beginning,” she said softly.
Her lips curled into a smile—genuine, open, holding nothing back. But then, just as quickly, a shadow of doubt flickered behind her eyes.
“But… you know that you cannot marry the daughter of a tenant. It’s impossible.” She grimaced, squeezing him tighter, as if she could soften the blow. “Let’s just enjoy what we have now.”
Alastair shook his head. Not in denial—because, of course, what she said was true. By every expectation, by every rigid rule ingrained in them since birth, marriage between them was unthinkable.
But that did not mean he would accept it.
Dearest Daisy had always been the practical one. A little too practical sometimes.
But on this—on them—she was wrong.
Not because he was blind to reality. Not because he was some reckless, lovesick boy who did not understand the weight of what he was asking.
But because he refused to let archaic customs dictate his future.
Such rules were obstacles meant to be outmaneuvered—walls that could be climbed if one was clever enough. And if there was one thing Alastair had always been, it was clever.
Since childhood, he had found ways to bend circumstances to his will, to charm and cajole and push until the world shaped itself to his liking. Why should this be any different?
The notion that something was impossible, to Alastair, had always felt more like a challenge. Especially when he wanted something.
And he had never wanted anything—needed anyone—the way he wanted and needed Daisy.
Daisy Montgomery would be his duchess. And he would prove to the world—and to her—that love was stronger than tradition.
On more than one occasion his uncle had suggested a betrothal between himself and the Marquess of Waterbury’s daughter, but such a match would never come to pass.
Because Alastair was in love with Daisy.
And their love, he knew, would conquer all.
A STOLEN MOMENT IN TIME
Lying on the cool grass beside her true love, Daisy pushed thoughts of the future away.
Unlike Alastair, she held no delusions that the time between the two of them could go on forever. They might have one more year together, or one more month. But eventually, this surreal connection between the two of them would be severed.
One day, Alastair would be duke.
She would always be the daughter of a man who worked the duke’s land.
Alastairwouldleave her.
Daisy had always known it, had understood it from the moment she first laid eyes on him, from the day he’d sought her out.
Their stolen moments were temporary, a fragile dream she would have to wake from sooner or later.
When the time came, yes, her heart would break—but hearts were resilient things. Long after he married a proper lady of high birth, someone chosen for him by his father or uncle, she would still have this.
These memories. These golden, fleeting moments of reckless happiness.
She would toil in the fields beside her father, planting and harvesting as the seasons turned. In the evenings, she’d cook and clean beside her mother, hands busy with the simple, steady work of living. Perhaps one day, there would be a husband at her side, children to chase after, a life built from practicality rather than impossible dreams.
