Clutching the shaving kit, she descended the stairs and found that Alastair had claimed the seat Gilbert had vacated.
“My father kept it sharp, but it’s been a while...” Daisy set the small velvet pouch on the table, opening the flap to reveal a gleaming razor nestled beside a well-worn leather strop. With practiced ease, she took the blade between her fingers and ranit over the leather, the rhythmic motion releasing a familiar scent—oil, steel, and a hint of cedar. The fragrance transported her to a different time, back when her father had still been the man she’d adored—before the accident, before the pain, before the gin.
She swallowed, pushing those memories aside.
“You’ve never been married, then?”
Alastair’s voice cut through the quiet, pulling her back to the present. She jerked slightly, the razor slipping in her grip before she tightened her hold.
“Oh, no.” She laughed, but the sound was light and hollow, as if the question itself were absurd. As if it didn’t strike right at the core of something she didn’t want to examine too closely.
She bit her lip.
Once he shaved, she would know—she’d be certain. Because if he truly was Alastair… she would recognize his mouth, his chin, every sharp and softened edge of his face.
The thought sent an unsteady ripple through her chest.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” he said, his tone gentler now, as if he sensed her disquiet, if not the real reason behind it.
Daisy exhaled, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It’s fine. Just not a bothersome question, I suppose.”
“My apologies,” he said.
Her heart gave an erratic thud, and she dropped her gaze to the razor, focusing on the steel rather than the man watching her so intently.
“It’s quite all right,” she added quickly. “But marriage isn’t for me. I have Gilbert to think of, and my shop…”
She ran the blade over the strop again, though it was already sharp enough. The motion kept her hands busy, kept her mind from spiraling. But it didn’t stop the whisper of doubt—of impossible hope—pressing against her ribs.
She had suspected. From the moment she looked into hisgreen eyes, she had felt it. But the bruises, the beard, the fever—they had kept her from knowing for sure.
Now, in just a few strokes of the blade, she would know.
“You look as though you know what you’re doing,” Alastair commented.
“My father liked having a good shave, but his hands shook horribly in the end.” She rarely spoke of those days. She certainly hadn’t reminded Gilbert of them.
But it had been hard. Watching her father’s condition deteriorate and then… afterwards, once he was gone… For years, although not alone, she’d felt incredibly lonely.
Knowing she would lose herself in this stranger’s eyes if she looked directly at them, she kept her head down, blinking away the sudden storm of emotions—memories of carefree days spent working the farm, before Alastair left the Priory.
It was foolish to let her thoughts linger like this, on a part of her life she could never return to. Pointless to imagine.
Even if he was Alastair, they could not go back in time. They lived in different worlds, always had, actually…
She couldn’t be distracted by past disappointments. No, she had Gilbert’s future to think of—and her own. And she was succeeding,dash it all!
What was she doing, imagining she might find Alastair’s face beneath that thick beard?
She felt his gaze on her as she prepared the blade, and she couldn’t help but ask. “Are you sure you’re up to the task?” Just a few days ago, he’d been unconscious, so weak he could barely swallow a spoonful of willowbark tea.
He hesitated, his fingers grazing his beard as if assessing the effort it would take. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out,” he finally said.
His tone was light, but Daisy caught the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He was testing himself, gauging how muchstrength he had truly regained. For all his confidence, he was still recovering, and… lost.
“Here.” She set the blade down and sighed. “I can help if you need me to.”
He glanced up at her, his gaze unreadable. “I appreciate that.” And then he rubbed his jaw again and said, “I can’t imagine I’ve ever allowed it to grow this long. I am feeling quite uncivilized.”
