Daisy didn’t mind having such moments to herself—to calm her thoughts and regain her balance. This was when her father’s voice echoed in the form of her conscience, whispering that she needed to curb her expectations.
Because yes, he was Alastair, but he was not the same person she’d loved. He had no memory of the friendship they’d shared. Or of his life as the Duke of Lovington.
Someday, all of that would change.
So, although she’d decided there was nothing to do but live in the moment, she did her best to keep some distance between herself and Alastair. It was safer this way—smarter.
Because he would, undoubtedly, return to his old life. He would be duty bound to take his seat at the head of the dukedom once again, just as he had been ten years before.
And the man who lived that life, the Duke of Lovington, was the man who’d hurt her.
Hewas the one her father had warned her about.
And on this night, it caught up with her.
She tossed and turned, determined not to dwell on the undeniable magic lingering between the two of them, nor on the future she'd once dared to dream. But sleep remained stubbornly out of reach as her mind drifted again and again to Alastair—then and now, the memories they'd created, and the ones they'd been denied.
Because, truth be told, she'd never fully let him go. No matter how hard she'd tried to convince herself otherwise, a small, hidden part of her had clung to the memory of him.
And with that reminder, her eyes flew open in the darkness.
She remembered her weakness from long ago—something she’d done consciously, feeling desperate but also foolish.
Something she'd eventually hidden away, ashamed…
But perhaps it hadn't been so foolish at all.
Heart pounding, Daisy pushed the covers aside and slipped from her bed. Dropping to her knees, she reached beneath the bedframe until her fingers brushed against the small, familiar box she’d kept concealed for years.
With a combination of fondness and foreboding, she sat back on her heels and brushed a layer of dust from its lid.
She might be able to help Alastair remember.
How could she have forgotten about these clippings? Moving to where the moonlight cast a filtered light into herroom, Daisy opened the well-worn wooden box and lifted out old treasures.
It didn’t matter that she would be embarrassed at having once followed his life so diligently, she needed to show these to him.
His accomplishments. His successes.
Gossip regarding a few unsavory exploits.
But any of these details could possibly jar the puzzle pieces of his memory back into place.
The sooner Alastair regained his memory, the sooner he could secure his safety—and the sooner he could return to his own life before he claimed an even greater space in hers.
She worried about Gilbert as well. Her brother was already becoming accustomed to Alastair's steady presence—not merely enjoying his help with schoolwork, but soaking up the masculine attention and guidance craved ever since her father’s debilitating injury.
And if Daisy were honest with herself, she was struggling against cravings of her own.
Determined to do the right thing, she left the box out and slipped back under the covers.
After a fitful night’s sleep, she rose early the next morning, carried the box downstairs, and paused at the threshold of the kitchen.
Would the articles help him remember?
Did she want him to remember?Yes, but also… For a few seconds, her lungs couldn’t find enough air.
She could not allow herself to think such selfish thoughts. But that didn’t stop her from enjoying the sight that met her.
