Alastair was already up, heating water on the stove and moving confidently around the kitchen as he prepared breakfast. She smiled softly, remembering his first attempts at cooking. Initially, his lack of experience had been charmingly obvious, but that only served to endear him further to her.
As did, of course, the fact that he managed to look ridiculously handsome so early in the morning, with his hair ruffled, his shirt unbuttoned, and his feet bare.
“Good morning.” He shot her a proud expression as he slid one slightly burned egg onto a plate.
It felt odd not to be the first one awake—not to be the person responsible for setting the tone of the day and ensuring everything unfolded exactly as it should.
“Good morning,” Daisy said softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear and wishing, not for the first time, that it would stay there.
Lately, against all common sense, she’d begun taking greater care with her appearance. She spent extra time each morning taming her unruly hair, tying it back in a pretty knot, and selecting some of her more flattering gowns. It was silly, really, considering she always ended up covering them with an apron.
“Are you hungry?” Alastair asked, glancing at her proudly as he set the plate in front of her.
She exhaled, pushing aside the familiar flutter in her stomach with a gentle laugh. “Ravenous.” But instead of taking a seat, she placed the small box carefully on the worktable between them, and not meeting his eyes, casually added, “I brought something down for you to look through.”
Crossing to the hook where her apron hung, she slipped it off and fastened it over her gown, the action feeling oddly like donning armor.
“I just added three eggs for Gilbert.” Daisy felt Alastair’s curious gaze follow her.
“He’ll inhale them, as usual…” But she waved him toward the box on the table. “Why don’t you look at those while I finish breakfast?”
He hesitated, his expression wary, but then took the seat near the box.
“What are these?” he asked, eyeing the box with clear suspicion.
“A few clippings I’d forgotten that I saved. But they might be helpful…”
His lips quirked wryly. “Why do I feel like I’m about to regret this?”
Still, he unlatched the lid, revealing a stack of carefully cut-out newspaper articles. The folded papers near the top were more of a crisp white, but those buried deeper had yellowed with age.
“Oh, Daisy…” Alastair’s shoulders relaxed as he carefully lifted them out.
Daisy all but held her breath while he sorted through the top articles. One by one, he read various headlines aloud.
“‘Lovington betrays father’s memory by siding with the Whigs… Lovington unwilling to abandon election reform… Is Lord Griswold’s daughter good enough for the elusive Duke of Love?’These cannot all be about me.” He paused to peruse a few of the articles but dismissed twice as many.
“My apologies for their condition.” Daisy turned to the stove and checked the water, mostly just to give her something else to focus on, and shrugged despite the heat ebbing up her neck. “My client’s husband reads over breakfast.” She pointed to an old stain. “Hence the remnants of kidney pie and spilt tea.”
“You cut out articles about… me,” he said. “And saved them.”
“It’s terribly embarrassing, really, and I never expected you’d be such a favorite of the gossip columnists. But I remembered I had them last night and realized they might be helpful now.” Her insides shivered because they hadn’t discussed the past—their former relationship—since that long conversation in the dining room a few weeks before.
He had to know why she’d saved them.
The gossip sections were the worst, tying him to variousladies of theton—notably a beautiful and famous opera singer. She hadn’t minded when she’d read of their split.
Oh, how she’d hated those, yet she’d kept each and every one.
Would she ever be able to let go?
“It’s like reading about someone else.” He glanced up. “Honestly, I’m a little appalled at… myself.”
“But you should be proud, too.” Daisy pointed to one of the political ones.
Daisy watched his slim but strong hands sort the clippings out across the table.
Why did his attackers leave him outside her garden, of all places?
