She shivered even as an unexpected vise squeezed her chest. Was it fear? Understandable, yes. But for now, Daisy refused to acknowledge it.
But it did get her moving, washing up and changing into a different gown than the wrinkled one on the floor.
Downstairs, she didn’t immediately announce herself, but waited at the threshold, watching her brother chop vegetables while Alastair sautéed slices of meat on the stove.
And the sight, it brought a massive lump to her throat. Her brother had barely known their father, and seeing him enjoying the companionship of another male figure was bittersweet.
“Don’t forget the salt. And garlic. Daisy always adds at least four cloves of garlic.”
Alastair was cooking her recipe. With her brother.
Dash it all, if she didn’t shake this off, she’d turn into a puddle of sentimental treacle. So she pushed herself away from the door and stepped inside. “Supper smells like it’s going to be delicious.”
Alastair glanced over, sending her a look that further weakened her knees. Her brother halted the movements of the knife and studied her with concern.
“I’ve never known you to sleep in the day. Are you unwell?”
“Just lazy, I’m afraid. But I’m well enough.” She most certainly couldn’t tell her younger brother that, although her muscles ached, her body was a giant lump of satisfaction.
Alastair raised a brow.
“Quite well, actually,” she added. She would not blush.
She donned her apron and went to work dicing an onion and again found herself melting inside as the conversation flowed around her.
All of this felt too natural—too perfect.
In no time at all, the stew had thickened, and the three of them sat down to eat dinner together.
Gilbert, as per usual, enthusiastically shared the more interesting facets of his lessons that day. Alastair encouraged him with astute comments and challenging questions.
And Daisy sat and listened with half an ear, quieter than usual, reeling from all that had happened that day.
“Have you remembered anything yet—who you really are?” Gilbert asked toward the end of the meal. It was the first thing Gilbert had asked her every morning since Alastair arrived.Who is he?
But the answer was far more complicated than a simple name.
Was Alastair her friend? Her lover? More than that?
Her past.
Her future?
“Not yet. Just a few images, unfocused, though.” They’d decided that until Alastair knew all of the truth, they would keep his identity to themselves. “Interesting that I’ve retained the benefits of my schooling. The brain, young Gilbert, values education.” He laughed, meeting Daisy’s gaze as he took a bite of stew.
She dipped her chin in an almost imperceptible nod.
She didn’t want to bring Gilbert into any of this. It was all too new. Too… fragile.
And possibly dangerous.
When they finished eating, Daisy shooed her brother off to finish his homework while she and Alastair remained behind to clear the table together.
The quiet between them felt heavier than it should have. And, inexplicably, she wasn't sure what to say.
“You don’t have to help me, you know.” Her voice came out softer than intended, almost uncertain.You’re a guest.
She suddenly felt stiff in his presence, acutely aware of the newness between them—this fragile, unspoken thing that had formed in the wake of that afternoon.
