“She wanted me to wait until after breakfast, but… I cannot wait.” He met Gilbert’s eyes and then added, “And I swear to you, I will come back to her.” He hesitated, then added, “To both of you.”
Gilbert studied him in silence for a long moment, his young face far too serious for his years.
Alastair scrubbed a hand down his face. “When she wakes, she’ll explain everything to you.” He wouldn’t presume to tell the boy anything without discussing it with her first. Daisy might wish to keep some of their history to herself.
Gilbert’s eyes didn’t soften. “You were only supposed topretendto be her husband so the neighbors wouldn’t talk,” he reminded him. “But you’ve taken advantage of our hospitality, and now you intend to leave.”
It wasn’t an accusation made lightly.
Alastair met his gaze squarely—man to man. “I am leaving to clear the way so I can marry her.” He let the truth settle between them before he said firmly, “I love your sister.”
Gilbert’s jaw twitched, his expression unreadable as he absorbed this.
“She has agreed to this?” His voice had lost some of its heat.
Alastair crossed to the table and placed his palms flat on the surface. “I should have talked with you first.” He showed her brother the respect he deserved. “I’d be honored to have your blessing.” The thickness in his throat surprised him, but following a tense few seconds, Gilbert nodded.
“So long as it’s what she wants.” There was no talk ofmarriage contracts or dowries. And yet, the genuineness of the moment would be with him forever.
“It is,” Alastair said. He then rose to his full height. “But first, I need to settle my affairs.”
“Are you in danger?”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You promise?”
“Absolutely.”
Alastair strode to the door but then paused and turned. “Tell her I love her. And that I’ll return soon.”
“I will.”
Then, slowly, he gave a single nod. It was not full acceptance, but it was enough.
Still, Alastair hesitated. “Look after her until I return.”
“She’s looked after herself just fine without you,” Gilbert muttered.
Alastair smiled wryly. “That she has.”
And with that, he slipped out the door into the breaking dawn, determined to prove himself worthy of the woman waiting for him upstairs.
SHE WAS RIGHT
Alastair moved through the streets with purpose, keeping to the shadows, his collar turned up against the morning chill. The city was just beginning to wake, but he remained acutely aware of every footstep, every passing figure. He had no way of knowing who had tried to kill him, which meant he had to assume everyone was a threat.
When he reached Lovington House, he did not bother approaching the front entrance. Instead, he skirted around the side of the property, slipping through the alley that led to the servants' entrance at the back.
The heavy door creaked as he eased it open, stepping into the familiar warmth of the kitchen. The scents of fresh bread and simmering broth wrapped around him, stirring something long-buried in his memory.
And then he was met with a sharp, startled gasp.
Mrs. Tanner, the formidable woman who had ruled this space for as long as he could remember, stood stock-still, flour dusting the front of her apron. For an instant, the blood drained from her familiar, ageless face. She clutched a rolling pin in one hand as though it were a weapon.
“They said you were dead,” she breathed, her eyes wide. But then, as if coming to her senses, she straightened her spine, her sharp gaze raking over him. “You aren’t a ghost, are you?”
“Not a ghost, Mrs. Tanner.” Alastair offered her a reassuring smile. He remembered this woman—not just from stories or articles buttruly remembered.The way her hands never ceased moving, kneading dough, chopping vegetables, stirring pots. The way a younger version of himself had pilfered biscuits from the pantry while she’d scolded him in a way that suggested she wasn’t truly cross.
