Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Will it always be like this?” Elizabeth asked softly, still nestled in the warmth of their bed as the morning light filtered through the curtains.
She never imagined it would be like this. Not with Alasdair, not with anyone. She had thought marriages of convenience were formal, distant affairs, bound by duty rather than desire.
Was this what he was doing? Was he simply trying to secure an heir, using pleasure as a means to an end?
Alasdair’s fingers traced slow circles along the leg she’d draped over his waist, his voice low and teasing. “I certainly hope so. What do ye think, my duchess?”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered. “Well, it’s… ideal, I suppose. But…what about your responsibilities? Your meetings with the lords you’re trying to win over?”
A familiar flicker of panic rose in her chest, the old Elizabeth, cautious and uncertain, resurfacing for a moment.
“Calm yourself, Elizabeth,” he chuckled softly. “I reckon those lords would be far more displeased if I dinnae take care to pleasure my wife during her first days of wedded bliss.”
“Wedded bliss?” she echoed, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
He smiled down at her, eyes warm and mischievous. “Aye, I imagine that’s exactly where we are now, Duchess.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me the truth about the lords expecting you to please your wife? That… doesn’t sound—”
“Plausible?” Alasdair interrupted with a smirk. “Ye’re right. Those men care little for such things. But if it means they believe this marriage is real, then perhaps it’s worth a little delay before I return to their company.”
Elizabeth’s voice sharpened as she pushed herself up, sitting upright despite the blanket pooling loosely at her waist. “Is this all part of a farce, Alasdair?”
He rose as well, settling beside her on the bed, his expression earnest. “What? No, darlin’. Some of those men could only dream of marrying someone as bonnie as ye.”
Her gaze softened as she looked at him, the uncertainty fading with every passing day.
The past few days had been unlike anything she’d dared hope for. Other women might envy the marriage she had forged, a union with a man who was strong, yet gentle; rough around the edges, yet kind in all the ways that mattered.
“I can’t help but think about what my stepmother said, how I wouldn’t marry well,” Elizabeth whispered. “She was wrong. Sometimes, a marriage doesn’t need to be a love match to be happy.”
Alasdair’s voice dropped, hoarse with something deeper as he turned toward the window, sunlight streaming in behind him. “Is that what you truly believe?”
She nodded, meeting his gaze quietly. “I do. And I believe there is so much more I have yet to learn.”
He turned back to her, his expression unreadable, almost guarded. “I do agree with that part of it.”
It felt like heaven. Beginning the day with a slow, unhurried breakfast, Elizabeth sipped tea as soft sunlight spilled through the windows. This was something she had never dared imagine.
Her father, Lord Grisham, would never have allowed such idleness. He would have kept the girls occupied from dawn until dusk.
Lady Grisham, with her ever-ticking schedule, would already have arranged visits, promenades in Hyde Park, and trips to buy the latest accessories.
Life was always busy—restless and relentless.
But here, in the quiet calm of Redmoor Hall, Elizabeth felt the luxury of time stretch before her, a rare gift. A tiny part of her stirred with guilt for the hours she spent sketching the landscape just beyond the gardens while the world moved on without her.
“What are ye thinkin’ of?” Alasdair’s voice drew her back as he watched her fingers glide over the paper, his own cup of tea cradled between his hands.
His legs stretched out before him, relaxed and carefree as if no burden weighed on his broad shoulders.
“That my life has changed in the blink of an eye,” she answered honestly, setting her pencil down. “I should be doing something. Anything. Do you need help with your ledgers? Or perhaps with the servants? Or the--”
A slow smile curled on his lips, amused and tender.
“I might be takin’ a wee pause from that just now, dear Elizabeth, but I’m more than capable of handlin’ it meself.
And truth be told, I quite enjoy it. It might not look like it, but ye’ll come to see the busy side of me soon enough.
As for the kitchen, Mrs. Edwards, our housekeeper, would sooner deal with Mrs. Spencer, the cook.
Ye can send yer requests for special dishes or help plan soirees, but that’s as far as it goes.
Ye’ve got paintin’ to focus on, or readin’, if ye fancy.
We can find ye a few more hobbies too, if that’s what ye want. ”
Her heart lurched at the thought. Was this truly her life now? A dream she was afraid to wake from? The honeymoon days would end soon enough, and life would come calling again.
“You’re right,” she sighed softly, “I must enjoy this while I still can.”
Alasdair chuckled, a low, warm sound. “Gettin’ too serious, are we? Perhaps it’s time to focus on improvin’ yer technique.”
Her jaw dropped in mock indignation.
Did he just tell her to fix her technique? She wasn’t the most skilled artist, but she had pride in her sketches, her one pleasure, the one thing her father grudgingly praised with a rare “Well done, daughter,” even if he kept his glare intact.
“I’m only tryin’ to humor ye,” he said quickly, raising both hands in surrender like a man who’d just dodged a bullet.
She swatted at him with her sketchbook, and just as she raised it again, he caught her hand and pulled her close, sealing the moment with a kiss that made her morning infinitely more interesting.
When they finally parted, breathless, she dared a playful demand. “Tell me something you’ve never told anyone.”
“Oh, is that the kind of mornin’ we’re havin’?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “Askin’ for secrets right after breakfast? That’s ambitious… and dangerous, Duchess.”
“Now that I’m your wife, I’m going to act like one,” she said, voice firm with newfound courage. “I believe I have the right to dangerous knowledge. What do you think?”
His smile faded. Elizabeth saw the light in his eyes dim, the warmth slipping away. She didn’t like that shadow, the fragile part of him he rarely let show.
He looked away, his head bowed, his figure softened by the sunlight streaming behind him.
“Me faither died in prison,” he confessed quietly.
The words hung in the air, heavy and fragile. Elizabeth’s breath caught. She wasn’t sure she was ready for such dangerous knowledge.
Had she pushed too far, too fast?
She set her sketchbook down carefully, feeling the weight of his confession settle deep in her chest.
“I… I’m so sorry, Alasdair,” she whispered, voice trembling. “It must have been hard to say that aloud. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”
She hesitated, wanting to reach out, to touch him, but held back, afraid to break the fragile peace of the morning.
He nodded, acknowledging both her compassion and the pain he had buried for so long.
“I was only sixteen then. They arrested him for crimes he dinnae commit. It shocked everyone who kenned him. He was a man of principles, always fightin’ for justice.
So, when they said he was guilty of bribery, fraud, and treason, we knew it was a plot.
A web spun to trap him. Enemies he’d made among those who hated a Highland laird askin’ questions.
They wanted to bury him with lies. And so, a proud man died in prison.
They said illness took him, but I saw the truth, Elizabeth. He was tortured.”
Silence fell, thick and heavy, as Alasdair fought to steady himself. Elizabeth let the silence reign, watching his chest rise and fall with deep, slow breaths. She recognized the effort; it was his way of holding back tears, of not letting the grief break him completely.
After a moment, she broke the stillness gently. “Do you think someone framed him?”
“I dinnae think, Elizabeth. I ken,” he said, voice hardening with fierce conviction.
The tremble was gone, replaced by fire. “They never gave him a fair trial. He died before he could tell his side. But he never kneeled to the bastards who arrested him. He kept the pride of the Highlands, and I promised I would do the same.”
Elizabeth moved closer, the distance between them shrinking until her hand rested on his tense shoulder. She felt the strain beneath her fingertips, the burden he carried.
“You’ve been fighting so hard, Alasdair,” she said softly. “All those lessons, learning how to deal with pompous lords, navigating their world, are all evidence of your hard work. I’m certain you’ll find the justice you seek.”
He met her gaze, those forest-green eyes darkened by storms weathered and battles still to come. “Aye. I willnae stop until justice is done. I ken what men like Kittridge are capable of.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Kittridge? Lord Kittridge, you mean?”
“Aye.”
“You think Kittridge is involved?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. “How do you know?”
“I’ve nae proof yet, as I’ve been slightly, but delightfully delayed,” he kissed her hand then, “But I’m certain some powerful men were behind it.”
“Be careful. Please,” she warned, her voice firm with concern. “If they orchestrated your father’s downfall… they are ruthless.”
“Aye, they are.” His voice was steady, resolute. “But I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I will nae stop until I’ve earned justice for me faither. He deserves that much.”
Elizabeth had no words to answer, only the deep belief that justice mattered. Still, worry knotted in her heart. Good men did not fare well against evil, especially when the evil worked together.
“You’ve shared something precious with me,” she said, voice filled with gratitude.
“You know about my stepmother, but I think it’s only fair you know something of my mother.
She was beautiful, and so full of life. When she was alive, my father was happier, or at least, I think he was.
From what little I remember, those years were kinder.
But after she died in childbirth, when my brother Daniel was born…
everything changed. Father grew cruel. He even blamed Daniel for her death. But Daniel was his heir.”
“So, he took his anger out on you and Marianne instead,” Alasdair finished quietly.
“Yes.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked. “This year was not my first season. Father pushed me toward marriage. One suitor after another. I was a failure, an embarrassment. He even tried passing me off to Marianne’s husband.
But he chose Marianne, thankfully. Then Lady Grisham stepped in.
And she… she told me to forget everything about my mother. ”
“Was it her plan all along, to push away your mother’s memory and replace it with hers?”
“No. Father started it. He always thought grieving women were weak and hysterical. Compared to Marianne, I was the weak one. When they couldn’t force her to marry, they focused on me.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard. She had always felt fragile, like a delicate ornament at the mercy of others’ hands. When her sister resisted, the pressure came down on her.
“I may not know all yer battles, but I’ve seen enough to wonder,” Alasdair said, his voice gentle but firm. “And ken this, my duchess: ye are not weak. Not at all.”
She searched his face, hoping, needing him to be right.
Another truth dawned on her: this sharing, beyond their knowledge and bodies, was a new beginning.
Could she share more of her heart, too?