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.