Wilhelmina gave a nod. “His name is Robert,” she added, almost shyly.
“I’m happy for you, Mina,” Elizabeth said, her voice gentle with sincerity. “Truly. I wish you all the best with him.”
They leaned into a warm, quiet embrace.
When they pulled apart, Wilhelmina gave her a mischievous look. “Even Mother tolerates him. Might even approve of him, if you can believe it.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “Lady Grisham? Approves of someone who doesn’t have a direct line to the throne?”
Wilhelmina chuckled. “Heisan earl, Lizzie. Don’t be greedy.”
They laughed together, the sound soft and reassuring between them.
Outside the window, the garden shimmered in the last light of the day.
It was not yet peace, but it was a beginning.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Come to me,” Alasdair whispered his challenge.
The weather was better compared to the time Alasdair met with Cray, but not by much.
As soon as he’d received the proof Kittridge was involved in the plot against his father, he reached out to the bastard and arranged a meeting with him.
Let’s call a truce. Give me the name of a place where we can meet.
Of course, Kittridge wanted to meet in secret. Somehow, Alasdair could understand that. The man had too many things to hide.
That was why Alasdair ended up in a warehouse not too long after he met the politician Ambersen and the informant Cray.
Now, he was meeting with the man who destroyed his father’s life.
All in a week’s work.
Alasdair wanted to end the story, and he had to admit Kittridge chose the perfect place.
Water sloshed against old timber. Everything seemed to creak and swish in this place. Wet and old. Crumbling with decay. But here, it was nature that caused destruction, not another man.
Wearing a long coat and old boots, Alasdair looked like a warehouse worker from afar, ready to carry boxes and boxes of textiles and various raw materials.
He stood by the entrance, body tense and legs wide apart. He might have called for a truce, but that was never the intention. He was there to fight, live or die.
“Faither, help me. This is it. This is what I’ve been workin’ hard for all these years. It’s for ye. It’s for us,” he whispered raggedly, catching a whiff of sea salt and fish. “And if I live to see another day,thatday is for Elizabeth.”
Soon, he detected a flicker of movement. Then, he heard the sound of boots on stone.
Finally, Kittridge stepped out from behind a stack of crates. His face was stern and arrogant, as expected.
Better yet. It would make things easier, Alasdair thought. It would remind him that he was facing an enemy, not some man he was about to make peace with.
Even with his arrogance, Kittridge’s eyes showed some caution. He pulled off his gloves even through the cold, either raring for a fight or showing just how comfortable he was in front of Alasdair.
“You asked for a truce, Redmoor. Here I am, unarmed. What about you? Have you done the same?” the older man asked.
“If ye’re thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, I daenae need those kind of weapons tonight,” Alasdair said, holding up the rolled parchment that carried the proof of how his father was framed. “This one here is enough.”
Kittridge scoffed. Then, he chuckled almost silently, his shoulders moving up and down with forced mirth. He did walk a few steps closer to Alasdair.