Alasdair remained standing in the center of it all, resisting the overwhelming urge to tear off his cravat and storm out.
But then—LadyElizabeth.
He thought of her calm, instructive voice, her clever smiles, the way she smoothed her sleeves when she was thinking. Her belief in his potential.
He inhaled. Straightened his shoulders. He wore his best: gleaming black boots, a dark navy coat, an understated waistcoat. His hair was neatly brushed back.
No tartan today. Not even a hint. He hated it, but this wasn’t about pride. Not right now.
It was aboutconformity.
The door opened precisely at the agreed hour.
Lord Farnleigh entered slowly, moving like time itself had slowed to accommodate his presence. He was gaunt, his face sharp and hawkish, and while not short, he still stood below Alasdair’s towering frame. Despite his age, his gaze was razor-sharp, full of calculation and cool judgment.
He extended a hand with precision and bowed slightly.
“Your Grace,” he said in a low, dry voice.
“Lord Farnleigh,” Alasdair returned, bowing as Elizabeth had taught him. “Thank ye for grantin’ me yer audience.”
They moved toward a pair of chairs near the hearth. Alasdair allowed his host to sit first, then lowered himself with care.
“Let us speak plainly,” Farnleigh said, steepling his fingers. “It is not every day a Highland duke calls on me in my London drawing room. To what do I owe this… pleasure?”
The pause beforepleasurewas deliberate.
Alasdair clasped his hands together. “I’ve come to settle me faither’s affairs. That was the main reason. But I’ve also come to see that bein’ a duke carries duties that stretch beyond Scotland. Beyond borders. I’d be a right fool if I dinnae reach out and try to understand Scotland’s neighbors.”
Farnleigh arched a brow. “An admirable sentiment. However, I am not often moved by sentiment, Your Grace. Policy tends to serve us better.”
Alasdair resisted a frown.
Patience. Strategy. Lady Elizabeth’s voice again.
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve read yer pieces inThe Gentleman’s Review. Yer arguments on trade reform and regional voting rights were particularly keen. I found yer stance on bullionscarcity refreshin’. Clear, precise. I may disagree with a few points, but there’s nae denyin’ yer insight.”
Farnleigh looked genuinely startled. “Most young men don’t know I write for theReview, much less cite specific essays,” he said. “You’ve read them?”
“Some more than once,” Alasdair replied. “Though the language took some wrestlin’, the meanings stuck.”
A breath escaped Farnleigh, a huff that bordered on amusement.
“Yer prose reminds me of fencing,” Alasdair added. “Well-paced, measured, precise. Like every word’s placed to draw blood without the reader even noticin’.”
That earned the older man’s full attention. “Do you fence, Your Grace?”
“I prefer a broadsword,” Alasdair admitted with a small smile. “But I’ve come to appreciate precision. Pure force has its place, but it canna win every fight.”
A subtle shift in Farnleigh’s demeanor followed. Less suspicion, more curiosity. Alasdair knew he’d struck the right note.
“Your reputation precedes you, sir,” Farnleigh said, narrowing his eyes. “I heard about the…incidentat White’s.”
Alasdair’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm.
“Aye,” he said after a beat. “Tempers flared. Family was insulted. I regret me response, though not the reason for it. I came to London wantin’ peace, not quarrel. I came to learn. I want to be a real part of this community, not just the wild Highlander ye’ve heard of.”
There was a long pause. Farnleigh studied him with quiet intensity.