“Aye,” he said, without hesitation. His voice felt steady now, even if the rest of him wasn’t. “I mean it. I’ll get us a special license. Ye’ll be me wife before the week is over.”
He waited. Held his breath. Part of him braced for her to run.
Instead, she nodded, slowly, carefully. As if she were still trying to believe it herself.
And in that nod, he saw it: not joy, not yet. But trust.
It terrified him. And it made him want to deserve it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You look like a duchess already,” Marianne whispered behind Elizabeth, smoothing the fall of her ivory lace sleeves.
The older sister’s voice was warm, reassuring.
“Thank you, Marianne,” Elizabeth whispered back, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat.
The past few days had been a blur of dress fittings, hurried preparations, and carefully managed whispers.
The wedding was to be quiet. Not rushed, exactly, but certainly not grand. Smaller than what Lady Grisham had always envisioned for her stepdaughter. Then again, the way she had looked at Alasdair since the proposal made it clear she was glad it would not be a spectacle.
The church stood just outside Mayfair—modest but dignified, with ivy creeping up its grey stone walls.
Morning mist rolled low across the grass, rising like smoke and lending the hilltop a ghostly beauty.
“It’s almost like we’re in Scotland already,” Victoria said, peering out the window as she adjusted her gloves.
Elizabeth smiled faintly. It did feel like that. Damp air, earthy scents, the hush of trees nearby. She had only faint memories of Scotland from when she was very young, blurred around the edges like half-remembered dreams. For Victoria, it had been even less, only stories.
Inside the anteroom, Elizabeth stood still as Marianne and the others flitted around her, her bouquet of pale roses trembling in her grip. She didn’t know if it was the nerves or something else.
“Do I look terrified?” she asked, attempting a laugh.
“Mm. Only a little,” Wilhelmina teased, raising her eyebrows dramatically. “Just think of this instead: you could have done far worse than such a handsome groom. Truly, I speak only the facts.”
Elizabeth turned red and laughed despite herself.
No matter what Lady Grisham said about Alasdair being uncouth, she had yet to find truth in it. He had stood up forher when no one else had. He had offered not just marriage, but rescue. Respect.
And now… it was time.
“Are you ready?” Marianne asked gently.
Elizabeth took a long, slow breath. “Yes. I am.”
Outside, Alasdair waited.
The first glimpse of him stole the breath from her lungs. He stood tall in a dark blue coat with tartan draped boldly over one shoulder, kilt falling clean and proud. He looked like something carved from legend, fierce and unapologetic.
The moment she saw him, the tremble in her chest became something else entirely.
Wilhelmina nudged her and whispered, “I see what you’re looking at, Lizzie.”
Elizabeth blushed harder. Alasdair’s friend, Lord Whitton, was saying something in the duke’s ear, and Alasdair gave a crooked smirk in reply.
Elizabeth tried to focus on the ceremony, but her pulse was loud in her ears.
The priest’s voice echoed, steady and low, but she caught only fragments.