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He winced at the quiet assertion. Was he so transparent? “I never stopped.”
Compassion radiated from Quinton’s gaze. “You are in an impossible situation, my friend. To wed my sister would surely be your family’s ruin. But my grandmother will not allow any other outcome. She has already convinced my father Willow is beyond compromised by your licentious behavior. And despite knowing the debt you are in, I myself desire you to do the honorable thing.”
Alasdair smiled without mirth. Honor be damned. He was willing to marry Willow, and not because they had been seen in such a scandalous position. But because he had never stopped loving her. “I will not marry Willow because of honor, but because I never stopped caring for her and from her words by the lake, I can see she would willingly deny herself happiness and a family because of fear. She had always been so vibrant, so full of life. Today I only saw a shadow of her vibrancy. It guts me to think of her alone for the rest of her life when she is loved. For years, I promised myself to never love another. And that was because Willow never left me, Quinton. I would be a fool if I gave her up a second time.”
And what of your family? Your sisters who are relying on you to wed an heiress? His conscience taunted.
“And what of the money your estates need?”
Alasdair thrust his hands into his pockets and turned from the windows. “I will find a way out of my financial mess.”
Or relinquish Willow.
A thing he could not bear to contemplate.
What a damn quandary. But he would do all in his power to make all the women in his life happy. He would wed Willow, convince her of his love and rid her eyes of their lingering sadness. He would also take the position with the Foreign Office, invest in lands and spices, and do his best to ensure his sisters, his mother, and estates were more than adequately cared for.
No other outcome was even possible for him to contemplate. For he would not turn his back on Willow again.
Stuart Arlington, the Duke of Milton, regarded Alasdair with a closed expression. He had called at Hadley House before even taking his morning ride. He’d waited in the library for almost an hour. Amusement shifted through Alasdair at the duke’s disrespect. Perhaps he still saw Alasdair as unworthy of his daughter, for surely the man knew why he visited. When His Grace arrived, he had coolly taken in Alasdair reading one of his books by the fire, before offering him a drink, which Alasdair declined.
“Is my daughter without virtue?” His Grace snapped without preamble. He walked to his oak desk and sat. Though he reposed casually in the high wing back chair, Alasdair noted the tension in his shoulders.
Alasdair closed the copy of The Excursion he had been skimming. “I cannot remember Lady Willow not being virtuous,” Alasdair responded blandly, resting the leather volume on the shelf.
Surprise flickered in the depth of the duke’s eyes before he composed his face into a neutral mask. Did the man expect him to speak about the past? Alasdair had spent the night thinking of Willow, and for the first time in years, he had acknowledged how young she had been when she rejected him. How uncertain and fearful she must have felt. He’d admitted he should have fought for her more. He had experienced many ‘should haves’ for the long night, recognizing she wouldn’t be blind today if not for her family’s meddling and his insouciance.
Enough with what should have happened. He would direct his will and thoughts to now, to the future.
“I suppose you are here to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage?”
The duke’s expression was serious, and the way he assessed Alasdair was almost discomfiting. Amusement curled through him, for he was not at all intimidated. He had nothing to prove to the man, and he only needed to be honest. “I am.”
“Willow is no longer top shelf goods, and I will not provide a dowry for her. If the rumors are true, you need an heiress.”
Anger knifed through Alasdair. Top shelf goods? “Willow is not a commodity to be referred to as ‘goods.’ I will not condone you disparaging her,” he said icily.
Grudging respect flared in the duke’s eyes, but the man remained seated and silent. Alasdair could not believe there had been a time he’d wanted to earn the duke’s respect.
He stepped closer to his desk. “I am not requesting Willow’s hand because I need her dowry, I love her, and I will do all in my power to convince her of my regard. I only sought to inform you of my intentions so you would not feel fear or uncertainty for her
future. I never stopped loving her, and her blindness will not stop that. I do not see weakness. Only her resilience. I have known men in the war to kill themselves because of lost limbs and sight. Willow has adapted, she has lived, and she is still the same beautiful and passionate girl I knew.”
The duke’s eyes filled with speculation and something akin to hope.
Alasdair turned and walked toward the door before he said something further to create a deeper chasm between them.
“Westcliffe,” Milton grumbled.
Alasdair faltered and spun around.
“You cannot give her the lifestyle she needs. You can hardly provide for your estates. How will you keep my daughter in the comfort she needs and deserves?”
He contemplated the duke, burying the anger at his words. Did he really believe this? Alasdair prowled to the duke’s desk, cold purpose in his steps. He looked down on the man. “The life Willow deserves is one of freedom,” he growled. “To be loved and trusted. Not to be caged by her family, who considers her an embarrassment.”
The duke surged to his feet, rage lighting his eyes. “My daughter is not an embarrassment for us. You go too far, Westcliffe.”
“Do I?” he snapped. “Has Willow left Hadley House in years? Has she been taken to the waters in Bath? The theater or opera in London? To Hyde Park for carriage rides? You clipped her wings when you should have done everything in your power, to ensure life for her goes on. You may not approve of me, but I promise I will cherish Willow.”
