Page 18 of Sweet Duke of Mine

FINDING THE FAMILIAR

T he decision made, the morning rituals passed in a flurry of activity.

While Alastair ate breakfast with Gilbert, Daisy hurried upstairs to gather what they would need. As soon as she heard the door close behind her brother, she set to work disguising them both.

Alastair’s beard had already begun to grow back, and it made for an effective mask. She tugged a cap low over his brow and dressed him in several layers of her father’s old clothing—worn and shapeless, meant to downplay the height and power of the man beneath. By the time she stepped back to assess her work, he was nearly as unrecognizable as he’d been the day she’d found him.

To disguise herself, she stuffed most of her hair into a large bonnet and dressed in a thick, matronly gown that had belonged to her aunt. To complete her ensemble, she opened an old lace parasol that might come in handy if they ran into trouble.

They would blend in—at least, she hoped so.

Although it was likely that his uncle had long forgotten the young woman with whom he’d discovered his nephew that sunny afternoon, Daisy couldn’t discount the possibility that she’d be recognized.

Taking a steadying breath, because she wasn’t at all sure this was a good idea, she turned to Alastair, nonetheless. “Are you ready?”

His lips quirked into something almost like a smile. “As I’ll ever be.”

But when they stepped onto the street together and Daisy locked the door behind her, Alastair glanced up and down the road and then, blinking, he froze.

“What is it?”

“I don’t…I don’t know where it is.”

“Mayfair?”

“My home.”

“I do.”

His brows shot up and his eyes met hers.

Daisy shifted her stare away from him, cursing the heat flooding her cheeks. “I have clients in Mayfair,” she explained.

The truth was that of course she’d wanted to know where he was—how he lived. “This way.” She began walking in the direction that would lead them toward the upscale neighborhood. Although it might as well be situated in a completely different world than hers, the lordly dwellings of Mayfair existed a surprisingly short distance away. “Lovington House is situated across the street from the park.”

Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, Alastair leaned close. “And you know this because…”

She lifted her chin. “Common knowledge.” Well, not exactly common. But common to her… after a little investigation. “It is a ducal townhouse.”

Not once had she ever seen him coming or going, which had left her feeling grateful, but also disappointed.

But she had known he was near .

Which had been utterly foolish, even if the information came in rather handy on this particular day.

“It’s not far,” she said, filling the silence.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. Not with me.” He covered her hand with his, as though he knew…

Of course he knew.

The reality of walking beside him—the boy she had loved, the man who had shattered her heart—nearly made her stumble.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “It is… surreal. Walking with you.”

His expression flickered. Was that regret? Sadness?

He didn’t let go of her hand. “Did you and I ever come to London together?”

She shook her head. “We spent endless hours in one another’s company, but we never left the estate together. We couldn’t, really.” She hesitated before adding, “If we happened to run into each other in the village, we’d lock eyes—but only for a second.”

It had been thrilling then, stolen moments that had felt like secrets only they shared. But later, with the clarity that came with heartbreak, she had realized those fleeting glances were not promises.

They had been warnings.

A glimpse of what the future held for them.

Betrayal. Separation.

Except… that wasn’t entirely true. Because here they were, walking together toward Hyde Park.

“Is any of this familiar?”

“It is,” he mused, glancing around as if seeing the city anew. “The air. The hackneys and carriages. The energy.” His brow furrowed, then smoothed. “I believe I own a racing curricle. A blue one. Someday, I’ll take you riding. ”

“Oh, Alastair…” She sighed, unable to stop the wistful ache curling through her chest.

They walked in silence for several steps, the rhythmic sound of their footfalls filling the space between them.

Then, as if unearthing a long-buried truth, Alastair sighed. “I’m beginning to believe that, of the two of us, you were the practical one.”

Daisy nearly stumbled, because his words cut too close to the one thing they’d argued over most.

“It’s not that you weren’t practical,” she said carefully. “Only that… you wanted to believe practicality didn’t apply to you.”

His lips curved, but there was no humor in it. “And yet, it did. Apparently.” He exhaled, tilting his head toward her. “I’ve been thinking, a lot.” He shot her a sheepish look. “If I had been… more aware of my father’s expectations, and those of my uncle, I think… I hope that I would have handled matters differently.”

Matters.

Such a simple word for something that had upended her world.

Matters, as in a young man’s foolish hopes.

Matters, as in an affair that was never meant to last.

Matters, as in a love that had been doomed before it ever had a chance to begin.

“When we were younger, you rarely took my concerns seriously,” she murmured, a soft smile touching her lips. “It was oddly… endearing.”

He had loved her. And she had loved him. And for a time, he had believed that was all that mattered.

“I was reckless.” His voice held a heavy note of regret.

“Yes, but…” Daisy turned to look up at him, searching his face. “I want—I need you to know that I wouldn’t change any of it.”

She had asked herself the question countless times—considered whether she would erase the past, if given the chance. And the answer was always the same.

The great love she had known had ended in great pain.

But what was life without seasoning?

His smile, when it came, was faint. “I will be grateful for that, then.”

They reached the park, and Daisy drew in a steadying breath, shaking off the wistful haze that had settled between them.

Because they were on a mission.

And neither of them could afford to be distracted.

“Lovington House is just ahead,” she said, lifting her chin. “On the right. We’ll have a clear view from the clearing if we go this way.”

The hour was too early for the elite of Mayfair to be venturing into the park yet.

“You walk here often?” He kept her hand securely tucked in the crook of his arm.

“I deliver my soaps personally—to my clients’ back doors, of course.”

“This is where you disappear to every morning,” he said.

“Usually,” Daisy said. “On the days I’m not delivering to other shops.”

“They are lucky.”

“Oh, indeed.” She chuckled and slid him a teasing glance.

“And so very modest.” He laughed with her, but then his expression softened. “But you should be proud, Daisy. You’ve built something remarkable. You parlayed your gift, your skills, into something not only profitable, but also… special.”

This was Alastair. Encouraging. Supportive. Always believing in her.

As they neared his rather grand townhouse, Daisy leaned in slightly. “And you do remarkable things as well.”

He let out a quiet breath. “But do I? ”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Alastair exhaled a long sigh.

“You always did admire Locke,” she mused. “Even when we were young, you spoke about people having the potential to rise above their circumstances.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re fighting to expand the reform bill.”

His brows lifted slightly, as though the realization struck him as well. “But how could I vote otherwise, in good conscience?”

“The one thing money doesn’t buy.”

Alastair shot her a questioning glance.

“A conscience,” she murmured.

They reached the edge of the park, and Daisy stilled. Alastair, who was chuckling at her irony, followed suit.

“There it is.” She tilted her head toward the imposing stone manor that loomed across the street.

He stiffened, and Daisy waited.

“I remember it.” He continued staring, for such a long time and so intently, that Daisy worried someone might take note.

And yet, she didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts—especially not if buried memories were working their way free.

A carriage rolled to a stop only a short distance away, and as the door swung open, Daisy’s pulse spiked. She grasped Alastair’s arm and tugged him sharply, forcing him to turn onto a path leading in the opposite direction.

“Have a care,” she murmured, casting a discreet glance over her shoulder.

A tall, older gentleman had stepped out of the carriage. Impeccably dressed, from the polished crown of his black hat to the gleaming tips of his boots, he carried himself with a confidence that spoke of power and entitlement.

Daisy recognized him.

“That’s your uncle,” she whispered .

Alastair stiffened beside her.

As another horse and buggy passed, he took advantage of the moment to glance behind them as well, his movements careful and measured. Then, just as quickly, he led them away at a steady, unhurried pace.

“I didn’t get a good look at his face,” he admitted under his breath. “But the house—the carriage… I know them. I remember them.”

Daisy tightened her grip on his arm. “That’s good! It means the rest of your memories can’t be far off.”

And she was happy for that.

She was, truly.

But the sharp grimace on his face stole her breath. “Everything is so close, it’s infuriating,” he muttered. “I feel it, who I am, what I was—right there—but before I can focus, the memories… they turn to smoke…”

His frustration was more than palpable, his fingers flexing restlessly at his sides. Wanting to ease the tension, Daisy forced a smile and nudged his arm. “Then let’s stop chasing the smoke for now. Tell me, what are your thoughts on rose-scented shaving soap?”

“For gentlemen?” His brows shot up, and when he saw her expression, he was shaking his head.

Daisy exhaled, relieved. For now, at least, she had managed to distract him from the frustration of his lost memories.

“What do you think it looks like inside?” she asked, glancing back at the grand townhouse.

“Not as formidable as the exterior,” he answered, not hesitating for even a moment. “When my father ordered renovations, he preserved much of the original structure out of respect for the dukes before him. But he wasn’t opposed to modernization.”

Her pulse skipped. He’d answered without thinking.

“Does it have running water?” she asked, testing him .

“Hot and cold,” he said, nodding. “And someday, every house will be plumbed—” He cut himself off, his expression tightening.

Daisy’s grin widened. He was remembering.

As they strolled back toward her shop, she stopped at a vendor’s cart and ordered two piping-hot savory pies, pressing one into his hands before he could protest.

Alastair frowned, clearly unsettled by the fact that he had no coins with which to pay. “I don’t like this arrangement.”

She smirked. “I’ll collect once you’re restored to your abundant riches.”

He huffed, but his lips twitched at the corners.

Afterward, they visited a bookstore and then stopped at one of the mercantiles where she proudly pointed out the display of her soaps.

“These are sensational,” he said. “Not just the concept, but the ribbons, the design…” But the look in his eyes conveyed something else.

You are sensational.

And for what remained of the day, the sky shone brighter than usual, and the air smelled sweet and fresh.

Daisy felt like she had her friend again.