Page 27 of Sweet Duke of Mine

AUTUMN, WOODLAND PRIORY

Daisy sighed as she nestled closer to Alastair, her cheek pressed against his chest, her fingers lazily tracing the embroidered crest on his waistcoat. The crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of honeysuckle—remnants of summer clinging stubbornly to the vines that were climbing their willow tree.

“It still feels strange sometimes,” she murmured, watching a russet leaf twirl lazily from the branches looming around them. “Being here like this.”

Alastair hummed, his hand drifting absently along her back. “Strange in what way, love?”

Daisy tipped her head up, vaguely counting the gold flecks in his green eyes—six in the left, eight in the right.

"That this is real?” Daisy murmured, stretching languidly beneath the canopy of golden leaves. “That Woodland Priory is our home? That we’re lying beneath this very tree again—except this time, we’re properly wed, and your uncle isn’t lurking about?"

Alastair chuckled, shifting onto his side, propping himself on one elbow so he could stare into her eyes. "And no one is here to interrupt us, either,” he said. “Not even Mrs. Farley.”

Daisy sighed, recalling exactly what they’d been doing just moments ago—and what they would no doubt be doing again. "She’d be positively scandalized."

"A pity, really," he mused, dragging his mouth over her bare shoulder. "I do enjoy a touch of scandal."

“Wicked man.”

His green eyes gleamed with mischief before turning warm, reverent. "Although, marriage has tremendous advantages. Such as… having you in my bed every night. Waking up to your kisses every morning…”

“And free gentleman’s shaving soap?” she teased him back.

“Ah, yes. You do know that’s why I married you, don’t you? To get my hands on your… soap?”

Daisy laughed, flattening her palm against his chest. “You’ve had your hands on more than my soap, Your Grace .”

A gentle wind swirled the leaves around them, and they both listened, appreciating the comfortable silence.

Until Daisy sighed. “I’m still a little cross that Gilbert had to leave for Eton so soon after the wedding. I miss him.”

“You’ll see him at Christmastime.” Alastair smoothed her wind-tossed curls from her cheek. “And besides, he’s thriving. You saw his last letter. He’s already challenging his professors on Locke’s theories.”

She sighed. “I did see that. And I was terribly proud.”

“As was I,” Alastair agreed. “Though I do feel a bit sorry for his tutors.”

Daisy chuckled but then grew quiet, her fingers finding the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm again.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

"That’s because I’m your loving husband," he said. "It’s in my job description. "

Daisy rolled her eyes, but the teasing moment just as quickly unraveled as a new wave of emotion welled inside her—tender, overwhelming.

She’d been having several of these waves lately—sudden swells of feeling that caught her off guard. Joy so fierce it almost frightened her. Love so deep it made her chest ache.

She reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his. She’d meant to wait—to be certain before saying anything. But how could she keep this from him? He was her husband. Her heart.

Her throat tightened, her breath coming fast. "Alastair," she whispered, barely able to contain the tremble in her voice.

His teasing expression vanished in an instant. He shifted, fully focused on her. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, she guided their joined hands down, pressing them low against her stomach.

"We’re going to have... a baby.”

The words felt impossibly big, and speaking them aloud made everything more real. But as she gazed up at him, searching his face, she realized she had nothing to fear.

Because Alastair looked as if she’d just handed him the world.

Her sweet, adoring husband was completely speechless. His lips parted, his breath hitched—but no words came.

Then, suddenly, he pulled her into his arms, pressing his forehead to hers.

"A baby?" His voice scraped out, rough with emotion.

She nodded, her heart pounding. "A little duke. A… dukeling ."

Alastair exhaled a shaky laugh, wonder flickering across his face, but even as he pulled her close, she felt the shift in his hold—the way his grip was firm, but gentle, as though she might break.

Daisy had carried this secret close to her heart for several days, letting the knowledge settle and bloom inside her. But for him, it was brand new—a revelation still taking root. Closing her eyes, she stayed quiet, letting him have this moment, giving him space to grasp the reality that he was going to be a father.

Slowly, his hands slid around her waist, then back up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing tenderly over her cheeks.

His breath was uneven, his mind clearly racing ahead—to the future, to responsibilities, to her.

"You should see a doctor," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Childbirth can be—" He broke off. "You need care. The best care. Have you been feeling well? Any sickness? Weakness?"

Daisy smiled softly, cupping her palm around his cheek. "I’m perfectly fine." She squeezed his hand. "I already made an appointment with the midwife in the village."

Relief flooded his features, and he let out a breath before resting a warm palm over her stomach again, this time without hesitation.

"You truly are the most incredible woman I have ever known." His voice was thick with reverence as he kissed her—slow and deep and full of wonder.

"A little dukeling," he mused between kisses, the hint of a grin breaking through. "God help us both."

—The End?—