The words hung heavy in the air. He’d finally said it out loud, and he
braced himself for Maggie’s reaction. He expected shock, outrage,
maybe even colorful cursing for daring to think of Isla that way–a
girl ten years younger, barely out of her teenage years. But Maggie
didn’t respond the way he expected.
Instead, she sighed, her expression softening, though it carried a
tinge of pity. “And she said no?”
Graham barked out a hollow laugh, the pain evident in the sound.
“Multiple times.” He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as
if searching for answers there. His vision blurred, whether from the
whiskey or the ache in his chest, he wasn’t sure.
Maggie watched him for a moment, her face unreadable. Finally, she
broke the silence. “Master Graham, you don’t know how worried
we’ve all been since your father passed away,” she began, her voice
quieter now, more measured. “Me, Edwin, the others–we’ve all been
thinking about Isla, about what would become of her. She’s
practically got no family to speak of. And with Mr. Lancaster gone…”
Her voice wavered for a moment before she steadied herself. “With
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her being deaf, we all knew she’d have a harder time than most. She
was even talking about going to college, trying to figure out how to
make it on her own. But we’ve been dreading the day she’d have to
leave this house. Because she would, eventually.”
Graham sat up straighter, the haze of alcohol no longer enough to
dull the intensity of the conversation.
“If you marry her,” Maggie continued, her words deliberate and
weighted, “it would be the safest, most secure thing for her. She’d
have a family, a home. And you’d have someone to care for, someone
to care for you in return.
Graham sat back in his chair, momentarily stunned by Maggie’s
unexpected emotional outpouring. Just moments ago, she had been
an indignant whirlwind, demanding answers about his intentions
toward Isla. And now? Now she was practically encouraging him to go
for it. For a moment, he forgot all about the whiskey in front of him.
He blinked, processing her words, before finally breaking the silence.
“Maggie, if there’s ever a marriage between Isla and me,” he began,
his voice steady, though the words felt strangely intimate, even in the
privacy of his study, “it won’t be just about offering her protection or
security. Yes, that would be part of it–maybe even a big part–but it
won’t be the only reason.”
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his gaze fixed on
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Maggie as if willing her to understand. “It wouldn’t be a sham, like
you might think. It would be real. The forever kind of real. Isla
wouldn’t just be my wife in name–she’d be mine, heart, body, and
soul.”
The weight of his declaration hung in the room, unspoken thoughts
flickering through his mind. He pictured a life with Isla: quiet
mornings, shared smiles, perhaps even children–dark–haired and
green–eyed like her, shy and thoughtful. The thought startled him,
and he shook his head, scolding himself silently. Children? Why was
he even thinking about that? And why was he having this
conversation with his housekeeper of all people?
Before he could stop himself, he grabbed his empty glass and tossed it
aside, the clatter of it hitting the wooden surface a sharp punctuation
to his thoughts. The whiskey was doing a number on him tonight.
Maggie, unflinching as ever, gave him a wry smile, her dimples
softening the sternness of her earlier demeanor. “I never meant to
imply it wouldn’t be a real marriage, sir,” she said, her voice tinged
with amusement. “You’re a great catch, after all.”
Her words struck him as oddly funny, and he found himself chuckling,
a low, dry sound. Maggie’s sudden shift in tone had an almost
disarming effect on him.
“It would be like one of Isla’s dreams come true,” she continued, her
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expression softening into something almost wistful. “I just don’t
understand why she said no.”
Her brows furrowed as she pondered the mystery, and Graham took
the moment to pour himself a glass of water from the jug on the desk.
The coolness of the water was a welcome relief against the heat of the
whiskey still lingering in his system.
Maggie chuckled, a warm, knowing laugh that made Graham freeze
mid–sip. “For as long as I can remember,” she began, her tone almost
teasing, “from the age of eleven onward, she’s had the biggest crush
on you.”
Graham choked on his water, coughing violently as droplets sprayed
across the desk. “What?” he rasped, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
