XXIII

Once Westlin woke up, he frantically searched for a place where he could watch Grace's house. After a quick tour of the first floor, he found the perfect spot: a window in a sitting room that directly overlooked the garden of the house across the street. From there, he could observe without being seen. In fact, he spent the rest of the afternoon behind that window, his eyes never leaving the home of the woman who had haunted his thoughts for so many years.

At first, he stood rigid, almost motionless. However, when his legs began to ache from standing for so long, he forced himself to sit in a chair, but he never took his eyes off what was happening across the street. He didn't want to miss a single moment. He watched every little detail, trying to piece together her life through the everyday scenes unfolding before him.

He caught glimpses of her several times. Some were so fleeting that he barely had time to blink twice before she was gone again. But after tea time, his luck changed. Grace came out into the garden and stayed there for quite a while, enjoying the last rays of the sun. Her figure, both elegant and simple, exuded a serenity that Marcus hadn't felt in years. Before long, the boy appeared, running and playing around her. Marcus's heart pounded with every step the child took toward her. He knew in his heart that the boy was his, though he still struggled to fully grasp the enormity of that truth.

Later, the maid appeared, someone he recognized immediately. It was Lesly, the same woman he had known in London, though time had hardened her features. The way they spoke and moved together, they seemed more like mother and daughter than simply mistress and servant.

Westlin barely blinked as he watched them. He needed to gather as much information as possible, every detail, to know how to act in the coming days. How could he approach Grace without revealing himself too soon? How could he interact with the boy, who likely didn't even know his father was alive? The more he thought about everything happening before his eyes, the more impossible it seemed to find a solution.

Finally, evening turned into night, and the three retreated inside. Marcus didn't pull himself away from the window until the lights in Grace's house went out. Then he knew it was time to rest, at least until dawn.

The next morning, Gregor was already at the door, preparing his horse for departure. The morning breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, and a light veil of mist covered the empty streets of Strathmore. Aife took his time, carefully adjusting the reins, but his gaze kept drifting back to Marcus, who remained motionless at the window, lost in his thoughts.

" Milord, it's time for me to go, " he said from the doorway of the sitting room, his voice firm but calm. " Though I know this won't be easy for you, I wish you luck. "

Marcus nodded without turning away from the window.

Holloway, who had been organizing the few belongings of the marquess in the house since the previous afternoon, appeared at that moment, interrupting the farewell.

" Mr. Aife, if my lord doesn't mind, I'd like to accompany you to the edge of the village, " Simon offered, his usual enthusiasm on display.

" You may, " Marcus replied, relieved to know he'd have a few moments to himself.

" I'll give you some advice, though I'm not sure if you'll take it, " the Scotsman said, waiting for Marcus to finally turn around. When he did, Gregor continued, " Sometimes, the biggest mistake is waiting too long. "

" If I knew how long is too long, that advice would be the best I've heard in years, " Westlin muttered.

Gregor shook his head slightly. " We'll meet again, milord, " he said as a final farewell. Marcus responded with a simple nod.

Simon silently accompanied Gregor outside. As Aife grabbed the reins and began to lead his horse toward the outskirts of the village, the young valet's mind raced with thoughts of how he could ease his master's torment, but he couldn't find a solution that might convince him.

" The idea of covering half his face with a mask was clever, " Gregor commented, breaking the silence. " I'm guessing that was your doing. "

Holloway smiled, scratching his head. " Yes, " he replied with his usual grin. " Though I'm not sure if that will be enough for him to achieve what he came here to do. "

Gregor remained silent for a few moments before replying, " It's not easy to face what was left behind. Especially if he fears what he's seeking may no longer remember him or want him. " The Scotsman's words hung heavily in the air.

Simon nodded, aware that his master was locked in an internal battle. He had observed him for years, and though he knew Marcus was a man of perseverance, he also knew that despite the doubts consuming him, the marquess would eventually find the courage to take the step he feared most.

When they reached the edge of the village, Gregor halted his horse and turned to the valet.

" Become his shadow, and act quickly if you sense the situation is not in his favor. "

" I will, " Simon assured him.

" Do whatever is necessary to make sure things flow naturally between them, and when you see the marquess regaining his confidence, let him take the lead, " Gregor urged.

" Don't worry, I'll be watching closely, " Simon replied quickly.

" In that case, I hope you bring back good news soon, " Gregor said, straightening himself on his horse.

" Thank you for your help, Mr. Aife. And if you ever need anything from us… you know where to find us. "

Aife nodded once more, cast a final glance at the village, and urged his horse forward, slowly disappearing along the path that would take him back home. Simon lingered for a few moments longer, watching as the Scotsman's figure faded into the distance before turning and heading back to the house.