Alexander Richardson had harboured no hope of success following the death of his daughter and his subsequent divorce from his ex-wife. Had his resolve to turn his life around entirely withered, he might well have slipped into alcoholism. Yet, sometimes, life has been known to present a second chance.

You had appeared like a brilliant ray in a clouded sky, mending the wounds of his past. Yes, everything had healed so well that he had proposed to you, because Alexander had realised he couldn't live without you any longer. Yet, before arranging the wedding, the man felt the need to do something important. It wasn't that his parents would have minded if he hadn't sought their blessing to marry you; it was simply that he felt calmer doing so.

Scotland, Edinburgh: Richardsons' residence—6:42 p.m.

"Mum, what're you doin'? I'll sort the table," Alexander remarks. His gaze lingers on his mother before shifting to you. He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to hold back a smile as he notices the faint blush spreading across your cheeks.

"Oh, really, Alex? You're such a lazy little monkey; I know it well," Isabella teases, taking a sip of red wine. Her face, marked by noble wrinkles yet still strikingly beautiful, bears a playful sternness. "I hope this scoundrel isn't causing you any bother—not keeping you running around the house doing all his work? If he is, just you wait; my Henry sorts him out, he does."

Henry inclines his head slightly, the older man letting out a quiet sigh, as if content to see his son finally coming into his own. He knows from the outset why Alexander has brought you to visit, and his heart swells with joy, for it is plain to him that his son is truly besotted—and you are as well. "Let the ladies take their ease, and we'll have a blether for now," he hums with a friendly smile. "Talk, man to man."

Isabella brightens, presses a quick kiss to her husband's forehead, and offers her hand to you. "Just so! I mean to show you the family photo albums. Come along now, my dear."