For a long moment, neither of them moved. Aubrey could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, could hear Eleanor's ragged breathing gradually slowing. When he finally lifted his head, she was looking at him with such tenderness it made his chest ache.
"Come here," she whispered, tugging him down beside her.
He went willingly, gathering her against his chest despite the awkwardness of his injured leg. She fit perfectly there, warm and soft and impossibly real.
"I can't believe you're mine," he said quietly, pressing a kiss to her hair. "That this—us—is real."
Eleanor tilted her face up to his. "I can’t believe it either."
"I don't deserve you."
"Probably not," she agreed with a small smile.
They lay tangled together, sharing soft kisses and softer words, until Aubrey felt Eleanor begin to drift toward sleep. He should return to his own bed—propriety demanded it, even between husband and wife.
But propriety, he decided, could go hang.
"Stay," Eleanor murmured, as if reading his thoughts.
"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."
She smiled against his shoulder, and Aubrey closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the enormity of what he felt.
Outside, snow began to fall, blanketing Willowbrook Manor in white. But inside, wrapped in each other's arms, Aubrey and Eleanor had found something infinitely warmer.
Chapter twenty-eight
Christmas Day
The entrance hall at Willowbrook Manor had never looked so magnificent. Evergreen garlands draped the banisters, candles glowed in every window, and the sound of arriving carriages had been constant for the past hour. Eleanor stood beside Aubrey at the receiving line, her hand resting on his arm as he remained seated in an elegant chair—a compromise between his recovering leg and the demands of hospitality.
"Lord and Lady Hillsborough," the butler announced.
Eleanor greeted the elderly couple warmly, then turned as another familiar voice called out.
"Liz?" Eleanor's voice rose in delight.
Her sister swept forward, beaming, with her husband and children trailing behind. "Surprise!"
"What on earth are you doing here?"
"When your husband sent word that you are hosting a ball, we knew we had to witness this miracle firsthand."
Eleanor laughed, embracing her sister before turning to greet her niece and nephew. Behind them came Michael, his expression carefully pleasant as always.
Then Steven arrived with his sisters, and suddenly the hall was complete with warmth and the chaotic joy of family and friends.
"You look radiant," Steven said, kissing her cheek. "Marriage agrees with you."
"It does," Eleanor agreed, surprised by how easily the words came.
The ball began in earnest as more guests arrived—neighbours, friends from London, various members of the gentry who'd accepted their invitation with curiosity. Eleanor remained at Aubrey's side as he held court from his chair, one hand resting possessively on hers where it lay on the armrest.
"He's quite smitten," Liz murmured, appearing at Eleanor's elbow. "The way he looks at you... Good heavens, Eleanor. I'd always hoped you'd find this."
Eleanor felt warmth bloom in her chest. "I suppose I have."
An hour into the festivities, Lord Waverly, Lord Cartwright, and Mr Avon approached together, bowing with varying degrees of formality.
