For a long moment, neither of them moved. Eleanor sat with him still inside her, her face buried in his neck, their hearts beating in tandem.
"Don't leave me," she whispered. "Stay with me tonight."
"Always," he promised. "Every night, for the rest of our lives."
She hugged him again, breathing him in, relishing his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest.
“What if you didn't have to leave?" he asked suddenly.
Eleanor released his neck enough to look at him. "What do you mean?"
"What if we brought the orphanage here?" The words tumbled out in a rush. "We have more than enough space. The grounds are extensive—plenty of room for children to explore safely. We could hire additional staff, convert the east wing. You could oversee everything, fulfil your duties to those children, and still be here. With me."
Eleanor stared at him, her eyes wide. "You... you'd do that? Turn your home into an orphanage?"
"Our home," Aubrey corrected. "And yes. In a heartbeat."
"Aubrey." Her voice was thick with emotion. "Do you understand what you're suggesting? The noise, the chaos, the complete lack of privacy at times. Children running through the halls, disrupting dinner parties, turning your perfectly orderedlife into—"
"Into something wonderful," he finished. "Eleanor, I grew up in this house. The idea of filling it with laughter and life..." He brushed her hair away from her face. "There's nothing I want more. Except perhaps you."
She threw her arms around him so suddenly he huffed out a laugh in surprise. Then he wrapped both arms around her, holding her tight.
"It's brilliant," she said against his shoulder. "Absolutely brilliant. Are you certain?"
"Yes. It will give our children friends to play with. Built-in companions."
Eleanor went very still. She then pushed away from him slowly, her face flushed a deep crimson. "Our... children?"
"Yes." Aubrey pressed on, suppressing a grin. "Dr Fielding confirmed it. When I saw him for my final examination. He said there's no reason I can't father children. As many as we wish."
"You can?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Truly?"
"Truly." He stroked his thumb along her jaw. "We can have a family, Eleanor. If you want that. With me."
"Oh, Aubrey." Tears spilled down her cheeks. "Of course I want that. I want everything with you."
She launched herself at him, kissing him through her tears, and Aubrey held her as if he'd never let go.
Because he wouldn't. She knew he wouldn’t.
"I love you," he murmured against her hair.
"I love you too," she replied, her voice muffled against his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, husband," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas, wife."
And as they lay tangled together in the candlelight, the sounds of the ball still echoing faintly from downstairs, Eleanor thought that perhaps miracles did exist.
Because this—all of this—felt like nothing short of a miracle.
Her miracle.
Her love.
Her Aubrey.
Want a peak at the next standalone in my collection? Scroll down ;)
