His nostrils flared. Eleanor moved to the bedside, her heart hammering. "I shall try to be gentle."
"It will hurt regardless of your efforts." His voice was flat. "Just do it."
She positioned herself, one hand on his shoulder, one on his hip.
She pulled, and Aubrey gasped—a sound of pure agony that made her stomach clench. His fingers found her wrist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and for a moment they stayed frozen like that, him on his side, breathing hard, while she braced him with shaking hands.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry—"
"Don't." The word came out harsh. "Don't apologise. Just... finish it."
She settled him more comfortably on his side, tucked pillows behind his back to support him, then slowly—carefully—rolled him back. His face was ashen, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow despite the cool room.
Eleanor reached for a cloth and wiped his forehead without thinking. The gesture was instinctive, tender, and she saw his eyes fly open in surprise.
She pulled her hand back quickly. "I shall return in four hours. Try to rest."
"Eleanor—" He stopped and corrected himself. "Lady Madeley."
She paused at the door, not turning around.
"You need not... that is..." He sounded uncertain for the first time. "If you require sleep, you could send a servant to turn me through the night. I would not... I would understand."
Eleanor looked back at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light, his expression unreadable.
"The servants," she said quietly. "They need their rest more than I do. I shall be back."
Something flickered across his face. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why are you doing this? Truly?" His voice was rough with pain and confusion, perhaps. "You have every reason to let me suffer. To do the bare minimum and watch me deteriorate. Instead you..." He gestured vaguely at the room, at himself. "You tend me as though you actually care whether I live or die."
Eleanor's throat tightened. "I made vows, my lord. Before God and witnesses. For better or for worse. In sickness and in health. I will honour them even though you have not."
She left before he could respond, closing the door softly behind her.
Two weeks until her sister arrived.
Three weeks until she could leave this all behind.
She would count every single hour.
Chapter six
Competent Wife
The night was endless.
Aubrey lay in the darkness, listening to the house settle around him, and waited for the click of his bedroom door that would signal Eleanor's return.
Eight o'clock had come and gone. She had appeared like a ghost, moving through the dim candlelight with quiet efficiency. Turned him. Checked his dressings. Left without speaking beyond the necessary instructions. Regardless of his resentment towards her, he couldn’t help but appreciate her quiet strength and competent demeanour that had him inadvertently trusting her with his care. He trusted her to be thoughtful, considerate, and wise. And these thoughts confused him. These were thoughts that warranted respect, not anger. Was he willing to let go of his anger only after one day with the woman?
The door opened.
Midnight. Right on schedule.
Eleanor entered carrying a single candle, her hair loose around her shoulders now, dressed in a wrapper over her nightgown. She looked younger like this. More like the nervous girl he had married and less like the composed woman who had faced down his parents.
