The door opened again. Eleanor returned carrying an armful of books, her hair still loose around her shoulders, her expression carefully composed.
"I brought several options," she said, setting them on the bedside table. "Wellington's dispatches from the Peninsula. A history of Waterloo. And—" She paused, a faint smile touching her lips. "The collected works of Marcus Aurelius. In case philosophy suits your mood better than military strategy."
"You did not have to bring so many."
"It was no trouble." Eleanor arranged the books within easy reach. "I want you to be comfortable. To have... something to occupy your mind."
Their eyes met, and Aubrey searched for the monster lurking inside her.
"Thank you," he said softly. "Truly. This is... kind of you."
Eleanor's expression flickered with surprise. As though appreciation from him was so unexpected as to be shocking. Which, Aubrey realised with shame, it was.
"You are welcome," she said quietly. Then, more briskly: "I shall return at four. Try to rest if you can."
She lit a candle by Aubrey’s bed and collected her lantern.
"Eleanor?" he called out as she moved toward the door.
She turned; eyebrows raised in question.
"Sleep well," he said awkwardly.
Something sad flickered across her face. "And you, my lord."
She left, and Aubrey was alone with his guilt and his books and the disturbing memory of candlelight in her hair.
He reached for the volume of Marcus Aurelius, opening it at random.
"Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one."
Aubrey closed the book and pressed it against his chest, closing his eyes.
Too late, he thought,far too late for that.But perhaps... perhaps not too late to try.
Chapter ten
Leaving Willowbrook Manor
Eleanor stood outside Aubrey's bedroom door, the household ledgers balanced in her arms and took a steadying breath.
She had lain awake most of the night, replaying their conversation. The way he had looked at her. The surprise in his voice when she had known his reading preferences. The guilt that had flickered across his face—there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it.
And the books. He had thanked her for the books.
It was such a small thing. Such an insignificant gesture. But it had been the first genuine kindness he had shown her since... since ever, if she was being honest.
Eleanor shook her head, trying to dispel the dangerous warmth that thought created. She could not—would not—allow herself to hope simply because he had said thank you. One moment of basic courtesy did not erase all her tears and sleepless nights.
She knocked and entered without waiting for permission.
Aubrey was propped against his pillows, the volume of Marcus Aurelius open in his hands. He looked up at her entrance, and Eleanor was struck again by how much stronger he appeared now, though still pale. His eyes were clearer; more alert since the laudanum reduction.
More capable of seeing her, which was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
"Good morning, my lord." Eleanor moved to the bedside and set down the ledgers. "I thought you might like to review the household accounts. To keep abreast of what is happening on your estate."
Aubrey's eyebrows rose. "You manage the accounts?"
