"I'm sorry, my lady," Morrison said meekly. "You're quite right. I was being absurd."
"Yes, you were." Eleanor's voice softened slightly. "But I appreciate that you've been trying, Morrison. The sack of flour was a good idea."
Morrison looked surprised. "How did you know about Lord Wheatly?"
"Mr Davies told me. He thinks you're mad too, but he's also impressed by your dedication."
She moved toward the door, then swept out, her wrapper billowing behind her, leaving both men feeling thoroughly chastened.
Morrison and Aubrey looked at each other in the silence that followed.
"She's rather terrifying when angry," Morrison observed.
"Yes," Aubrey agreed. "Rather terrifying."
"Also, rather impressive."
"Yes."
Morrison made to leave, then paused at the door. "May I ask you something?"
Aubrey tensed. "If you must."
"You look like a man who's been denied something he wants rather desperately. What is it that you would like, my lord?"
The question hung between them. Aubrey looked away first.
"I want her to forgive me," Aubrey said stiffly. "That's all."
"Is it?"
"And she looks at me like..." Aubrey gestured vaguely. "Like she knows exactly who I am. All of it. The worst parts. And she's not impressed."
"Perhaps that's precisely what you need."
Aubrey laughed, short and humourless. "What I need is for her to stop being so damnably impressive while I'm trying to grovel properly."
"Ah." Morrison's expression softened with understanding. "I see."
"You see nothing."
"I see a man who's realised his wife is worth considerably more than he gave her credit for. And who's terrified she'll never give him the chance to prove he knows it now."
Aubrey said nothing.There was nothing to say that wouldn't confirm exactly what Morrison had just said.
"Get some rest, my lord," Morrison said quietly. "And tomorrow, apologise properly. With words. Explicit, clear words that leave no room for misunderstanding about how sorry you are."
"I'm trying—"
"Try harder, my lord."
Aubrey lay in the darkness thinking about Eleanor's face when she'd stood over them—exasperated, commanding, done with their nonsense.
And somehow, seeing her like that—fierce and uncompromising and absolutely right—made him want her more desperately than ever.
He had a lot of apologising to do.
And reciting Shakespeare was not going to cut it.
