"Doing what?"
"All of this." She gestured at the room, at the tea. "The lady's maid. The solicitor. The gowns. The sudden interest in estate management and household accounts. Why now? Why, when I'm leaving in two weeks, are you suddenly playing at being a husband?"
Aubrey was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Because I want to do for you what I should have done for the past two years. Even if it's only for two weeks. Even if it's too late. It would ease my mind to know that I tried. That I gave you some small measure of what you deserved."
Eleanor felt her throat tighten. "It doesn't change anything."
"I know." Aubrey's smile was sad. "But perhaps it will make these last two weeks more bearable. For both of us."
Eleanor wanted to argue, wanted to refuse, but she was so tired of carrying everything alone. Of managing and organising and bearing every burden without help.
"Fine," she said finally. "The modiste can come. But only one or two dresses. Nothing extravagant."
"Agreed." Aubrey's smile widened. "Thank you, Eleanor."
She returned to her chair, sipping her tea in silence. The biscuits were excellent, buttery and delicate. She hadn't even known Cook knew how to make them.
"If I were to live in the house full-time," Aubrey said carefully, "while Parliament is out of session, what additional help would the estate need?"
Eleanor looked at him sharply. "You're considering staying here?"
"I'm considering many things." His expression was unreadable. "But theoretically, if I were in residence permanently, what would make estate management easier?"
Eleanor studied his face, looking for signs of mockery or deception while reminding herself not to hope.
"We need a new gamekeeper," she said finally. "The current one is elderly and can barely manage his duties. The north fence needs repair. It's been onmy list for six months, but the allowance you’ve been sending wasn’t enough to prioritise it. The tenant cottages in the east field need new roofs before winter worsens. And we could use another stable hand—the head groom has been doing the work of two men since Jenkins left last spring."
Aubrey pulled his portable desk toward him and began making notes. "What else?"
"The still room needs restocking. Several of the guest rooms require new furnishings—the current pieces date from your grandmother's time and are falling apart. The library could use cataloguing; I've been adding books but haven't had time to properly organise them. And—" She stopped. "But this is pointless. You can’t be serious about leaving your life in London."
"Humour me," Aubrey said quietly. "What else?"
So, Eleanor told him. About the drainage issue in the south pasture. About Mrs. Fletcher, the elderly widow whose cottage was too cold for winter but who refused charity out of pride. About a dozen other small problems that she'd been managing alone, solving as best she could with limited resources and even more limited authority.
Aubrey wrote everything down, asking questions, making suggestions, treating her observations with the seriousness they deserved.
When she finally ran out of items, she found herself relaxing into the chair, the teacup warm in her hands.
"Thank you," Aubrey said softly. "For humouring me."
Eleanor nodded, sipping on her tea.
"And for managing the estate so beautifully. I'm only sorry I wasn't here to help."
Eleanor stood, suddenly needing distance. The intimacy of the moment. The shared tea, the estate discussion, the warmth in his voice, was too much. Too close to what she'd once dreamed of.
"I should let you rest," she said, collecting the tea tray with brisk efficiency.
"Eleanor."
She paused at the door, not turning around.
"Thank you," Aubrey said. "For the tea. For the conversation. For... giving me a chance to try."
Eleanor's hand tightened on the tray. "I haven't given you anything yet, my lord. Except tea and a list of estate problems."
"It's more than I deserve," Aubrey said quietly. "Much more."
