"That will be all, Morrison. I'll ring if I need assistance."
The valet withdrew, leaving Aubrey alone with his racing heart and the hidden treasures beneath his bedcovers.
This had to work.
Liz had told him about the things she'd wanted but could never have because money was always too tight, priorities always elsewhere.
Aubrey had sent Morrison on a mission in London with explicit instructions and a blank check. His valet had arrived with a collection that Aubrey hoped would convey what words could not.
Another knock. Mrs Williams this time.
"My lord, Lady Madeley is on her way. I shall have your dinner brought in."
"Thank you, Mrs Williams."
Aubrey's hands tightened on the counterpane. His heart hammered against his ribs. He felt absurdly nervous, like a boy preparing for his first dance.
The door opened.
And Aubrey's mind simply... stopped.
Eleanor stood in the doorway wearing a silk dress of deep burgundy. It contrasted beautifully with her grey eyes and made her skin look luminous in candlelight.
She was trying to kill him. That was the only explanation.
"Good evening, my lord." Eleanor's voice gave nothing away, but Aubrey caught the slight flush on her cheeks. "Mrs Williams said you requested my presence for dinner?"
"Yes." Aubrey's voice came out rough. "Please, come in. Sit." He swallowed. "You look beautiful."
The flush deepened. "You've already said that."
"And I'll keep saying it until you believe me." Aubrey gestured to the chair beside his bed, where a small table had been set with their dinner. "Please. Join me."
Eleanor moved into the room and settled into the chair with elegance. The candlelight caught the sheen of her dress, the soft waves of her hair—styled simply tonight, accentuating her delicate bone structure—and Aubrey had to forcibly remind himself that he had an entire evening planned. He could not simply stare at her like a besotted fool.
Though he very much wanted to.
Dinner progressed with surprising ease. They'd fallen into a pattern over the past few days—Eleanor's initial stiffness giving way to something more natural as conversation flowed. Tonight was no different, though Aubrey found himself hyperaware of every movement she made, every smile, every laugh.
"Tell me about your childhood," Aubrey said as they finished the main course. "Before your mother passed. Whatwas it like?"
Eleanor's expression softened with memory. "Happy. Chaotic. Liz and I were constantly in trouble for climbing trees or sneaking into Father's study. Mother would scold us, but she never truly minded. She said girls should have adventures too."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She was." Eleanor's smile turned sad. "She used to read to us every night. Stories about brave heroines and grand adventures. Liz always wanted to be the warrior princess, but I..." She paused. "I preferred the clever ones. The ones who won through intelligence rather than swords."
"Like you," Aubrey said quietly. "Solving problems with ledgers and negotiation rather than force."
Eleanor looked at him with surprise, as though she hadn't expected him to understand. "Yes. Like me, I suppose."
"What about you?" Eleanor asked, clearly eager to shift the subject. "What was your childhood like?"
Aubrey considered the question. "Privileged. Structured. My father had very specific ideas about what an heir should be. Latin at six. Greek at eight. Parliamentary procedure at ten. I'm not certain I had what one would call adventures."
"No climbing trees?"
"Once." Aubrey smiled at the memory. "When I was seven. My mother nearly fainted when she found me in the oak by the east lawn. I was confined to the nursery for a week as punishment."
