A leather-bound collection of novels. "Every story your mother used to read to you. Complete editions, properly bound."
A set of watercolour paints in a beautiful wooden case. "You used to paint, Liz said. But you stopped when you couldn't afford new supplies."
Jars of candied violets and crystallised ginger. "Your favourites. Ones you haven't tasted since your mother died."
A music box that played a soft, haunting melody. "Your mother's favourite song. Or so Liz remembered."
Eleanor was completely still, staring at the collection spread before her. Her hands had flown to her mouth, and when Aubrey looked closer, he saw tears streaming down her face. She then gathered her skirts and climbed carefully onto the bed, positioning herself on her knees near the gifts.
Aubrey held his breath with her, giving her the time and space needed to process what she was seeing.
Eleanor reached out with trembling hands, touching the doll first. Her fingers ghosted over the porcelain face with such tenderness it made Aubrey's chest ache. Then the books, her hand lingering on the familiar titles her mother had once read aloud. The paints, opening the wooden case to reveal the pristine colours she'd dreamed of as a girl. The music box, winding it carefully to hear her mother's favourite melody.
When she picked up the jar of candied violets, lifting it to catch the candlelight, seeing the delicate purple petals preserved in sugar, a sob escaped her.
"I haven't tasted these since I was nine years old, before Mother got sick," Eleanor whispered, cradling the jar like something precious. "Mother used to buy them from the confectioner in the village. Just one jar a year, atChristmas. We would make them last for months, Liz and I, each taking just one piece at a time to make the treasure stretch." Her voice broke. "I'd forgotten how much I loved them. How much they meant."
Aubrey couldn't stop himself from reaching out, taking her hand gently. Eleanor looked at him then, her eyes bright with tears, and something shifted in her expression. Something opened that had been carefully locked away.
She moved closer—still on her knees but sliding forward on the bed until she was beside him rather than at the foot. At eye level now. Close enough that Aubrey could see every tear track on her cheeks, every emotion flickering across her face.
"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing all of this?"
Aubrey's hand tightened on hers. "Because you deserve someone who would give you these things, who would make you smile, who would care about your childhood dreams. Even if I'm two years too late, even if you can't forgive me, I want to try."
Eleanor's breath hitched. She was so close now. So close that Aubrey could see the blonde flecks in her lashes and smell the lavender soap she used.
"Eleanor," he whispered. "I—"
But he couldn't finish what he wanted to say. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his eyes dropping to her lips, his intention clear.
And for a moment, Eleanor leaned in too, her eyes fluttering half-closed and her lips parting slightly. Then she jerked back, her hand slipping from his, her expression shuttering.
"I should—" Eleanor's voice wasunsteady. "It's late. I should retire."
She was already scrambling off the bed, carefully collecting the gifts still spread across the surface. Her movements were jerky, panicked, as though she was suddenly aware how close they'd come to crossing a line.
"Eleanor, wait—"
"Thank you." She turned at the door, her arms full of the books and the music box, as though she couldn't bear to leave them behind despite her flight. "For the gifts. They're... they're perfect. Too perfect. I don't..." She stopped, swallowed hard. "Goodnight, my lord."
"Eleanor, please. Stay. I didn’t mean to—"
But she was gone, the door closing firmly behind her, leaving Aubrey alone with the remaining gifts and the lingering warmth of where she'd sat beside him.
Aubrey leaned back against his pillows, pressing his hands to his face.
Too soon. It had been too soon. He'd pushed too hard, moved too fast, let his desire override his better judgment.
But God, for that one moment when she'd leaned toward him, when her eyes had fluttered closed, when he'd thought she might let him kiss her…
Aubrey groaned, his body responding predictably to the memory.
He had nine days left. Nine days to court his wife properly. To earn not just her forgiveness but her trust. Her affection. Perhaps, if he was extraordinarily lucky, her love.
Nine days to convince her to stay.
And he'd nearly ruined it by trying to kiss her after giving her gifts, as if they absolved him of his crimes.
