Eleanor stood by the door, staring after them with an expression of bemused wonder.
"Your parents," she said finally, "are extraordinary."
"They're terrible," Aubrey corrected. "Absolutely terrible at showing affection or saying anything kind without wrapping it in seventeen layers of insult. To me, at least."
"But they love you." Eleanor moved back to the chair beside his bed. "I can see it. In their own strange way. They love you very much."
"I suppose they do." Aubrey looked down at the velvet box still clutched in his hand. His hand tightened on the box.
Then he looked up at Eleanor and saw something in her expression that made his chest ache. A wistfulness. A longing for something she'd lost long ago.
"You haven't had that since you were twelve," he said quietly. "Parents who tease you and embarrass you and love you. Parents who are there."
Eleanor dropped her gaze.
"And I—" Aubrey's voice roughened. "I took it for granted. All of it. While you were managing an estate with no one to help you. No mother to guide you. No father present enough to care. You've been alone, Eleanor, for so long. And I made you more alone by abandoning you when I should have been..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "When I should have been your family."
A tear slipped down Eleanor's cheek.
"I can't give you the last two years back," Aubrey continued, his hand reaching out to gently cup her face, his thumb brushing away the tear. "But my parents already love you. Did you see how they looked at you? You're not alone anymore, Eleanor. You have them, and you have me. If you'll let us be your family."
Eleanor's eyes filled with more tears, but she was smiling through them—a tremulous, beautiful smile that made Aubrey's heart stutter.
"Aubrey," she whispered.
And then, before he could say anything more, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Itwas soft. Tentative. The lightest brush of her mouth against his—barely more than a whisper of contact. But it sent electricity racing through his entire body.
Eleanor pulled back, her eyes searching his face as though looking for permission or confirmation or something.
And then she leaned in again.
This time the kiss was less tentative. Her lips pressed more firmly against his, lingering, and Aubrey felt something break open in his chest. His free hand came up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair, and he deepened the kiss.
His mouth moved against hers with gentle insistence, teaching her, guiding her. Eleanor made a small sound—surprise or pleasure, he wasn't certain—and her hands came up to grip his shoulders for balance.
The kiss was still chaste by most standards—no scandalous use of tongues or teeth—but it was real; intimate and full of barely restrained desire finally given voice.
When Aubrey's tongue barely traced the seam of her lips, Eleanor gasped and jerked back as though burned.
Her eyes were wide, her face flushed crimson, her breathing rapid and shallow. She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking shocked by what had just happened—by what she had initiated.
"I—" Her voice came out as barely a whisper. "I shouldn't have—"
"Eleanor—" Aubrey's voice was rough with need.
"I need to go." She stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair in her haste. "There's so much to prepare. For tomorrow. The orphans. I need to go."
"Eleanor, wait—"
But she was already fleeing, her skirts rustling as she practically ran to the door. She paused for just a moment at the threshold, her back to him, her hand on the doorframe as though steadying herself.
"That shouldn't have happened," she said, her voice unsteady.
"Yes, it should have," Aubrey countered. "Eleanor—"
But she was gone, the door closing behind her with more force than necessary, her footsteps quick and uneven in the corridor beyond.
