Eleanor entered her private parlour for breakfast, expecting to find it empty as usual. Instead, she stopped short in the doorway.
Aubrey sat in one of the armchairs near the window, fully dressed, or as fully dressed as propriety would allow. He wore trousers and a white shirt open at the collar, no cravat, no jacket. His hair was tousled as though he'd run his hands through it repeatedly, and he looked rumpled and impossibly handsome in the morning light.
His face lit up when he saw her with an unguarded smile of pure joy that made her heart flip.
"Good morning," he said, extending his hand toward her in clear invitation. "Come here."
Eleanor approached slowly, her pulse quickening with each step. "How did you get here? You shouldn't have walked."
"Two footmen carried me like a piece of furniture. Morrison complained I’d ruin his hair and refused to carry me." Aubrey's smile widened. "It was profoundly undignified, but worth it to have breakfast with you. Come." He gestured to his outstretched hand again. "You can trust me."
"I know I can trust you." Eleanor placed her hand in his, her voice soft. "I'm not sure you can trust me."
Aubrey laughed—a rich, warm sound that filled the small room—and pulled her gently onto his right leg, the uninjured side. His arms came around her waist, holding her securely against him.
"Eleanor." His voice was serious now, though his eyes still danced with amusement. "Tell me how you feel. About last night. About the kiss. About all of this." His hand moved in a gentle circle on her back. "I don't want to scare you or overwhelm you. I need to know what you need from me."
Eleanor's throat tightened. She could feel the warmth of him through the thin layers of fabric separating them, could smell the sandalwood soap he used. "I don't know what I feel. Everything is moving so fast. So suddenly."
"I know." Aubrey's other hand came up to stroke the tender flesh on her throat, the gesture achingly tender. "But Eleanor, I need you to understand something. What I feel for you, it transcends the physical. Yes, I want you. God knows I want you. But I would feel exactly the same way if we didn’t touch at all. If you asked me to wait years before—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "I want you for your mind, your heart, your strength. The physical desire is just... a symptom of admiring all of you."
Eleanor's eyes burned with tears. "You say thatnow—"
"I'll say it every day." His thumb stroked her cheek. "I pray you'll let me touch you. Let me kiss you. Let me show you how much I want you. But if you need more time, I'll wait. However long it takes."
"Everything is happening so quickly," Eleanor whispered. "I don't know how to feel about finding you here, in our parlour, wanting to touch me and talk to me. And there's so much to do. The orphans’ dinner, our family dinner, and—"
"The Davies have served my family for decades," Aubrey interrupted gently. "They can handle everything if you want to leave it to them. Including the family and friends’ dinner on Christmas Day."
Eleanor blinked. "Family and friends?"
"I invited a few people." Aubrey's expression was almost sheepish. "Steven Kedleston and his family. Michael and Liz with the children, if they can return in time, your father, some neighbours. I thought—" He stopped, gauging her reaction. "I thought you might like to have a proper Christmas. With people who care about you. About us."
"You invited Steven?" Eleanor couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.
"He loves you. He's been your friend through everything. He deserves to see that you're happy." Aubrey's voice was steady despite the flicker of something that might have been possessiveness in his eyes. "And I want to show him, show everyone, that I'm trying to be worthy of you."
Eleanor stared at him, her chest tight with emotions she couldn't name. "You invited all those people. Planned a Christmas dinner. While bedridden."
"I had help. Mrs Williams has been surprisingly enthusiastic about the arrangements." Aubrey smiled. "I think she's pleased to see the house full again. To see you happy."
"I'm not…" Eleanor stopped. "I don't know if I'm happy. I don't know what I am."
"Then let's find out together." Aubrey reached for the covered dishes on the nearby table, placed within his reach. "Starting with breakfast."
"I’ll sit beside you."
"Let me." Aubrey uncovered a plate of eggs and toast, picked up a fork, and proceeded to cut a small piece of egg. He brought it to Eleanor's lips with a smile. "Open."
Eleanor opened her mouth automatically, too surprised to protest. The egg was perfectly prepared, still warm, seasoned exactly as she liked it.
Aubrey fed her another bite, then took one himself from the same fork. The gesture was incredibly intimate—sharing utensils, sharing food, his arm around her waist while she sat on his lap in the morning sunlight.
"This is improper," Eleanor said after swallowing. "Sitting on your lap and sharing breakfast like this."
"We're married." Aubrey offered her a piece of toast with butter. "And alone in our private parlour. I think we're allowed to do whatever we want."
"I suppose I forget that you are my husband."
