Aubrey's expression grew serious. "Eleanor, I don't want to lose another moment. Not to propriety, not to fear, not to anything."
He fed her another bite, his movements gentle and unhurried. They ate in silence for several minutes, trading bites of eggs and toast and even sharing a cup of tea.
"Tell me about the orphans," Aubrey said finally. "What have you planned?"
Eleanor relaxed slightly, grateful for the safe topic. "There are twenty-three children, ages four to fourteen. I thought we could let them play inthe drawing room, play games, serve them tea and Christmas biscuits. And then," she paused to take a sip of tea from the cup Aubrey held against her lips, "and then on the morning of Christmas eve, we'll have gifts for each of them."
"What kind of gifts?"
"Practical things, mostly. Warm clothes, boots, books. But also," Eleanor smiled despite herself, "toys. Dolls for the girls. Tin soldiers for the boys. Things they want rather than just need."
"Perfect." Aubrey pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "You have a gift for knowing what people need, Eleanor. For truly seeing them."
The compliment made Eleanor's chest warm. "You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Saying things that make me…" She stopped, unsure how to finish. "That make it hard to protect myself."
"Good." Aubrey's voice was soft. "I don't want you to protect yourself from me. I want you to let me in. All the way in."
Eleanor turned to look at him, their faces suddenly very close. She could see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his lips parted slightly as his gaze dropped to her mouth.
A sharp knock at the door made them both jump. Morrison's voice came through the wood, pained and disapproving.
"My lord, you've been sitting for nearly forty minutes. The physician said no more than half an hour at a time. You must return to bed before you aggravate your injuries."
Aubrey groaned, his forehead dropping against Eleanor's shoulder. "Morrison has the worst timing of any valet in England."
"He's trying to take care of you," Eleanor said, though she made no move to stand. "And he's right. You shouldn't sit too long."
"I know." Aubrey pulled back to look at her. "But I'm not ready to let you go yet."
Another knock, more insistent this time. "My lord, I must insist—"
"Coming, Morrison!" Aubrey called, then lowered his voice. "Will you stay? After they move me back to bed? We could read together or just talk. I'll be perfectly proper, I swear it."
Eleanor searched his face, seeing the hope there, the vulnerability beneath his playful tone. "Alright. Yes."
Aubrey's smile was brilliant. "Help me stand? My left side is still too weak to bear much weight."
Eleanor stood first, then braced herself to help Aubrey to his feet. Morrison entered with two footmen, and both servants wore matching expressions of disapproval.
"My lord," Morrison said with pained formality, "your hair is a disgrace. And your shirt, completely wrinkled. I prepared proper attire for breakfast, and you insisted on this... this casual disarray."
"I was comfortable," Aubrey said, leaning heavily on the footmen as they made their slow way toward his bedroom.
"You look like you've been tumbled in a haystack," Morrison muttered. "What will Lady Madeley think?"
"Lady Madeley," Eleanor interjected, biting back a smile, "thinks her husband looks quite handsome even with wrinkled shirts and messy hair."
Morrison looked scandalised. The footman coughed to hide what might have been a laugh.
They manoeuvred Aubrey back into his bed with considerable effort and several moments where he had to pause and breathe through pain. By the time he was settled against his pillows, his face was pale, and a light sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
"I overdid it," Aubrey admitted when Morrison fussed over him with a damp cloth. "But it was worth it."
"You'll set back your recovery with this nonsense," Morrison grumbled.
