Eleanor sat up, her heart racing. Was something wrong? Had Aubrey's condition worsened?
She heard the door open, then Aubrey's voice—excited, not pained—though the words were too muffled to make out. A servant'slower response. More conversation, all of it too quiet for Eleanor to understand.
Then footsteps retreating, the door closing, and silence.
Eleanor threw back her covers. Aubrey was awake and something had happened. She needed to know.
She moved through her bedroom to the connecting door between their chambers.
Eleanor's hand trembled as she knocked softly.
"Come in!" Aubrey's voice was bright, eager. Not in pain then.
Eleanor pushed open the door and stepped into her husband's bedroom.Our bedroom, she corrected internally.
Aubrey sat propped against his pillows in his nightshirt, a single candle burning on his bedside table. His face was alight with excitement, his eyes shining in the flickering light. He looked like a boy on Christmas morning.
"What happened?" Eleanor asked, moving closer. "I heard someone at your door. Is everything alright?"
"Everything is perfect." Aubrey patted the bed beside him, his smile widening. "Come here. Please. I have something for you."
Eleanor climbed onto the bed with less hesitation than she might have shown a week ago, settling beside him among the pillows. "What is it? What's happened?"
Aubrey reached for something on his bedside table—a small wooden box, simple but well-crafted. His hands trembled slightly as he held it out to her.
"Open it," he said softly.
Eleanor took the box, her heart hammering. It was light, whatever was inside small and delicate. She lifted the lid… and gasped.
Nestled in velvet were two perfect pearl earrings. Simple. Elegant. Each pearl a luminous cream colour, set in delicate gold with tiny filigree work around the settings.
Not just any pearl earrings.
Her mother's pearl earrings.
The ones her mother had worn every single day. The ones Eleanor used to play with as a child, sitting in her mother's lap, reaching up to touch the smooth pearls while her mother read to her and Liz.
The ones her father had sold when Eleanor was thirteen, barely a year after her mother's death, to pay gambling debts.
The ones Eleanor had thought lost forever.
"No," Eleanor whispered, her hands trembling so badly the box nearly slipped from her fingers. "These can't be… How did you…?"
A tear spilled down her cheek, then another. Within moments she was crying in earnest, her entire body shaking with sobs she couldn't control.
Aubrey immediately pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as she wept. His hand stroked her hair, her back, his voice murmuring soft reassurances.
"I've got you," he whispered. "I've got you, Eleanor. It's alright. Let it out."
She cried for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes—for her mother, for the girl who had lost her too soon, for the husband who had brought her mother’s memories. She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes burned, and she had no more tears left.
When she finally pulled back, Aubrey's nightshirt was soaked with her tears. He didn't seem to notice or care.
"How?" Eleanor's voice was hoarse. "How did you find them? Are they—are they actually hers? Or just ones that look similar?"
"They're actually hers." Aubrey's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb gently wiping away lingering tears. "I promise you, Eleanor. These are your mother's earrings."
"But how? Father sold them years ago."
