"I know which jeweller your father used. Liz told me." Aubrey's voice was steady, patient. "I’d sent Morrison explicit instructions and a considerable amount of money. He went to every jeweller in the city, showing them a description Liz had written—the specific filigree work, the size of the pearls, everything that made them unique."
Eleanor stared at him, unable to process what he was saying.
"Morrison visited forty-seven jewellers before he found one who remembered purchasing them from your father. The man had kept them as a gift to his wife." Aubrey's smile was soft. "He became a widower recently."
"So, you bought them back." Eleanor's voice was barely a whisper.
"Yes." Aubrey's thumb continued its gentle movement across her cheek. "They're yours now. As they always should have been. As your mother would have wanted."
Eleanor looked down at the box again, at the pearls that caught the candlelight just as they had in her memories. "I can't believe you did this. That you tracked them down. That you…" Her voice broke. "Aubrey, this must have cost a fortune."
"It cost what it cost." Aubrey's voice was firm. "And it was worth every penny to see your face right now. To know that I could give you back something that was takenfrom you."
Eleanor picked up one of the earrings with trembling fingers. The pearl was warm from being in the box, smooth against her palm. She could almost feel her mother's presence, could almost hear her voice reading stories in the nursery.
"She wore these every day," Eleanor whispered. "Every single day. Even when she was sick at the end, she insisted on wearing them. She said they made her feel beautiful. That my father had given them to her when Liz was born, and they reminded her of the happiest days of her life."
Aubrey's arms tightened around her.
"How did you know?" Eleanor looked up at him, her vision still blurred with tears. "How did you know this was what I needed? Not expensive gowns or jewels or any of the things most women want. How did you know to find these?"
"Because Liz told me how much they meant to you." Aubrey's voice was gentle. "And because I've been watching you, Eleanor. Learning you. Seeing what matters to you. And what matters to you isn't expensive things or grand gestures. It's connection. Memory. Love." He paused. "You kept the music box on your dressing table. You've been reading the books I gave you. You saved the candied violets even though I know you love them. You're rationing them, making them last because what matters to you isn't having things. It's keeping pieces of the people you love close to your heart."
Eleanor pressed her face against his shoulder again, fresh tears spilling over. But these weren't tears of grief. These were tears of being seen. Of being known. Of having someone care enough to track down a pair of pearl earrings across all of London because they mattered to her.
"Thank you," she whispered against his nightshirt. "Thank you, Aubrey. This is—this is the most thoughtfulthing anyone has ever done for me."
"I would do more if I could." Aubrey's lips pressed against the top of her head. "I would give you the world if you asked for it. But I suspect you'd prefer your mother's pearl earrings."
Eleanor laughed through her tears, a watery, broken sound. "Yes. Yes, I would."
They stayed like that for a long time—Eleanor cradled against Aubrey's chest, his arms around her, the box with her mother's earrings resting on the bed beside them. The candle burned lower, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"Will you wear them?" Aubrey asked finally, "for Christmas Eve? When your sister comes?"
Eleanor pulled back to look at him, understanding dawning. "You want her to see them. To know that you found them. That you gave them back to me."
"I want her to know that her sister has someone who values her." Aubrey's voice was firm. "Someone who will give her back what was taken from her. Someone who will spend whatever it takes to make her happy."
Eleanor's throat tightened again. "She'll know. When she sees them, she'll know exactly what they are. What they mean."
"Good." Aubrey's smile was fierce. "Let her know. Let her see that you're cherished. That you have what your father failed to give you."
Eleanor looked at the earrings again, then back at Aubrey's face—at the intensity in his blue eyes, the determination in his expression. He'd done this just to give her back a piece of her mother.
"Aubrey," she whispered. "I—"
But the words stuck in her throat. The words she wanted to say. The words that terrified her because once she said them, there would be no taking them back.
I love you.
She'd always loved him, but this was different. This wasn't the desperate, one-sided love of a girl for an impossible dream. This was real. Mutual. Built on kindness and understanding.
But she couldn't say it yet. Not when everything was still so new and fragile and terrifying.
Instead, Eleanor leaned forward and kissed him.
Softly. Gently. Pouring everything she couldn't say into the press of her lips against his.
