Not the desperate, one-sided love of her youth.
But something real. Mutual. Built on a man who would stand on two canes in considerable pain just to greet children properly because those children mattered to her.
Eleanor squeezed Aubrey's arm gently, and when he squeezed her hand in return, she let herself believe, just for a moment, that perhaps this impossible, beautiful thing between them might last.
That perhaps they were building something that neither time nor distance nor fear could destroy.
That perhaps this was what love was supposed to feel like.
Chapter twenty-six
Tenth Day of Wooing a Wife
Eleanor sat in her bedroom as the afternoon light made the gold on her mother's pearl earrings sparkle in her palm.
Luncheon the afternoon past had been perfect. More than perfect. It had been magical in a way she'd never dared hope for. The children had been delighted with the roasted chicken and Christmas pudding and had opened their gifts with genuine joy.
But then Aubrey had stood—painfully, slowly, leaning heavily on both canes—and announced there was one more surprise.
Eleanor had watched in stunned disbelief as Mr Whitby from the village entered the dining room. The performance ofA Christmas Carolhad been extraordinary. The children had been transfixed. Little Susie sitting in Eleanor's lap with her thumb in her mouth, the older boys leaning forward with rapt attention, even the usually sullen Jenny smiling and gasping at the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
And Aubrey…
Eleanor pressed her hand to her chest, remembering.
She'd watched him listen to Thomas describe his dream of becoming a soldier someday. Had seen him gravely shake hands with Robert and tell him thatDavid Copperfieldin his gift package was chosen to show that there is no easy way or direct way to obtain happiness. Had witnessed him gently wipe tears from little Emma's face when she'd confessed this was the best Christmas she'd ever had.
He'd been so gentle, so patient. So genuinely interested in each child as though they were the most important people in the world.
The man who had seemed so distant and cold had sat with children who had nothing. Who were nobody to him except that they mattered to her.
And afterward, when the children had finally been bundled into carriages to return to St. Catherine's, when Eleanor had turned to him with tears pooling in her eyes, he'd caught her hands and apologised.
"I should have paid attention," he'd said, his voice rough with emotion. "To your finances. To how tightly you were managing everything. Mrs Williams told me you'd given up the puppeteer this year because of the expenses my care created. Eleanor, if I'd been paying attention, I would have done something about it."
"You couldn't have known," Eleanor had whispered. "You were injured. Bedridden."
"I was selfish." Aubrey's grip on her hands had tightened. "I’d even examined your account ledgers, knew how disciplined with your budgeting, but I still failed to notice. Should have ensured you weren't sacrificing things that mattered because of me. No more, Eleanor. From now on,I'm paying attention. To everything. To what you need, what you want, what you're giving up. I swear it."
Eleanor opened her eyes now, staring at the pearl earrings in her palm. He was paying attention. The small sacrifices. The quiet needs. The things she'd stopped even hoping for because hoping hurt too much.
Mrs. Duncan had been right that morning. This wasn't about certainty or guarantees or protecting herself from disappointment.
This was about choosing to be brave.
Choosing to believe that the man who had stood on injured legs to make orphans smile was the real Aubrey. Not the hurt, angry man who had fled from their marriage.
Eleanor carefully fastened her mother's pearls in her ears and looked at herself in the mirror.
In three days, she was supposed to leave for Somerset.
Supposed to.
Eleanor touched one of the pearl earrings gently, thinking of her mother. Of the woman who had worn these every day and told her daughters that love was worth the risk. That family was worth fighting for.
A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," Eleanor called.
