“No. It’s gratifying,” Caroline insisted.
No more was said as Julien sauntered into the drawing room. He stopped mid stride. “Ah, Miss Ashworth. I was not aware you were here.”
Eleanor frowned. It was an absolute lie. Julien had been standing next to her when Caroline was announced by the butler and he’d immediately made himself scarce. She’d assumed it was because he feared Caroline might weep copious tears in his presence—and he detested tears. “Did you not?”
Julien did not even glance in her direction. Instead, his gaze remained focused on Caroline. “No. I wasn’t certain if Miss Ashworth’s visit would be a lengthy one or if she was merely stopping in for a moment.”
As Caroline had never stopped in for just a ‘moment’ it still rang very false. “Well, is there something you needed?”
Julien did glance at her then, startled from his study of Caroline’s wan face with her slightly red rimmed eyes. Even in her melancholy, she was still lovely.
“Oh, yes… well, we are only a few short days from your wedding and from the ball. I merely wished to determine that you had everything in hand.”
Eleanor’s suspicion continued to grow. They’d had that very conversation the night before. He knew all of those things already. But then she realized that he wasn’t there for her at all. It wasn’t the wedding or the ball or anything else. He was there, in his own clumsy way, to ascertain whether or not Caroline was faring well. And that sparked an idea for her. She was the last person in the world who ought to be playing matchmaker since it had taken nearly a decade for her to match herself with the man of her choosing. But who better to pair the two of them up thana person who loved them both? And the masquerade ball would be the perfect opportunity.
Chapter
Nineteen
The ceremony was small, despite Julien’s insistence that she have the wedding of her dreams. What her brother failed to understand was that any wedding where she would become Adrian Grant’s wife was a dream come true. The wedding breakfast would be small as well. And their more elaborate celebration would be the masquerade ball.
And as she stared up at Adrian, his eyes locked on her and his expression so undeniably tender, she was all but overcome by it. Her gloved fingers trembled where they rested in his hand.
He tightened his grip, not enough to restrain, only enough to steady. The small gesture sent a rush of warmth through her that had nothing to do with the crowded church or the unseasonably warm air within the sanctuary.
She had imagined this moment once, years ago, and then had forbidden herself to imagine it again. Dreams were dangerous things when there seemed to be no chance of them being fulfilled. Yet here she stood, her hand in his, the man she had loved in silence now standing before God and everyone, to bind their lives together until death parted them.
When the vicar began the vows, Eleanor heard the words as though from a great distance. She repeated them dutifully, butthe weight of what they signified pressed upon her chest until it was almost difficult to breathe.
When Adrian spoke his vows, his voice did not waver. “I take you, Eleanor Rebecca Harcourt, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow. To love and to cherish. For all the years she had believed herself resigned to a life beside him but not with him, these words felt like a miracle spoken aloud.”
She saw that his jaw was tight, as though he too struggled to contain something too vast for the moment. Softly, she repeated her vows, but said them with great conviction. She did not need everyone gathered to hear them. Only him.
He slid the ring onto her finger. The gold caught the light, gleaming with quiet promise. “Eleanor,” he murmured, so softly only she could hear. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there just above where her wedding ring now rested.
Her vision blurred.
When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, the small crowd gathered in the church might as well have been absent. The world had shrunk to a pinpoint, only the two of them. Everything had changed.
Everything. And it felt as if her life was finally beginning… as if she’d only been waiting until that moment.
After rounds of well wishes, they returned to Harcourt House for the wedding breakfast which passed in a blur of toasts, laughter, and the endless choreography of congratulations. Eleanor smiled until her cheeks ached and endured embraces from well-meaning matrons who spoke of happiness and heirs with alarming enthusiasm. Adrian bore it with surprising goodhumor, though his hand found hers beneath the table whenever the speeches grew long.
Julien raised his glass with conspicuous restraint and declared that he had always known they would come to their senses eventually. Caroline, seated at Eleanor’s side, squeezed her hand and whispered that she had never seen two people look so entirely right together.
At last, propriety loosened its hold. Carriages were called. Farewells exchanged. The crowd thinned.
And the day, which had belonged to everyone else, finally belonged to them.
It was nearlytwilight when they finally reached the townhouse that Adrian had procured for them. After a brief introduction to the limited staff, she excused herself to go upstairs.
Eleanor entered the bedchamber prepared for them. She paused just inside the door. The scene laid out before her was one clearly intended for romance and seduction. Candles burned low and steady, their light soft against the pale walls. Her trunks had already been unpacked; her gowns hung neatly in the wardrobe. Everything appeared settled, orderly, as though she had always lived here. And draped on the bed was an exquisite nightrail. It was the sheerest silk, edged in delicate lace.
Never in her life had she worn something like it, and the idea of baring herself so completely was difficult. But her eagerness to finally discover what lay beyond passionate stolen kisses surpassed her wariness.
A soft knock at the door and then her maid entered. Liza helped her to prepare for bed, taking her hair down from its elaborate coiffure. Brushing the mass of dark waves until itshone. Then her dress was removed and carefully put away. Her undergarments were stripped from her to be taken for laundering and she donned the nightrail with fingers that shook furiously. There was, thankfully, a matching wrapper. Though in truth it provided only the illusion of modesty.
The maid ad only just vanished, slipping almost unseen and unheard from the door, when Adrian entered.
