“You are enough,” Eliza said fiercely. “More than enough.”
“I know that now. Or at least, I’m starting to believe it.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Do you know why she left me? I found out later, through Ambrose. She said I was too cautious.Too careful. That she wanted passion and grand gestures and romance, and all I offered was… steadiness.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But it made me doubt myself for years. Made me think that perhaps I wasn’t capable of the kind of love people write poems about. That I was too practical, too controlled.”
“And now?” Eliza asked softly.
“Now I know she was wrong.” Morgan’s eyes were intense on hers. “Because what I feel for you. It’s not careful or controlled. It’s wild and terrifying and all-consuming. You’ve undone me, Eliza. Completely.”
Tears spilled down Eliza’s cheeks. “You’ve undone me too.”
“Good.” He kissed her, deep and thorough. “I want us to undo each other. To be vulnerable and messy and real.”
They made love then, slow and tender, a reaffirmation of everything they’d confessed. And afterward, as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, Eliza felt something shift inside her chest. For so long, she’d been running. From her parents. From Whitfield. From her own fear and pain. But here, with Morgan, she didn’t need to run anymore. She was home.
“Morgan?” she said sleepily, just as she was starting to drift asleep.
“Mmm?”
“Thank you. For trusting me with your story. With your heart.”
“Thank you for trusting me with yours.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Now sleep, darling. We have all the time in the world to share our secrets.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The London townhouse felt different now as they returned, three weeks after their nuptials. Eliza stood in the entrance hall, the same one where she’d once served tea as a maid, where Arabella had exposed her identity, where her entire world had been turned upside down. But now she entered through the front door, Morgan’s hand warm in hers, the staff bowing and curtsying as she passed.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” Mrs. Dawson said warmly, her earlier awkwardness entirely gone. “Again,” she laughed.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dawson. For preparing everything, for coming ahead.”
“Everything has been arranged for your arrival and to your specifications.”
“Thank you,” Eliza repeated, still not quite used to the deference in the housekeeper’s voice. “You are a wonder.”
“The Duke and Duchess of Welton sent word that they’ll be calling tomorrow afternoon,” Mrs. Dawson continued. “And Miss Winslow asked if you might have time to receive her as well.”
Eliza’s face lit up. “Of course! Please send word that I’d be delighted to see her!”
Morgan squeezed her hand, smiling at her obvious excitement.
“Shall I have your things taken to your chambers, Your Grace?” Mrs. Dawson asked.
“Our chambers,” Morgan corrected gently. “The Duchess will be sharing my rooms.”
If Mrs. Dawson was surprised by this deviation from aristocratic norms, she hid it well. “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll see to it immediately.”
As the housekeeper departed, Morgan turned to Eliza. “Are you all right? Being back here?”
“I think so.” Eliza looked around, memories washing over her. “It’s strange. This place holds so much fear for me. But with you here, it feels… different. Safer. A new London if you will.”
“Good. Because this is your home now, Eliza. No one can make you feel like a servant in your own house.”
She smiled up at him. “No. I suppose they can’t.”
The next afternoon, the drawing room erupted into chaos the moment Arthur and Philip spotted Eliza.
