Page 33 of The Duke and His Jilted Bride

It took him a moment to orient himself. The storm had settled into its quiet aftermath, the grounds would have been thoroughly washed. The room was grey and still. He was cold, which was expected because of the chair, and his neck already complained about the arrangement. But he was aware, before he had turned his head, that something was different too.

There was more weight on the chair, and something hot against his back specifically. He turned his head slowly, half convinced that this was still a dream.

Aurelia was curled behind him on the long chair, her knees behind his, her face against his shoulder, deeply asleep. She had brought her pillow. He did not know when she had done this or how, given how narrow the chaise was. And he didn’t know how he had not woken when she had moved over to him, except that he had been sleeping more soundly than he had in years.

He shifted carefully so as not to disturb her, and looked at her for a long time over the ridge of his shoulder. Her hair was on the cushion beside it. It had come undone from her braid. Her breathing was even. She was completely asleep, and in doing so had made herself so completely real and beautiful that he had to look at the ceiling for a moment before he could look at her again.

Evander knew he should move – get up and have the fire made up and maybe be somewhere else when she woke. These were all correct things to do. Instead he reached carefully and pulled the edge of his blanket over her shoulder so it covered them both but not his legs.

She didn't wake and instead shifted slightly closer.

He peered at the morning coming through the window and felt something well in his throat and behind his eyes. What a mess he had made of this. So much had changed in three weeks, and he was going to have to think about all of it eventually when he was alone.

But he was still tired, and there was morning ahead of them. And it wasn’t such a crime, waking up beside her after all.

Twelve

“What…?” Aurelia murmured, stretching as she awoke. There was a sudden rush through her as she almost fell off the bed.

Except it wasn’t a bed. It was that awful chaise longue. And Evander was beside her. She had woken up to a dull morning light and the smell of him. They were close to the window, and the drapes moved slightly back and forth in ripples.

His arm was over her. Likely not deliberately – she understood that at least. He was still asleep, and his arm must have arrived there in the night. His chest was against her back. His face was somewhere in her hair, pressing into her neck and making her body tingle.

She lay there and did not move, terrified about what would happen when she did. She thought about the night before and what he had said that she hadn’t really understood: “I know what could happen”.

All she knew for certain was that she had woken in the night and been cold, and he had been there, and she had thought: I want to be beside him and it is my choice to go to him. Obviously, she realised she cared for him. That was the plain fact of it. She had known it for some time, and had just filed it under later until later had arrived and was apparently now.

Then she moved by degrees, extracting herself from the blanket and his arm without disturbing him. He shifted, and she froze. He settled back into sleep easily, and Aurelia breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t explain why she was leaving. Only that she didn’t want him to know that she had been next to him that night.

But if she was still there, she thought, it stood to reason he hadn’t woken in the night and seen her, or he would have surely done something about it.

So this would be her secret for now. She picked up her candle, burned down to nothing now, useless, and went out pulling the door behind her without a sound.

They arrived at two o'clock, which was when Aurelia had estimated they would arrive because she knew Lydia's strained relationship with punctuality.

She heard the carriage from the music room, where she had been composing something that was private. By the time she reached the entrance hall, the footman had the door open and Lydia was already through it.

“Oh,” Lydia said, stopping in the middle of the entrance hall and cupping her own face with her hands. “Oh, this is all so wonderful, Aurelia. And now you’re here!”

“Welcome,” Aurelia said, beaming at the sight of her friend.

Lydia crossed the entrance hall and embraced her fiercely while Aurelia held on.

“You look well,” Lydia said, into her shoulder.

“You say that every time we meet.”

“Every time it has been true. And we have never been apart for so long than right now.” She pulled back and examined Aurelia. “Actually well, I mean. I thought you would have been all freckled and haggard by now, but you’re lovely. You look so happy.”

“You’ll find Norfolk is good for the complexion,” Aurelia said, which was not an answer but did the trick.

“So I’ve heard…” Lydia fought a smile. “And where is Mr. Norfolk at present?”

Aurelia stammered a reply. At that same moment, Violet appeared in the doorway, and Aurelia went to meet her. Her aunt held her face in both hands the way she did when she was small, and then said something brisk about the drive and the state of the Norwich roads.

To her surprise, the Earl of Rosdale arrived twenty minutes behind them, having ridden rather than taken the carriage, which explained the state of his coat and hair. He shook hands with the footman before the footman could correct the situation, which told Aurelia something about Patrick she had already suspected. He took in Carrstone like he had lived here for ever, and then he took in Lydia, who had come with her and was telling one of the passing maids about her trunk.

“Miss Penrose,” Aurelia said, smiling. “You will remember Lord Rosdale.”