Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Isat at my window, candle flickering, long into the night holding Julian’s journal entries. I reread some, but mostly just thought about them all, letting his heart seep into my soul, letting myself really see him and try to understand him.
As dawn creeped up over the horizon, I knew one thing for sure. It would be worth it to me to know. Julian was worth it.
I had been back at Wyndham Hall for three days when I finally worked up the courage to send word to Julian requesting a meeting. The note I dispatched was carefully formal—a request to discuss estate business and the search for a permanent steward—but my hands trembled slightly as I sealed it.
His response came within hours: Mrs. Tynsdale—I would be honored to assist with estate matters at your convenience. Tomorrow afternoon, if suitable? J. Brooks
Even in his reply, he signed himself as I had first known him, and something about that small gesture made my chest tighten with unexpected emotion.
The next afternoon found me in the study earlier than necessary, arranging papers with nervous energy and trying to convince myself that this was merely a business meeting.
I had chosen my dress carefully—not my finest, which might suggest I was trying to impress him, but not my plainest either.
The soft gray wool struck the right note, I hoped, of serious purpose with feminine grace.
When Julian arrived precisely at two o'clock, I felt my breath catch despite my best efforts at composure.
He wore the same sort of practical clothes I remembered from our early acquaintance, though now I understood they were a choice rather than a necessity.
The sight of him in the doorway of the study brought back a rush of memories—all those mornings we had spent here, working together with easy companionship that now felt both precious and painful.
"Mrs. Tynsdale," he said with a careful bow. "Thank you for agreeing to see me."
"Lord Avebury. Please, sit down. I've prepared the estate books for review."
"Julian," he said quietly. "If you would. I know I have no right to ask for the familiarity we once shared, but hearing my title from your lips feels like a constant reminder of the distance between us."
I studied his face, noting the genuine request in his expression. "I have to admit, I too prefer Julian."
He settled into the chair beside the desk, his face lit with a small hopeful smile—the same chair he had always occupied during our previous meetings—and I was struck by how natural his presence felt in this space.
This was where I had first come to appreciate his intelligence and competence, where I had begun to understand that he was unlike any man I had ever known.
"Shall we begin with the quarterly accounts?" I asked, opening the first ledger.
For the next hour, we worked through the estate finances with the same easy collaboration I remembered.
Julian's explanations were clear and detailed, his suggestions thoughtful and practical.
But I found myself increasingly distracted by small details—the way he bent over the papers when concentrating, the careful precision of his handwriting, the warmth in his voice when he spoke of tenant improvements.
"The drainage project in the lower fields has been remarkably successful," he was saying, indicating a series of figures. "Crop yields increased by nearly twenty percent this season."
"That's wonderful news for the affected families."
"Indeed. Your aunt's investment in long-term improvements rather than short-term profits has proven quite wise."
As he leaned closer to point out specific entries, I caught the familiar scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him. The proximity made me acutely aware of the warmth radiating from his body, the way his sleeve brushed against mine when he reached for another ledger.
"Are you following the calculations?" he asked, glancing up to find me watching his face rather than the papers. He held my gaze, his eyes alighting with interest. With a quick wink, he looked back down at the papers in my hands.
"Yes," I said quickly, though I had lost track of the numbers entirely. "The improvements seem to be paying for themselves quite rapidly."
"They are. Though I should mention that we'll need to make a decision about replacing some of the older equipment before spring planting begins."
We continued working through the accounts, sitting closer together than strictly necessary.
When Julian handed me papers, our fingers brushed in ways that sent familiar jolts of awareness through my entire body.
When I reached across him for an ink pot, I was conscious of how easy it would be to lean just slightly closer, to rest my hand on his shoulder, to bridge the careful distance we were both maintaining.
"Now, about finding a permanent steward," Julian said as we finished with the financial records. "I've identified several candidates who might be suitable."
"Actually," I found myself saying, "I'm not certain I want a steward at all."
He looked at me with surprise. "Oh?"
"I've discovered that I rather enjoy managing the estate myself. With proper guidance and occasional consultation, I think I might prefer to maintain direct control over decisions."
"That's... quite an undertaking."
"I would need advice, certainly. Perhaps someone willing to serve as estate consultant rather than manager? Someone who could review my decisions and offer suggestions without taking over entirely?"
Something shifted in Julian's expression as he understood what I was suggesting. "Such an arrangement could work well, with the right consultant."
"Someone with extensive experience in progressive management techniques. Someone familiar with local conditions and tenant relationships."
"Someone you could trust to have your best interests at heart," he added quietly.
"Yes. Someone I could trust."
Our eyes met and held, and I felt the weight of everything unspoken between us. The word, “Trust” hung in the air as a large question, unasked. But I lifted his hand in mine. “Perhaps you know someone like that?”
He watched me, toying with his fingers, my bare hands enjoying the feeling.
“I do in fact know someone just like that... and more.”
I lifted his hand to my mouth and kissed his knuckle. “I hoped you would.” Then I gestured to the table under the window with our unfinished game from weeks ago. "I thought perhaps... if you had time..."
"I always have time for chess with you."
We moved to the smaller table, settling into chairs that were closer together than the more formal seating at the desk. Julian studied the board with the same careful attention I remembered, though I noticed his gaze occasionally drifting to my face when he thought I wasn't looking.
"Your move, I believe," he said.
I reached for my queen, then hesitated, my hand hovering over the piece as I reconsidered my strategy. Julian's fingers settled gently over mine, not constraining my movement but offering subtle guidance.
"Perhaps the bishop," he suggested softly. "It opens more possibilities for future moves."
His touch sent warmth radiating up my arm, and I found myself reluctant to move away from the contact. For a moment, we sat with his hand covering mine, both of us staring at the chess board as though it held the secrets of the universe.
"Julian," I whispered.
"Yes?"
"I don't want to make another mistake."
"Neither do I."
His thumb brushed across my knuckles, such a small gesture but one that made my breath catch. Slowly, carefully, I turned my hand palm up beneath his, our fingers intertwining with the chess piece forgotten between us.
"I've missed this," he said quietly. "Not just your company, but the way you think, the way you see things others overlook. These weeks without being able to talk with you properly have been the longest of my life."
"I've missed you too," I admitted. "Even when I was angry, even when I told myself I shouldn't, I kept wanting to share things with you. Small observations, amusing incidents, questions about estate management that only you would understand."
"You could have. I would always have been available to you, no matter what else stood between us."
I looked up to meet his gaze, struck by the sincerity in his gray eyes. "Could I have? Or would conversations with Lord Avebury have been different from conversations with Julian Brooks?"
"They would have been exactly the same. I am the same person, Eliza, whatever name I use."
"I know that now. But at the time..."
"At the time, I had given you reason to doubt everything about me."
We sat in silence for several minutes, our hands still intertwined, both of us lost in thought. The late afternoon light slanted through the windows, casting everything in golden tones that made the moment feel suspended outside of ordinary time.
"May I ask you something?" Julian said eventually.
"Of course."
"Captain Hollings has called twice since the ball. Are you... considering his suit seriously?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "He's very kind. And persistent."
"That's not what I asked."
"I know what you asked." I studied our joined hands, noting how naturally my fingers fit between his. “Timothy is everything any sensible woman would want in a husband."
"But?"
"But when he touches my hand during conversation, I feel nothing. When he smiles at me, I appreciate his kindness without feeling any answering warmth. When he speaks of our potential future together, I find myself thinking of someone else entirely."
Julian's grip on my hand tightened almost imperceptibly. "Someone else?"
"Someone who carries rosemary in his pocket. Someone who rescues plants from frost and discusses estate management with genuine passion. Someone whose touch makes me forget my own name."
"Eliza..."
"Someone who hurt me deeply but who I cannot seem to stop caring for despite every rational argument to the contrary."
He lifted our joined hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to my knuckles that sent shivers through my entire body.
"I will spend the rest of my life earning back your trust," he said against my skin. "I will be so honest with you that you'll grow tired of hearing my every thought and feeling."
"I could never tire of that."
"I will tell you when I disagree with your decisions, when I think you're being too generous or too cautious or too stubborn. I will argue with you about estate management and politics and whether chess or cards makes for better evening entertainment."
I laughed despite the tears that had begun to gather in my eyes. "That sounds wonderfully honest."
"And I will love you with such consistency and devotion that you'll never again have reason to doubt my feelings, whatever complications may arise around us."
"Julian..."
"I love you, Eliza. Not the accomplished widow or the estate owner or the charitable lady admired by society.
I love the woman who falls over trying to rescue rosemary bushes and argues with her sisters about wallpaper choices and organizes Christmas celebrations for children who need to know they matter to someone. "
Before I could respond, he had risen from his chair and was kneeling beside mine, our joined hands now pressed against his heart.
"I love your courage and your compassion and the way you see straight through to what's truly important. I love your laugh and your stubborn streak and the little frown you get when you're concentrating on difficult problems."
"You're making this very difficult for me to remain sensibly cautious," I whispered.
"Good. I want to make it impossible for you to accept anyone else's suit when you know we belong together."
"How can you be so certain?"
"Because when I'm with you, I understand what home feels like. Because you challenge me to be better than I am while accepting who I am right now. Because when you look at me, I see reflected back the man I want to be."
I reached out with my free hand to touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw with trembling fingers.
"I love you too," I whispered. "Despite everything, despite all my efforts to convince myself otherwise, I love you so much it terrifies me."
"Then be terrified with me. Choose love."
Instead of answering with words, I leaned down and kissed him, pouring all my longing and fear and hope into the contact. His response was immediate and overwhelming, his arms coming around me to pull me closer as our careful restraint finally crumbled.
When we broke apart, both breathing heavily, Julian rested his forehead against mine.
"Does this mean you'll consider my application for the position of estate consultant?" he asked with a smile that made my heart race.
"I might consider a more permanent arrangement," I replied. "If the applicant can provide adequate references."
"I believe I can arrange for excellent recommendations."
"Then perhaps we should discuss terms."
"My terms are quite simple," he said, his thumb brushing across my cheek. "I want to spend every day of the rest of my life earning the privilege of making you happy."
As he kissed me again, more gently this time but with no less intensity, I realized that choosing Julian meant choosing me. It was the happiest choice I could imagine.