Chapter 21 Fifth Day of Wooing a Wife
Chapter twenty-one
Fifth Day of Wooing a Wife
Aubrey was attempting to read, Morrison having propped him up with an elaborate arrangement of pillows that would have impressed a military engineer, when he heard the unmistakable sound of his parents' voices from just outside his door.
"—absolutely ridiculous that we must detour through Hertfordshire when Dover is in the complete opposite direction—"
"You insisted on seeing the boy, Margaret. Don't complain about the inconvenience now."
"I'm simply observing that our son has the most inconvenient timing. I only came because he summoned us."
Aubrey closed his eyes and braced himself.
His parents swept into the room moments later with the kind of energy that suggested they had far more important places to be.
His father wore his traveling coat and carried his winter gloves, clearly prepared to leave at any moment.
His mother was resplendent in golden bronze, her expression suggesting she was already mentally in France with her daughter and grandchildren.
"Aubrey," his father said, surveying him with the critical eye usually reserved for livestock auctions. "You're alive. Good. That simplifies the inheritance situation considerably."
"Hello, Father. Mother." Aubrey struggled to sit up straighter. "Thank you for coming."
"Don't thank us yet," his mother interrupted, pulling off her gloves with brisk efficiency. "We're only here because you sent that absurd letter demanding we bring you a family heirloom immediately. As though we're servants to be summoned at your whim."
"I didn't summon. I requested."
"Same thing." Lady Egerton settled into the chair beside his bed without waiting for an invitation. "You look terrible, by the way. Have you been eating? You're pale."
"I've been bedridden for two weeks recovering from injuries."
"Yes, yes, we know. We were the ones who fetched you from Hyde Park, announcing to the ton we raised an imbecile.
" His father examined a book on Aubrey's bedside table with mild interest. "Marcus Aurelius.
At least you're reading something worthwhile while you convalesce.
Though I'd recommend Cicero. Much better for developing proper stoic discipline. "
"I have plenty of discipline, Father."
"Clearly not enough to stay on a horse." Lady Egerton produced a small velvet box from her reticule and tossed it onto the bed with the casual indifference one might show a handkerchief.
"There. The Egerton betrothal ring. As requested, though why you need it now is beyond me. You're already married."
Aubrey picked up the box with hands that trembled slightly. Inside, the ring glittered in the winter sunlight. A large sapphire surrounded by diamonds, set in gold. The ring his father had given his mother. The ring that had been in the Egerton family for five generations.
"Now then," his mother continued, leaning back in her chair with the air of someone preparing for gossip. "Which courtesan is this for? We heard rumours you've taken up with some opera singer in London. Though frankly, I thought you had better taste than that."
Aubrey's head snapped up. "I beg your pardon?"
"The ring, darling." Lady Egerton gestured at the velvet box. "Which mistress are you planning to give it to? Because I must tell you, giving the family betrothal ring to a paramour is in terribly poor taste. Even for you."
"It's for my wife!" Aubrey's voice came out considerably louder than he'd intended. "For Eleanor! My wife, who I am married to, who I have been faithful to despite everything!"
His parents exchanged glances.
"Well," his father said mildly. "That's unexpected."
"Why is that unexpected? She's my wife!"
"Yes, but we didn’t realise you knew that judging by the way you’ve been behaving." Lady Egerton examined her nails with interest.
"I was wrong." Aubrey clutched the ring box. "I was blind and stupid and cruel, and I was wrong about everything."
"Oh dear," his mother murmured. "He's in love."
"Seems to be." Lord Egerton shook his head sadly. "Poor boy. Love makes fools of us all."
"I'm not a fool."
"No, you are a wastrel," his father said.
"A wretch, for abandoning your angelic wife," his mother added.
"You should have given it to her when you were betrothed." His father clicked his tongue.
"You refused then,” his mother added. “Refused to honour her as your betrothed."
Aubrey pressed his hands to his face. "I know what I said and did. There truly is no need to remind me."
"Of course there is." Lady Egerton's voice was almost fond. "We're terrible at showing affection and raised you with all the warmth of a military boarding school. The least we can do is to remind you of your wrongdoings."
"I see. Are you quite finished?"
"No." His father settled into the other chair. "But you turned out well enough. Mostly. Aside from almost losing your manhood over a phantom."
"How is Eleanor, by the way?" Lady Egerton's tone shifted slightly. Less teasing, more interested. "You look reasonably healthy. I suppose your wife hasn’t poisoned you yet. I would have."
Aubrey felt his expression soften involuntarily.
"She's been... extraordinary. She nursed me herself.
Every day. Every night. Turning me, changing dressings, managing my pain.
And the estate… Mother, you should see what she's done with the estate.
The accounts are impeccable. She's saved us hundreds of pounds while improving everything.
She's negotiated better contracts, organised charitable giving, managed the staff with perfect efficiency—"
"Good Lord," his father interrupted, holding up a hand. "If you continue waxing poetic, I'll need brandy. He's besotted."
"Completely gone," his mother agreed. "Look at his face. He's glowing."
"I am not."
"If it's not love, then you're feverish and we should summon the doctor." Lady Egerton leaned forward with undisguised amusement. "You look like a boy describing his first pony. It's almost endearing. Almost."
Aubrey felt his face heat. "She's brilliant and kind and stronger than anyone I've ever met.
She held this entire estate together while I sulked in London.
She's been caring for orphans and managing accounts and dealing with my absence with more grace than I deserve.
And I…" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I hope she’ll give me another chance. Even after everything. I hope she’ll permit me to court her properly. "
"Court her? You're already married to her." His father looked confused.
"She plans to leave on Boxing Day. I can’t lose her. So, I'm going to court her and convince her to stay. Prove that I can be trusted." Aubrey met his father's eyes directly. "That I want a real marriage."
His parents were quiet for a long moment.
"Well," Lady Egerton said finally. "That's actually rather romantic. In a pathetic, grovelling sort of way."
"Very pathetic," his father agreed. "But I suppose it shows character, acknowledging one's mistakes and all that."
"We should meet her properly," his mother announced, standing abruptly. "I barely spoke to the girl at your wedding. You fled so quickly I was too embarrassed to face her afterward. Davies!"
The butler appeared as though he'd been waiting outside the door. "My lady?"
"Summon Lady Madeley, please. Tell her Lord and Lady Egerton request her presence."
"Of course, my lady."
Aubrey's stomach clenched. "Mother, perhaps this isn't the best time."
"Nonsense. We'd like to be better acquainted with our daughter-in-law, now that you've recovered your senses." Lady Egerton settled back into her chair. "Besides, I'm curious about the woman who managed to make you grow up."
His father snorted. "Grow up? That's generous. The boy's barely grown a spine."
"A spine is a good start," his mother countered. "Better than what he had two weeks ago."
"I have always had a spine."
"You hid in London for two years," his father said. "That's having a yellow belly, not a spine."
"Richard, be fair." Lady Egerton's voice was mild. "Our son has shown remarkable progress. He's acknowledged his mistakes, declared his love, and is preparing to grovel appropriately. That's quite mature for a man his age."
"Is it?" Lord Egerton raised an eyebrow.
"I'll consider him mature when he can maintain this devotion after his wife turns old and grey.
Anyone can be in love with a young, pretty thing.
Real maturity is loving someone after thirty years of marriage.
" He glanced at his wife. "Look at your mother.
She's thrice the age and size as when we wed, but I still adore her. That's maturity."
Lady Egerton's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I beg your pardon?"
To Aubrey’s relief—and his father’s, he was certain—the door opened, and Eleanor entered. She'd clearly come in haste. Her hair was slightly mussed, her dress practical rather than formal, her expression wary as she took in the scene before her.
"Lord Egerton. Lady Egerton." She curtsied with perfect grace.
Lady Egerton stood and moved toward Eleanor with warmth, taking both her hands. Aubrey watched his wife’s eyes widen. "My dear girl. Thank you for putting up with our idiot son."
Eleanor blinked, clearly thrown by the greeting. "I... you're welcome?"
"He's always been this way, I'm afraid." Lady Egerton guided Eleanor to the chair she'd just vacated. "Stubborn, impulsive, prone to dramatic gestures. His father and I tried to beat some sense into him, but it never quite took."
"Mother—" Aubrey protested weakly.
"Quiet. We're talking about you, not to you." Lady Egerton turned back to Eleanor. "How has he been? As a patient? Terrible, I imagine. Complaining constantly?"
"He's been..." Eleanor glanced at Aubrey, and something soft crossed her face. "He's been surprisingly good. Cooperative. Patient. Even when the pain was severe."