Chapter 25 Ninth Day of Wooing a Wife #2
"Morrison?" Aubrey said quietly while he positioned himself against the headboard.
"Yes, my lord?"
"What do you know about this luncheon with the orphans? What has Lady Madeley planned?"
Morrison paused in his work, considering. "From what I've gathered from the staff, my lady has arranged for a traditional luncheon in the dining room. Roasted chicken, vegetables, Christmas pudding. She's also prepared small gifts for each child, mostly practical items and a small toy."
"Practical." Aubrey nodded. "That sounds like Eleanor."
"Indeed, my lord." Morrison hesitated, then continued. "Though I overheard Mrs Williams mention that Lady Madeley had originally hoped to do something more... special. Before your arrival disrupted the household budget."
Aubrey sat up straighter, ignoring the twinge in his hip. "What kind of special?"
"Apparently, Lady Madeley used to hire a puppeteer each year for the Christmas luncheon.
A Mr Whitby from the village, quite talented, from what I understand.
He would perform scenes from A Christmas Carol with elaborate puppets.
Mrs Williams said the children talked about it all year.
Asked about whether the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come would return.
" Morrison's expression softened almost imperceptibly.
"But this year, with all the preparations for your care and the unexpected expenses, Lady Madeley decided to forgo it.
Said the practical gifts were more important. "
Aubrey's chest tightened. "She should have told me more funds were needed. I must speak to my banker. I cannot recall the sum I’d approved."
"Her ladyship does not seem the type to ask for anything, my lord. She seems to make do and endure."
"Yes. She’s grown up with very little, and I haven’t been attentive enough.” His face heated with shame. "Hire Mr Whitby for a performance this afternoon. Tell him I will double his fee if he teaches the children how to handle the puppets."
Morrison bowed, showing a glimpse of excitement. "Consider it done, my lord. I shall go now and return in time to dress you for the luncheon."
"Make haste, and don't tell Lady Madeley. Let it be a surprise."
"Very good, my lord." Morrison moved toward the door with newfound purpose.
Aubrey sat alone, smiling, at the satisfaction of knowing that in three hours, Eleanor's face would light up upon the orphans’ arrival.
And that, Aubrey thought, was more endearing than all the remarkable talents she possessed.
Eleanor
Eleanor stood before her mirror while Mrs. Duncan fastened the last button on her new dress—the soft green silk that Madame Laurent had delivered just that morning, finished ahead of schedule as a Christmas gift.
It fit perfectly. The bodice hugged her small frame without overwhelming it, the skirt fell in elegant lines that made her look taller somehow, and the colour brought out the grey green of her eyes in a way her usual practical dresses never had.
"You look lovely, my lady," Mrs. Duncan said, stepping back with satisfaction. "Truly lovely. His lordship will be speechless."
Eleanor's stomach fluttered. "His lordship will be in bed, as he should be."
"Still, my lady. It's nice to look beautiful for one's husband." Mrs. Duncan's eyes were warm. "Especially if he's seeing you from bed."
Eleanor smoothed the silk to hide her blush, then made her way downstairs.
The orphans would arrive within the hour, and there were still a dozen last-minute details to manage.
She needed to check that the dining room was properly arranged, that Cook had everything under control, that the gifts were—
She stopped short at the entrance to the grand hall.
A tall man stood near the centre of the marble floor, his back to her, leaning heavily on two canes. Dark hair, broad shoulders, wearing the grey jacket and burgundy waistcoat she'd admired on him before.
Her husband.
Standing.
"Aubrey?" Eleanor's voice was pitched with concern. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be standing. You'll hurt yourself."
He turned carefully, using both canes for balance, and the smile that spread across his face when he saw her made Eleanor's pulse quicken.
"Eleanor." His voice was rough, reverent. "You look…"
He didn't finish the sentence. Instead, he took two clumsy steps toward her, and when she instinctively moved closer to help him, he caught her around the waist with one arm and kissed her.
Not chastely. Not tentatively. But with thorough, deliberate passion that made her head spin and her knees weak.
When he finally pulled back, his lips moved to her ear, his voice a low whisper that sent heat flooding through her entire body: "You look so beautiful I'm reconsidering this entire luncheon. Perhaps we should let Mrs Williams and the staff handle everything while I take you upstairs to bed."
Eleanor's face burned scarlet. "Aubrey—"
"I'm completely serious." His mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her gasp. "You in this dress. Me finally able to stand. A perfectly good bed upstairs. The children wouldn't mind a slight delay—"
"You're too disabled to handle me," Eleanor blurted out, then immediately pressed her hands to her burning face as she realised what she'd said.
Aubrey pulled back, his blue eyes wide with a mixture of delight and shock. "I beg your pardon?"
"I didn't mean… I meant you're injured. You shouldn't exert yourself." Eleanor was stammering now, mortified. "Dr Fielding said no strenuous activity."
"Did you just suggest I'm too disabled to bed my own wife?" Aubrey's voice was caught between laughter and outrage. "Eleanor Egerton, I am simultaneously impressed and utterly aghast at that statement."
"I'm simply concerned for your recovery."
"I'll have you know that certain activities can be accomplished while lying perfectly still." Aubrey's eyes were dancing now, his grin wicked. "With the right encouragement. And from what I experienced last night when you touched me—"
"Aubrey!" Eleanor glanced around frantically to ensure no servants were within earshot. "You can't say such things."
"I'm your husband. I can say anything I like to you." But his expression softened, became more tender. "Though you're right that I'm probably too disabled for anything particularly athletic at the moment. Pity. The things I'd like to do to you in that dress—"
"Would you like to sit down?" Eleanor interrupted desperately, trying to regain some composure. "Before you collapse?"
"A footman already went to fetch a chair." Aubrey's thumb traced her cheekbone gently. "I came down early. Before you arrived. I didn't want you to witness me being carried down the stairs by two footmen like a piece of furniture. It's rather undignified."
Eleanor's heart squeezed painfully. "You came down early—stood here waiting—so I wouldn't see that?"
"I wanted to surprise you." Aubrey's voice was soft now. "I wanted you to see me standing on my own. Well, with canes, but standing nonetheless. Wanted to kiss you properly, as a man should kiss his wife."
Tears pricked at Eleanor's eyes. "You shouldn't have pushed yourself."
"Yes, I should have." His hand cupped her face.
"Eleanor, for two years you managed everything alone.
Stood strong when I should have been standing beside you.
The least I can do now is stand by your side to greet your guests.
Even if it requires two canes and makes Morrison have an apoplexy about my stubbornness. "
"Morrison is probably having an apoplexy about many things," Eleanor said, her voice unsteady. "You've been rather... demanding lately."
"I have a lot of time to make up for." Aubrey's eyes were intense. "A lot of standing I should have done. Starting now."
Tom the footman appeared then, carrying a sturdy armchair that he positioned near the wall. "My lord, your chair. Shall I help you?"
"No." Aubrey kept his eyes on Eleanor. "My wife will help me. Won't you, darling?"
Eleanor moved to his side immediately, providing support as he made his slow, painful way to the chair. She could feel him trembling with the effort, could see the tightness around his mouth that betrayed how much pain he was in.
When he was finally seated, a fine sheen of sweat covered his forehead.
"That was foolish," Eleanor said quietly, producing a handkerchief and gently wiping his brow.
"Probably." Aubrey caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "But worth it to see your face. To kiss you like that. To stand beside you, even for just a moment."
Eleanor knelt beside his chair, her hand still in his, her green silk skirt pooling around her. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Aubrey."
"I know." His other hand came up to cradle her face. "But I need it. Need to feel like a man instead of an invalid. Need to be able to stand beside my wife when she looks like an angel descended from heaven."
"I'm not an angel."
"You are to me." Aubrey's thumb stroked her cheek. "My angel. My miracle. The woman who's given me more grace than I deserve and more chances than I've earned. And if standing for you is what it takes, then I'll stand every damn day until I can dance with you properly."
Eleanor's vision blurred with tears. "You're going to make me cry. And the children will be here any moment, and I can't greet them with red eyes."
"Then let me distract you." Aubrey tugged her up gently and had her sit on one knee. He then kissed her, softer this time, sweeter, but no less thorough. "Better?"
"Much worse," Eleanor whispered against his mouth. "Now I'm flushed and breathless and completely inappropriate for receiving orphans."
"Perfect." Aubrey's grin was unrepentant. "Exactly how I want you."
"You're impossible."
Before Eleanor could say more, Mrs Williams appeared in the doorway.
"My lady, my lord, Miss Penny and the children have arrived."
Eleanor stood quickly, smoothing her skirts. Aubrey struggled to push himself up using his canes, and his wife’s support.
And as the sound of children's voices and excited chatter filled the entrance hall, as two dozen orphans poured through the front door with wide eyes and barely contained energy, Eleanor stood beside her husband and felt something shift in her chest.
Something that felt dangerously like falling completely, irrevocably in love.
Not the desperate, one-sided love of her youth.
But something real. Mutual. Built on a man who would stand on two canes in considerable pain just to greet children properly because those children mattered to her.
Eleanor squeezed Aubrey's arm gently, and when he squeezed her hand in return, she let herself believe, just for a moment, that perhaps this impossible, beautiful thing between them might last.
That perhaps they were building something that neither time nor distance nor fear could destroy.
That perhaps this was what love was supposed to feel like.