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"That is the story of a man who loved her with everything he had."
She rested her forehead lightly against his.
"That is all I ask of you, Arthur. Not perfection, only that you give this marriage everything you have and allow me to do the same. I know you will not fail me. I know it as though I know the sky is blue and there are bones in my body.”
A soft laugh escaped her.
"If anything, I fear I am the one letting you down. You expected a Duchess of Buckingham and instead found a vicar's orphan daughter who has absolutely no idea how to navigate society."
"You have exceeded every expectation I ever had, and I can say with complete honesty that you have never disappointed me. Not once." Arthur said, as his humourless tone remained.
Warmth spread through Eliza’s chest. She shifted upwards, closing what little distance remained between them before pressing the softest kiss against his lips. She lingered there for a heartbeat, studying the man she had somehow come to love with every fibre of her being.
"Every day," she whispered, "I find myself falling a little more in love with you," she admitted.
His gaze never left hers.
She smiled sleepily before settling back against him, tucking herself beneath his chin as though she had always belonged there.
"I just hope..." she murmured, her words already blurring with exhaustion, "...that when I finally land you will catch me."
The last syllable was scarcely audible.
Within moments her breathing deepened, her body softened completely against his, and the gentle rise and fall of her chest settled into the steady rhythm of sleep.
Arthur remained perfectly still.
One hand rested protectively against the small of her back while the other stroked absentmindedly through the loose curls spilling across his shoulder. He listened to her breathe, feeling the weight of her trust resting against his heart, and for the first time in eleven years, it did not feel like a burden.
It felt like hope. He lowered his lips to the crown of her head and closed his eyes against the darkness that surrounded them before he, too, drifted to sleep.
Chapter 34
Arthur stood perfectly still amongst the waist-high meadow grass, the walnut stock of a rifle resting comfortably against the crook of his arm as though the gun were simply another limb. The crack following his last shot echoed across the estate, and a partridge folded instantly.
“Looks like bedding your wife has improved your aim considerably”, Laurence teased, “that’s a shame.”
The bastard had his back turned, sparing him from Arthur's scowl.
It had been several days since his mother had arrived, and with the weather proving unusually fair for September, they had decided to make the most of it and enjoy one final day of shooting before autumn fully took hold. It had become something of a tradition, the three of them disappearing onto the estate each autumn with the gamekeeper, returning only once the light had begun to fade.
Today, however, the absence of Colonel Radnor was impossible to ignore.
Arthur made a conscious effort not to dwell upon it, though from the occasional silence that settled over Laurence, he suspected his friend was fighting the very same battle.
"I must admit," Laurence continued, stretching his arms above his head as they crossed into the next field, "I am simply thrilled to be out of the house."
Arthur found himself in complete agreement.
His mother had declared war upon London society and, by extension, everyone residing beneath his roof, planning Eliza's debut with a determination bordering on military precision. Five weeks remained until the ball, yet invitations, dressmakers, jewellers and household staff seemed already to consume every waking hour.
Eliza, meanwhile, had embarked upon a campaign altogether more dangerous. She was quietly, patiently, laying siege to his heart.
She sought him out throughout the day with smiles that softened him against his better judgement, lingering kisses that had once begun as innocent comforts but now stirred something altogether more dangerous, and touches so absent-minded they somehow proved more intoxicating than any deliberate temptation. More than once, she had taken his hand and placed it against the curve of her waist or the small of her back, as though inviting him to believe he belonged there, and each time he had allowed himself to forget that he did not.
He was losing ground. Worse, he no longer cared.
"I need to head back to London soon," Laurence interrupted as they made their way back towards the house.
