Page 65 of The Reclusive Earl's Scandal
He had never said anything more on the matter, for she had been so insistent on them being friends, of their marriage being convenient, but who had she been trying to convince more? Him, or herself?
And that feeling that wrapped around her heart…
The word echoed through her mind, as quiet as a whisper.
Love.
She thought of her mother’s sobs over losing her memories stitched into ball gowns, and she thought of the former Lord Thornshire asking his family to dine together to make it through grief together. Her mind swirled with holding Edward after he had broken down in the carriage, and how he had done the same when she had fled the ballroom in tears and then spilled her devastation over her father’s actions.
How they had supported one another, how he had stood by her, but she had equally stood by him. She had always thought that love would strike her like lightning but… what if it was the slow drip of honey, sweet and slow to collect? What if it was deeper—something that had needed more time to develop because love had known neither of them were ready for it at the beginning?
Rebecca’s breath quickened as she brushed the cloth over Edward’s brow.
“I love you, Edward,” she whispered, testing out the words even if he could not hear her. They felt…right. They felt asthough they slid into a place in her heart that she hadn’t known had been there, but had only waited for her to discover it.
As soon as she pulled her hand back to rinse the cloth again, fingers caught her wrist. She startled, finding Edward’s eyes half opened, his mouth pulled into the weakest smile.
“You do?” he asked, his voice rough.
And Rebecca choked on a sob at the sight of him awake, and barely thought about what she had confessed before she was calling for Edward’s family. They all rushed in with the physician in tow, but Edward’s eyes didn’t stray from Rebecca as he was examined. Hers did not leave him, either, and she was aware of how furiously she blushed.
She had always blushed around him, hadn’t she? She could see that now, and her own blindness made her want to laugh. Edward dutifully kept his mouth shut and let the physician assess him.
“He lost a great deal of blood,” the physician commented. “Between the wound in his thigh and the blow to the head, you will be in recovery for another week or so. Lord Thornshire, I recommend a monitored use of laudanum until you begin to heal a little more. How does that sound?”
“Is that not addictive?” Lady Thornshire worried.
“It can be,” the physician admitted. “But it will be monitored, and with the promise from Lord Thornshire that should he begin to depend on it he will alert somebody, then I am happy to proceed.”
After a moment, Edward nodded his head jerkily. And then he laughed quietly. “Does this mean I do not have to attend a ball for that week?”
Relief loosened Rebecca’s chest so tightly that she didn’t hesitate: she moved closer to Edward and clasped his face in her hands. She met his gaze for a mere few seconds, and saw thattwitch of a smile on his mouth, and then she pressed her lips to him.
For the first time since a time she could not remember, Rebecca’s mind emptied, and she moved closer to the Earl of Thornshire, her future husband, her friend.
And she knew how deeply she had already fallen in love without even realizing it.
Chapter Twenty-One
The following two weeks passed in blurs of pain, of more administered doses of laudanum, and being aware of the duke’s daughter who sat at Edward’s bedside.
His soon-to-be wife.
Rebecca, who scarcely let her hand fall from his, had begun to fall asleep in the chair next to his bed so often that Edward’s mother had offered her a guest chamber in Thornshire House. After all, it was to be her home soon enough.
“Simply move in early,” Edward jested the day before their wedding. While he was recovering, his mother had told him that she, Rebecca and Rebecca’s mother had taken care of the very last touches of the wedding ceremony.
“I cannot,” Rebecca laughed.
“Why not? The countess’s rooms are yours now.”
“And see Lady Thornshire out of her home early? Heavens, no.”
“Please,” Edward chuckled. “My mother has been itching to retire to her dower house for longer than I have been back in London. She will adore moving out, free to gossip with the other matrons and afternoon tea to her heart’s content.”
“And your sister? I am certain she has plenty to say about me moving in at all.”
“I do indeed.”
