Page 164 of Eleanor’s Earrings

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know that too.”

The assurance mattered more than practiced romance could have. Eleanor removed the garnets and placed them carefully in their little box.

Nathaniel watched. “Important occasion?”

“The most important.”

She leaned toward him and kissed him.

There was no urgency. They had spent weeks learning each other through mud, fire, grief, arguments, broken wagons, frightened sisters, and impossible choices. The tenderness between them had been built piece by piece, and Eleanor felt every piece when Nathaniel drew her gently closer.

She touched his face. “Your shoulder?”

“Improving.”

“That was not an answer.”

He smiled against her mouth. “I have married a tyrant.”

“You were warned.”

“Repeatedly.”

Their wedding night unfolded gently, with whispered questions, quiet answers, and enough laughter to ease the last of Eleanor’s nerves. Nathaniel’s injured shoulder made one embrace awkward enough that she had to hide her smile against his chest.

Afterward, she lay with her cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“I did not think marriage could feel like this,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like more room instead of less.”

Nathaniel kissed her hair. “You take up a great deal of room.”

She lifted her head.

“In the best possible sense.”

“You recovered that very quickly.”

“I am motivated.”

Outside, a wagon creaked. Someone—almost certainly Lydia—whispered and was immediately shushed by Caroline.

Eleanor closed her eyes.

Nathaniel’s chest moved with silent laughter.

“Do not encourage them,” she whispered.

“I am lying perfectly still.”

“That has never prevented you from being troublesome.”

He kissed her again.

For the first time since Father died, Eleanor slept without dreaming of lists, distances, or things she might lose.