Page 100 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Pere made a small, disapproving sound. “If Henley arrived before us, there will be very little left at all.”

Hawthorne patted her hand reassuringly. “Which is precisely why I instructed Cook to set aside biscuits and cakes. He may charm many, but he will not charm my kitchen.”

“Good,” Pere said with satisfaction.

When they arrived at Hawthorne House, Eliza followed them inside and into the dining room—only to pause as she took in the scene before her.

The sideboard stood nearly empty. Not a biscuit remained. Her gaze shifted just slightly toward Henley. And there upon the lapel of his coat was a scattering of crumbs.

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Edwin crossed the room toward her, taking her hand with easy familiarity and lifting it to his lips. “And what has amused you so greatly?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Your brother,” she said, lowering her voice as though confiding something of great importance. “I was lamenting my hunger, and Pere warned that we might find nothing left, on account of Henley’s enthusiasm for food.”

Edwin’s expression shifted—anticipation flickering into amusement.

“Hawthorne, in his wisdom, assured us that provisions had been set aside. And yet”—she gestured lightly toward the sideboard—“you will observe that nothing remains.” She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice further. “And if you examine your brother’s coat, you will find evidence of the culprit.”

Edwin followed her gaze—then laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. “I stand in awe, my dear,” he said, releasing her hand only to give a light, appreciative clap. “Your powers of observation are formidable.

“All of which,” he added, glancing toward Henley, “is entirely accurate. My brother and biscuits have long been a most devoted match. Do not mention it to Anna—she may take offense.”

Eliza smiled, though her attention lingered—not on the humor, but on something far smaller.

My dear.

He had said it so easily. So naturally. It should not have mattered.

And yet it did.

Hope stirred again—persistent, unyielding—refusing to be dismissed by logic or caution.

“Allow me,” Edwin said, guiding her toward her chair.

She took her seat, and he adjusted it with quiet attentiveness before settling beside her.

Leaning slightly closer, he added in a low voice, “If there are turnips, I stand ready to assist in their removal.”

She glanced at him, her expression composed though amusement flickered beneath it. “I shall rely upon you entirely, should such a crisis arise.”

Lunch passed in easy conversation, laughter threading naturally through the table.

As dessert was served, Pere looked between them. “Are there any further wedding details we must discuss?”

A collective groan rose from the gentlemen, and Eliza could not suppress a soft laugh.

“None that require a mixed audience,” she said, turning to Edwin with a small, knowing smile.

He took her hand, lifting it once more. “A most perfect woman,” he said lightly.

“If that is all it requires,” she replied, meeting his gaze, “then yes—I am quite perfect.” There was a note beneath her words, subtle but present.

A quiet reminder.

Anna leaned forward slightly. “The wedding is in two weeks,” she said. “And I very much hope I shall be well enough to attend. I have missed quite enough already.”

“What have you missed?” Henley asked gently.