Page 101 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Anna gave him a pointed look. “I missed the announcement at the ball—when Edwin and Eliza decided to choose one another.”

“It was not precisely that,” Hawthorne interjected, his tone amused.

Edwin spoke before Eliza could. “No need to make it sound so calculated,” he said. “I have improved since then. Ask Lady Eliza—I would even say my proposal was … romantic.”

The table fell briefly silent.

Hawthorne’s gaze moved between them. “You did what?” he asked slowly.

Edwin glanced toward Eliza. “I was certain you would assist my sister in this matter.”

Eliza smiled softly. “I shared only a few details,” she said. “It felt … too personal to recount in full.”

Pere gasped. “You did not tell me everything?” she demanded. “You must correct that immediately.”

Edwin lifted a brow. “You may tell it as you wish,” he said to Eliza.

She inclined her head, then turned to the table. “It was at Vauxhall Gardens, during the fireworks,” she said. “And I will say this—your brother was very romantic.” She paused. Then added, more quietly, “And more than that—he did not have to be.”

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “That is what made it matter.” She glanced at Edwin briefly—then back to the others. “I entered this arrangement understanding exactly what it offered. Solutions. Stability. Clarity.” A breath. “But your brother is … more than that.”

She hesitated—only for a moment.

“There are depths to him I had not expected. And he understood what I needed—what I wanted—before I could fully articulate it myself.” Her voice softened. “I am … very grateful for that.”

Silence followed.

Then Edwin’s hand found hers beneath the table, his thumb moving gently against her fingers.

She looked up, his gaze was steady and warm.

“How could I do any less,” he said quietly, “for such a lady?”

Pere’s eyes filled at once. “That was very sweet,” she said. Then, with sudden brightness, “I did not know you possessed such depth, Edwin. I am exceedingly proud.”

Henley laughed outright.

Hawthorne attempted to conceal his own amusement.

“And thus,” Edwin said dryly. “The moment is ruined.”

Eliza laughed—soft, unguarded—and Anna joined her.

“What?” Pere protested.

But Eliza only smiled.

Because even as laughter filled the room, even as the moment shifted and lightened, she held on to something quieter beneath it.

If this was not love, then it was, at the very least, something dangerously close.

Chapter Thirty-One

The dawn of his wedding day arrived with brilliant sunshine after a week of unrelenting rain, as though London itself had decided to mark the occasion with something resembling approval. Edwin stood before the tall windows of his dressing room, watching the light spill across the street below, and found himself reflecting—not on the spectacle to come, nor even on the gathering that would soon assemble—but on her.

He had seen Eliza only in brief intervals over the past week, their time consumed by preparations, obligations, and the endless orchestration of what would become one of the most talked-about weddings of the season. Each encounter had been fleeting—moments stolen rather than shared—and it brought into sharp relief just how accustomed he had become to her presence. How much he enjoyed it. Her absence had been … inconvenient, but it was more than that. It had been keenly felt.

She brought a light to every situation—a clarity of thought, a sharpness of wit, and a quiet intelligence that he found not only refreshing, but deeply compelling. He had not merely come to appreciate her—