Page 103 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

When the vicar joined their hands and pronounced them husband and wife, Edwin drew her gently toward him. The kiss he gave her was not for show. Not for the congregation.

It was for her.

There was tenderness in it. And something more—something unspoken, something he could not yet fully name.

Love.

The word settled in his mind with quiet certainty.

He did love her.

However unexpected—

However unconventional their beginning, it was true. He helped her into the carriage that would take them to Devon House, and for a moment—just a moment—he found himself without words.

He studied her, taking in every detail, committing it to memory. “I might say that you look beautiful,” he said softly at last, “but I suspect that would be a gross disservice to the truth of it.”

Her gaze warmed, a faint blush touching her cheeks as she glanced down, then back up at him. “You are very handsome, my lord,” she replied. Her eyes searched his, and she took a breath, then continued, almost hesitant. “And I am very happy to be your wife.”

The words lingered.

Something unspoken filled the space between them, fragile, waiting. He nearly said it, the three words that meant worlds more. Nearly gave voice to what had settled so firmly within him.

But doubt—quiet, persistent—held him back. Were they truly in step? Or had he moved ahead alone?

Instead, he shifted. “My mother has spared no effort in preparing the wedding breakfast,” he said. “It promises to be … memorable.”

Something flickered across her expression—quick, almost imperceptible—but he saw it.

Disappointment.

It unsettled him.

But before he could address it, she had composed herself. “I am certain it will be,” she said lightly. “There was scarcely an empty seat in the church. I confess—I was rather nervous as I entered.”

“You were captivating,” he replied, attempting to recapture the moment.

“I suspect they were more curious than anything else,” she said with a faint smile. “But now their curiosity will be satisfied.” A pause. “And, I hope, our hunger as well.”

He smiled faintly. “Indeed.”

Devon House was already alive with activity when they arrived, guests gathering in elegant clusters, the rooms filled with the hum of conversation and the soft clink of glassware.

The breakfast had been laid out in an impressive fashion—long tables adorned with silver service, delicate pastries, fresh fruits, and an array of dishes both sweet and savory, all arranged with meticulous care.

His mother had spared nothing.

Hawthorne and Henley were already engaged in conversation near the far end of the room, while Pere moved gracefully between guests, ensuring every detail unfolded precisely as intended.

Edwin offered Eliza his arm once more, guiding her through the crowd as congratulations were offered in steady succession.

When at last they were seated, the room settled into a rhythm—conversation rising and falling, laughter punctuating the formalities.

After some time, Edwin stood and offered his hand to Eliza as the gathered guests applauded. He led her from the room, through the corridor, and toward wing of the house that was his own. Eventually he would take the rooms that belonged to his title, but for now, they belonged to his mother. Thankfully, Devon House was massive in its own right; one wing would be entirely theirs. The silence that followed their steps was not uncomfortable, but it was uncertain. He drew in a breath.

“Never before have I found myself so entirely at a loss,” he admitted quietly. “I pride myself on ease of conversation, and yet—now—I find I wish to say too much, and not enough, all at once.” He glanced at her. “I want to reassure you. I want you to feel … treasured. And yet I do not wish to overwhelm you. I find myself uncertain how best to proceed.” He almost winced at the vulnerability of it.

But it was true. He paused as they entered the empty hall of their wing.