Page 69 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Edwin smiled faintly. “Please refrain. I should prefer not to appear at my own wedding with a black eye.”

Pere did not smile in return.

“There is more,” Eliza continued.

She drew in a steady breath.

“This arrangement resolves a number of … practical concerns.” Her hands opened slightly, as though laying the truth before them. “Lord Devon offers me what I require. A name. Protection from the complications of my parentage. A future that cannot be so easily threatened, a family.”

Her voice faltered—just briefly—on the word family.

Edwin stepped closer without thought, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder.

She glanced at him.

He offered a quiet, steadying smile.

She returned it—brave, composed.

Edwin turned back to the others. “And Lady Eliza offers me the same,” he said. “Though perhaps not in the way one might first suppose.” He paused—not for effect, but to choose his words with care. “A man in my position does not suffer from a lack of opportunity,” he continued. “What he lacks is belief. Constancy. The assurance that what he presents now will not be dismissed as a temporary performance.” His gaze flicked briefly—unintentionally—toward Hawthorne, then returned. “A prudent match might have secured me approval,” he went on. “But approval is easily given—and just as easily withdrawn.”

A beat.

“This”—he gestured lightly toward Eliza—“requires more.” His voice steadied. “To choose a wife whose circumstances demand protection rather than advantage … to stand publicly, and without hesitation, in her defense, to choose family—” He let that settle. “Is not the action of a man seeking indulgence. It is the action of a man accepting consequence.”

Silence followed.

“And I find,” he added more quietly, “that consequence is rather the more important point.”

His gaze shifted, just briefly, to Eliza.

Then back.

“In short—we provide one another with a beginning neither of us could secure alone.”

Hawthorne spoke then. “I see the logic,” he said slowly. “The structure. The reasoning.” His gaze moved between them. “But that is all I see.” A pause. “Life is not built upon logic alone.”

Henley exhaled quietly. “Hawthorne is correct,” he said. “Though given the circumstances, I do not believe you have the luxury of waiting for anything more.” He gestured toward them both. “That said—what you lack now may develop. I would advise that you allow for that possibility.” A beat. “I still think you are all mad,” he added.

Edwin’s mouth curved faintly. “It will work,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eliza’s expression soften—approval, quiet but unmistakable. It did something unexpected to his chest.

Eliza continued smoothly. “There is another concern society will raise,” she said. “Whether some impropriety forced this union.”

Edwin’s gaze flicked briefly toward Hawthorne. “To counter that,” she went on, “we must proceed openly. A proper engagement. A proper wedding.”

Edwin nodded. “No secrecy,” he said. “No special license. We marry in full view of society. Six weeks’ time—at St. George’s.” He met their gazes. “The more visible we are, the less room there is for speculation.”

Hawthorne inclined his head. “I agree.” His gaze lingered. “And in six weeks, a great deal may change.” There was meaning in that.

Unspoken, but clear, a tenderness for one another could grow.

Henley frowned slightly. “We speak of this as though it were a campaign,” he said.

Then, after a beat—“In some respects, it is.” His expression tightened. “But campaigns end. Marriages do not.” He looked between them. “What happens when strategy is no longer sufficient?”

Silence followed.