Page 84 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Eliza turned and made her way down the hall, her steps measured, though her thoughts were not. For a moment, she thought she heard Pere’s footsteps follow—but when she glanced back, the corridor lay empty.

Strange. Perhaps Pere had only meant to give her the illusion of solitude. Or perhaps she required it herself. Eliza did not linger on the question. She continued on, toward the double doors that opened onto the courtyard, and stepped out into the night. The air was cool and still. The noise of London softened here, muted by walls and distance, until it felt almost … removed. It reminded her, faintly, of home.

She drew in a slow, steadying breath and walked toward the center of the courtyard, where a small fountain stood surrounded by a few stone benches. The quiet trickle of water filled the silence, soothing in its constancy.

As she took a seat, she felt the coolness of the stone beneath her fingers, grounding, steadying—something tangible beneath the swirl of thoughts she had not yet allowed herself to fully examine. The door opened behind her. Half expecting Pere to join her, she lifted her brows slightly when she instead took in the form of Edwin.

He noticed her at once and gave an easy, familiar smile. “You needed to escape as well?” he asked.

A soft laugh slipped from her before she could stop it. “You could say that.”

He hesitated—just briefly—then, as though coming to a quiet decision, crossed the courtyard toward her.

She shifted slightly, indicating the space beside her. “You may join me, if you wish.”

“Thank you.” He sat beside her, drawing in a slow breath, his shoulders easing as though the very act of sitting there—of stepping away from expectation—allowed something in him to settle.

“It is pleasant,” he said, “to have quiet now and then.”

“Indeed.” The silence that followed was not awkward.

It settled easily between them, natural and unforced, as though neither felt the need to perform—to fill the space with words that were unnecessary.

After a moment, Edwin turned slightly toward her. “After so much … scheming,” he said, the faintest pause marking the word, “it is rather nice to simply exist.”

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise moving through her. “I was just thinking something very similar.”

A small hesitation followed.

“Go on,” he said softly, something quieter beneath the words—something encouraging.

She pressed her lips together, considering—then chose, deliberately, to speak.

“I was only noting,” she said, “how often you and I seem to arrive at the same thought. I find myself … unexpectedly grateful for it.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him. “As do I.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, a hint of a smile at his lips, then turned more fully toward her.

She shifted as well, aligning herself with him without quite realizing she had done so.

“And it does feel like a form of closure,” he added. “Having matters with Lord Humford—and Langshire—resolved. I had not realized how much tension it carried.”

“It was indeed causing tension,” Eliza replied, a soft laugh following. “Your family thinks us entirely daft.”

At that, he laughed. “What else is new? My family has always considered me so. Now you are simply included among us.”

She lowered her gaze as she gave a small giggle. “Well, if I were observing from the outside, I might think us rather daft as well. I cannot, in fairness, object.”

“Yes,” he said lightly. “I suppose you are right.”

“And I do rather enjoy hearing that,” she replied—

Then stilled, realizing she had drifted dangerously close to flirtation.

But if one could not flirt with one’s future husband…

The thought lingered longer than it ought.

It was strange. Flirtation had always been something she employed with care—considered, measured, intentional.