Page 99 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Warmth spread through her, steady and undeniable.

It had been a week since he had resolved the matter with her father, since he had stepped into something dangerous and ended it with a certainty she had not dared hope for. She had wanted to be present when the situation was addressed, but she couldn’t fault the fact her father had chosen the time and place. Edwin had handled it perfectly, and she was nothing but grateful. The days since had passed in a blur of preparations, conversations, decisions—every hour filled, every moment accounted for.

And yet, beneath all of it, there had been something else. A quiet ache. It had begun, she thought, as hope. Hope had no place in arrangements such as theirs. And yet, it had taken root anyway.

Grown slowly, persistently—until it became something far more difficult to ignore.

Something far more dangerous.

Need.

She did not merely want this to work.

She needed it to.

Needed it to be more.

The thought settled heavily—and she drew in a steady breath, forcing her attention back to the service as it concluded and the congregation began to rise.

Outside the church, the steps were filled with movement and sound—well-wishers gathering, voices rising in congratulation, polite inquiries layered with curiosity and expectation.

Eliza and Edwin paused as they descended, accepting each greeting with composed ease.

There were smiles.

There were compliments.

And beneath them all, there was interest.

Many, she suspected, hoped for an invitation. And they would receive one. That had already been decided. The wedding would be large, public, and, as a result, unquestionable. A strategy, certainly. But as she stood there, accepting yet another kind word, she realized that her reasons had shifted. She did not want them to witness merely for propriety. She wanted them to witness because it mattered. Because she wanted the world to see—to know—that he was hers.

And she—was his.

The thought startled her. Because it revealed something she had not intended to acknowledge.

What if this was still, for him, only convenience? The question lingered as he guided her down the final step and toward the waiting carriage. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, studying him carefully. His manner was gentle, not practiced, not performative but instinctive.

Surely that meant something? Did it not? Surely there was something in him, some emotion, something real that might grow? She wanted to believe that. She needed to believe it.

As he helped her into the Hawthorne carriage, he lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her glove.

“I shall see you shortly,” he said.

She inclined her head, watching him step back. There were still expectations to maintain—appearances to preserve. She would return with Hawthorne and Pere, as planned. But not for long. In a matter of weeks, she would leave such places as his wife.

And maybe, in that time, she could do something miraculous. She could make him love her.

And if not, she would have the rest of her life to try. The thought settled into something like resolve as she adjusted her skirts and took her seat opposite Pere and Hawthorne.

“You seem deep in thought,” Pere observed, studying her with quiet interest.

Eliza smiled faintly. “Only gathering my thoughts,” she replied. Then, after a brief pause, she added lightly, “And quite hungry. I slept in this morning and missed breakfast entirely.”

“And whose fault was that?” Hawthorne asked, his tone teasing.

“My own, entirely,” she said. “Which is why I am very much anticipating luncheon.”

“Well,” Hawthorne replied. “Henley and Anna are likely already there. If anything remains, I am certain it will be sufficient.”