Emily brought a hand to her mouth and then her head as she bent forward, feeling like an even bigger fool. "I forgot about the valise," she admitted.
"I set it right here last night, on the floor beside the bed." Eli reached for it, just an arm's length away. "I wanted you to see it as soon as you arose, guessing that whatever you might need most was inside." He held it out to her.
"That was a good guess." Emily took the bag, opened it, and saw her brush at once. "I'm so embarrassed. So sorry." She met his eyes once more, apology in hers.
"Don't be. You are in a new circumstance, and that will take some getting used to." He held his hand out for the brush. "May I?"
Though she felt perfectly capable of taming her hair now that she had a brush, she handed it to him.
Eli began at the back of her head, starting at the top and gently pulling the brush down through her hair. After a minute of watching him in the mirror, Emily allowed her eyes to close and her shoulders to relax. He was careful, as he'd always been. Gentle. Tender. She no longer felt embarrassed that she had been unable to find her brush; she felt grateful. Because his touch was … heaven.
He continued several minutes, during which she felt first her worries and then her defenses melting away as some other foreign and delicious sensations moved in to take their place.
"What do you think?" Eli ceased brushing, and Emily held back a sigh of disappointment.
"I think I shall require your help every day." Not having a lady's maid may have its advantages.
He laughed. "You haven't even looked yet. Open your eyes."
She did and saw that he had indeed tamed her tangled mass. It fell sleek and shiny, down her back and over her shoulders.
"I much prefer brushing your hair to brushing Fortune's," he said jovially.
"Thank you-I think?" She felt grateful the reflection in the mirror now looked more like her old self. "I suppose I should put it up."
"Only if you want to," Eli said. "There is no one here to judge you for it either way."
"In that case, I shall leave my hair down for now. I should like to investigate this breakfast you mentioned."
"Right this way." He set the brush on the table, then pulled her chair out for her.
Emily stood and turned, and found her nose nearly touching his chest. Her heartbeat quickened, and the same giddiness she'd felt at their wedding returned. She lifted her head to look at him.
"Thank you for trusting me," he said. "I know this-" he indicated the sparse room, "-is different from what you are accustomed to, but if you will be patient with me, and yourself, I believe you can be happy here."
"I am already." It was true. Had she not spent yesterday laughing and talking more comfortably than she ever had with anyone? When he drew near, did Eli not make her heart pound with excitement? Was he not every bit as kind and gentle as she had always known him to be? Pieces of her fear slipped away at these realizations and the comfort that he would be patient with her. So long as she kept trying, Eli would not give up on her.
These thoughts struck her core, and with them came the understanding that her greatest fear was not about living with less or having to learn to do things for herself, or what the neighbors might think. It was about failing. She was afraid she would fail at this endeavor, at her marriage to Eli, and it was that possibility she found terrifying.
Because I care for him a great deal already. From those summers as children when they had waved to one another, to the years she had known him while he worked for her father, Emily had admired Eli from afar, and she had secretly wished for a man like him to come into her life. Not a man like him. I was waiting for him. For Eli. Their marriage had not been mere happenstance. "I did not suggest it randomly," she murmured, shocked at this discovery.
"What was not random?" Eli's brow wrinkled, anxious concern in his gaze.
"I-" It was one thing to admit her feelings to herself, but what would he think to know she had-perhaps subconsciously-wanted to marry him? And, when the opportunity came to have him, she had leapt. Be honest. You must tell him.
"The night in the stables, I didn't just come to check on Fortune, I came to talk with you. I was troubled and knew you would listen to my concerns about marrying Lord Rowley. And later, when I suggested we marry, it was not just to salvage my reputation or that I wished to be free of the earl. It was because-I wanted to marry you."
"As I wanted to marry you," Eli said kindly, still with that look of concern in his eyes. "You're a little pale. Are you feeling well?" He held onto her arm, as if worried she might faint. "Perhaps we should go into breakfast. Once you've eaten you may feel better."
"I feel perfectly marvelous." If she was a little lightheaded … well, that was his fault for standing so near to her. Since his hand had first found hers during the wedding ceremony yesterday, she had not seemed able to control her body's reactions to him. Not that she wanted to. This kind of lightheadedness she found rather enjoyable.
Chunks of her fear were shattering all around them now, breaking into pieces, turning into dust. She wasn't afraid of him or his touch; she enjoyed it. With Eli she could speak her mind. She could be herself. It had always been that way. It was always him.
Acknowledging this, and finally being allowed to let those feelings, her heart's desire, surface sent her spirits soaring. It was all she could do not to behave like Sophia and run and jump on the bed, then fly about the room. For the first time that Emily could remember, she was not afraid of anything. She smiled up at him, wondering at this miracle and the joy and freedom in her pounding heart. "I think I am in love with you."
He searched her eyes, the initial concern in his changing to shock, then disbelief, and then, at last, cautious hope. His lips rose slowly as his hands came up to touch her face. "I know I am in love with you, Emily. For me there has never been another." He bent his head to hers, and their lips touched briefly, then he crushed her to him in a not-so-gentle hug.
"Chocolate?" Emily's eyes lit up, and she smiled before tipping the cup to her lips a second time.
"I promised that you would be well taken care of," Eli said, pleased to have surprised her. "I believe that includes indulging in a daily cup of chocolate as part of your morning routine."
"You knew?" There was no accusation in her voice, only happy astonishment.
"I am a spy, remember?"
She laughed. "I believe you must be."
The morning had not quite gone as he had envisioned, but he hoped-after taming her hair and hearing her sudden, unexpected confession that she cared for him-that they were back on track. He wasn't certain what to make of his wife's wildly swinging emotions thus far, but he supposed they were warranted, given the extreme changes to her life.
He wanted to believe that she did love him-a little, at least. But it was too soon for that. She had allowed him to kiss her, though, and that fleeting second, followed by the longer seconds when he had held her tightly to him, had been the best of his life.
The rest of their breakfast was perhaps not as fine as she was used to, but it was all he could manage until they hired someone to cook. When Emily discovered it was he who had prepared everything, she praised every bite.
"You were here last week, getting all of this ready?"
"Well, not the food," he said. "Would have been a bit moldy by now, don't you think?" He loved teasing her. "But I did arrange for the delivery of some basic items, and I cleaned and aired the cottage. Would you like to see the rest of it?"
"Oh, yes." She dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin, then placed it upon the small, round table that filled a good portion of the tiny kitchen.
Eli pulled out her chair for her and showed her around the rest of the cottage-all two rooms of it. "This is the sitting room." He led her to the main, rectangular room at the front of the house. A large stone fireplace and shelves covered one wall, with a well-worn sofa, a few chairs, and a rug his mother had made finishing out the room. It was not large by any means, but room enough for the two of them-and any children that came along eventually.
"It's so cozy," Emily exclaimed. "I can imagine curling up in here before the fire with a good book. I think this shall be my favorite room."
He hoped not, but did not voice that thought just yet. He showed her the other bedroom next. "This is my room, same as it was when I was a child."
Emily peered in at the room smaller than her own, and he wondered what she was thinking. Feeling sorry for him? Wondering how he survived with so few material possessions?