“I'm almost afraid to ask what number seven is.”

“You should be.” He grinned. “It's my favorite.” Ellie's cheeks burned.

Charles cleared his throat, trying not to grin at her innocent distress. “Shall I continue with the next item?”

“Please.”

“‘Number Four: Keep her informed of Claire's progress in the orangery.’”

“That is meant to be entertaining?”

“Perhaps not precisely entertaining, but I thought you'd like an update.”

“How is she doing?”

“Very well, actually. She's been quite industrious. It's bloody cold down there, though. She's opened the outside doors to air the place out. I expect the smell will be gone by the time you're well enough to resume your gardening.”

Ellie smiled. “What is the next item on the list?”

He looked down. “Let me see. Ah, here we are. ‘Number Five: Bring the dressmaker by with fabric samples and patterns.’” He glanced back up at her. “I can hardly believe we haven't done this already. You're not well enough for a proper fitting, but at least we ought to be able to select a few styles and colors. I'm growing most weary of seeing you in nothing but brown.”

“My father was given several bolts of brown cloth as a tithe two years ago. I haven't acquired a colored dress since.”

“A most grievous state of affairs.”

“Are you such an arbiter of fashion, then?”

“Certainly more so than the good reverend, your father.”

“On that point, my lord, we are in agreement.”

He leaned in until his nose rested on hers. “Am I really your lord, Eleanor?”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “Social protocol does seem to dictate that I refer to you as such.”

He sighed and clutched his chest in mock despair. “If you dance as nimbly as you converse, I predict that you shall be the toast of the town.”

“Certainly not if I don't purchase a new gown or two. It wouldn't do to attend every function in brown.”

“Ah yes, the ever-so-subtle reminder to me to return to the subject at hand.” He held up the paper in his hands, flicked his wrists to give it a little snap, and read, “‘Number Six: Discuss with her the terms of her new bank account.’”

Ellie's entire face lit up. “You're interested?”

“Of course.”

“Yes, but compared to your finances, my three hundred pounds is a paltry sum. It can't be very important to you.”

He cocked his head and looked at her as if she was missing some very obvious point. “But it is to you.”

Right then and there Ellie decided that she loved him. As much as one could decide these things, of course. The realization was shocking, and somewhere in her befuddled mind it occurred to her that this feeling had been building up in her ever since he'd proposed. There was something so very…special about him.

It was there in the way he could laugh at himself.

It was there in the way he could make her laugh at herself.