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" D o you not think so, Alethea?" Clara's bright voice cut through Alethea's otherwise worried thoughts.

"I'm sorry, I—what were you saying?"

In earnest, she had not been paying much attention. They were at the dinner table, and usually, it gave the two young girls a chance to speak to Alethea. But tonight, they had a fresh new face at the table.

Theodore had made an appearance. It was the first time that she had seen him since the night that he had her kidnapped. To say that things felt awkward between the two of them would be putting it rather mildly.

She looked towards the door, waiting for Oliver to show up.

If anything, he would be able to provide some kind of mediatory role between the two of them.

But since the week that she had been in the estate, Oliver had never shown up to dinner even once.

She would be foolish to expect it from him tonight.

Across the table, Theodore shifted in his seat. Was that a frown tugging at his mouth? Alethea couldn't be sure. Perhaps he was feeling as awkward as she was.

Then finally, Theodore cleared his throat. Both Eleanor and Clara looked to their brother expectantly, likely hoping he might finally join the conversation.

Alethea set down her fork, trying not to appear as tense as she felt. Could it be that he was about to speak to her?

But no words came. Perhaps she had been mistaken. He remained silent until the end of the dinner, when he finally spoke.

"Eleanor, Clara," he began quietly, "might I trouble you both to leave Her Grace and me to speak alone for a few minutes?"

Eleanor's mouth formed a small "oh" of surprise. She looked between Theodore and Alethea in confusion, clearly not expecting such a request. Both sisters complied, though.

Alethea felt her stomach swoop with nerves. Why would Theodore possibly want to speak to her alone? Especially when he had barely spoken to her at all in ages.

Had she done something wrong? Is this about Oliver?

Theodore stepped away from his chair, gesturing courteously for his sisters to go. After a moment, Theodore got up from his chair as well and began to pace the length of the room.

He seemed… nervous , she realized with some surprise. Theodore's dark brows were drawn together, and after a few restless strides he paused.

"Is something the matter, Lord Theodore?" she asked softly.

"Firstly," he said, "please call me Theodore. We are family. If…well, if you can still think of me as such, that is."

"Of course I think of you as a friend," she replied, though she did not mean the words so seriously. She did not know much of him, only that he had once abducted her from her bed and that he was now related to her, through her rather unconventional marriage.

"You are gracious," Theodore shook his head. "I suppose this makes me feel even worse."

"I owe you an apology," Theodore said at last.

She opened her mouth to protest automatically: it was in her nature to deflect attention from her own grievances if it soothed others. But the look on Theodore's face stopped her short.

"I should have spoken to you long before now," he continued. "But now is as good as a time as ever. So please, accept my apology for what happened that night and for the fact that I have been avoiding you since you arrived at the estate."

"Well, then consider your apology accepted," Alethea told him. He looked up at her in surprise.

"I nearly ruined your life," he said. "Do you not hold that against me in any way?"

"We have both been through a great deal," she said softly. "Let us not dwell on what should or shouldn't have been done. What's important is how we choose to move forward now."

Theodore's stiff posture loosened at that.

"You are… remarkably forgiving," he said, with a kind of wonder. "Truly, Oliver is blessed to have you as his wife."

"I simply try to do what's right," she murmured.

He gently placed his free hand over hers where it rested on his arm, giving a light, sincere squeeze.

"I'll make it up to you in time, if you'll allow me."

"You already have," Alethea said earnestly, meeting his gaze so he could see she meant it. "This means a great deal to me. I'm so happy we've talked honestly at last."

"You are generous. Thank you," he said simply.

He stepped back a half pace. A comfortable quiet settled over them. After a thoughtful pause, Theodore cleared his throat.

"I'm sure you have surmised that it was Joyce who finally knocked some sense into me."

"Oh?"

That Theodore said Joyce's name, with such softness, had not escaped her notice.

"She had told me to not make things awkward for you, but it took me a while to listen."

He began pacing again, as though the very mention of Joyce had made him nervous once again.

"I hadn't meant to bring this up now, of all times," he murmured, "but you already know how I have fallen hopelessly in love with her."

Alethea's eyes widened, despite having half-expected some confession along those lines. He had made his preferences clear on the day that they had met.

"Theodore…" she began, hardly knowing what to say.

"I know," he said quickly, waving one hand as if to ward off any reaction from her. "She's not exactly what Mother would have hoped for me, for she is widowed. But she's everything to me."

"I think it's wonderful," she said softly. "Truly."

"You think so?" Theodore said. "My brother seems to think the opposite."

"Well, it is possible then your brother and I have a different opinion," Alethea remarked.

Theodore let out a laugh.

"If that is the case then I shall like for the two of us to be friends," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. "I would like to have you by my side."

Alethea hesitated. She was not used to handshakes, or anything like the sort. Instead, she just nodded at him.

"We can be friends."

"That is all I need," Theodore grinned. It was a slow start, but Alethea felt as though she was making her own place in the estate.

Later that night, Alethea found herself wandering the corridor toward Oliver's study. The events of the evening had left her both relieved and restless.

Throughout the day, Alethea had been in consultation with the housekeeper, reviewing the household accounts and discussing some proposed improvements around the estate.

It was a task she had taken to diligently, determined to be useful in her new role as Duchess.

Truthfully, she found she rather enjoyed the managerial side of running the household and caring for the estate's tenants; it gave her a sense of purpose.

Still, the final decision on expenditures traditionally rested with the duke and she knew she ought to seek Oliver's approval before moving forward with any significant changes.

But it had taken her only till now to muster up the courage to speak to him. In her youth, she'd had no one who truly listened to her ideas or cared for her opinions; learning to speak up was an ongoing exercise in courage.

She paced out his door for a few moments.

This is ridiculous, she chided herself gently. You're his wife. If you cannot bring him a simple proposal without feeling as though you're misbehaving, what kind of partnership is this?

Gathering her resolve before it could falter again, Alethea gave the door a soft knock.

"Come in," his voice called out almost immediately.

Alethea slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind her.

Oliver sat behind his desk, looking up from a letter spread before him.

"Duchess."

"I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour," she began quietly, clutching the bundle of papers that she had carried with her a little tighter against herself.

"You are not disturbing me," he remarked, eyeing the documents in her hands.

"Truly, the fault is mine for bringing business to you so late. I only…." her words were coming out rushed.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

Alethea steeled herself. Just say it plainly.

"Oh!" she gasped softly. In her nervousness, the top few sheets slithered from her grasp and cascaded to the floor in a flutter of parchment.

In an instant, Oliver dropped to one knee to retrieve them. Flushing with embarrassment, Alethea also scrambled down, and they nearly bumped heads in their haste to gather the escaping documents.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, mortified by her clumsiness.

"No need for apologies," Oliver replied lightly. He was quicker, already collecting two other sheets from the floorboards. As they both stretched for the same piece of paper, their hands brushed. She blushed wildly but he seemed unaffected, handing back the sheets of paper to her.

She remained on her knees a moment longer under the guise of organizing the papers, but truly it was to collect herself.

Good heavens, pull yourself together! she scolded inwardly.

Clutching the stack of papers to her chest once more, Alethea rose to her feet, keen to put a little distance between them. Oliver stood as well. He loomed over her now by a good measure, being much taller.

He gestured to the leather armchair opposite his desk. "Please, sit," he said kindly. "You look as though you have something rather important to discuss. Let's be comfortable for it."

Alethea perched on the very edge of the offered chair. She realized that his entire focus was on her, patiently waiting for her to speak.

"I wanted to make a few suggestions."

"By all means, proceed."

She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts.