Page 15

" Y our Grace, the dress looks lovely on you," one of the maid's commented, but Alethea was too busy in her own thoughts.

Nervous. That was the word to describe the feeling swirling inside of Alethea, as she stole one last glance at herself in her bedroom vanity.

"Do you really think so?" Alethea turned to the maid finally.

"Yes, Your Grace. The craftsmanship on the gown is simply marvelous and you carry it elegantly."

Alethea found herself agreeing with the first half of the statement.

The gown truly was beautiful. . Delicate silver embroidery traced the square neckline and capped sleeves, and the high waist was adorned with a satin ribbon.

It was far more elegant (and far more form-fitting) than anything she had worn in the convent.

The modiste had kept their promise and delivered it right on time.

Now whether or not she carried it well, she could not say. She felt like a foreigner in such clothes, never having the opportunity to wear them before.

"I shall get going now," she announced, making her way out of her room. She paused at the top of the grand staircase, gathering her courage.

She smoothed her palms over the skirts of her new gown and took a steadying breath.

This is ridiculous, she chided herself silently. It's only a ball.

Yet her heart fluttered as if she were about to step on stage before a great crowd. In a way, she supposed, she was. Tonight would be her formal introduction to society as the Duke's wife, and the prospect left her nervous.

Looking down at herself, Alethea felt nearly unrecognizable.

Will Oliver like it?

The unbidden thought made her cheeks warm. Alethea only hoped she could carry it off without tripping on the fabric.

She lifted her chin and finally began her descent. As she descended the staircase one careful step at a time, she caught sight of Oliver standing below in the foyer. He was speaking with his brother, Theodore, but at the first creak of the stair, Oliver's head turned.

His reaction caught her by surprise. Oliver's eyes had gone wide, his expression utterly stunned.

Beside Oliver, Theodore broke into a broad grin. He gave his brother a light nudge with an elbow.

"Better close your mouth, Brother," Theo drawled, teasingly. "You'll catch flies with your jaw hanging like that."

Alethea felt a flush creep up her neck. She lowered her eyes briefly, suddenly even more self-conscious about every step. As she reached the end of the stairs, Oliver was already there with his hand extended out for her to take.

"Thank you," she muttered politely, unable to meet his eyes quite yet.

"The pleasure is all his," Theodore grinned, the teasing tint never leaving his voice.

Oliver seemed to ignore him, focusing all of his attention instead on his wife.

"The dress was a fine choice," he started, though his voice came out a little hoarse for reasons Alethea could not understand. Almost as though some of her own nervousness had transferred over to him. "You look beautiful."

Alethea's heart skipped but she still did not dare to meet his gaze.

"Thank you," she murmured in a soft voice. It was this moment that she realized that Oliver looked quite polished as well. He was dressed in a tailored black tailcoat and crisp white waistcoat.

Handsome. The stray thought arrived without permission and she blushed deeply again.

"Ah, look at the both of you," Theodore commented. "Looking shy as though this is your first meeting. Endearing, really."

Oliver shot his brother a look.

"That will be enough from you," he said, shaking his head. He turned back to her and gently placed her hand in the crook of his arm. "Are you ready to depart?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied. "I admit I'm not entirely sure what to expect tonight."

"You have nothing to fear. We'll simply make an appearance, perhaps endure a dance or two, and then you may decide when you wish to leave. I won't keep you there a moment longer than you desire."

His consideration was comforting; he knew large gatherings still overwhelmed her at times. Alethea gave him a grateful nod.

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

Before they could take a step toward the door, a pair of footsteps pattered towards them.

"Wait! Let us see first."

Alethea turned to see Clara and Eleanor scampering toward them. The two girls came to a halt in front of Alethea.

"You look so pretty!" Clara burst out, clasping her small hands together. "Like a true princess."

"We just had to see your gown. Brother said it was being made special for you." Eleanor nodded in agreement and reached out to lightly touch her gown. "Oh, it's lovely.."

"Thank you. I'm happy you approve," Aleathea said gently. "Though I'm still a bit unsure if I am able to carry it the way it ought to be carried."

"Oh, you carry it perfectly," Eleanor exclaimed, and spun to her brother. "Doesn't she look beautiful, Ollie?"

"She does," he agreed. "The most beautiful lady at the ball tonight will be my wife."

"Oh! I knew it. I just knew it!" Clara squealed. She turned back to Alethea. "See, even Oliver thinks…"

It happened in an instant. Clara's foot caught the hem of Eleanor's long nightdress as she twirled back, and the child stumbled.

Her arms flailed, and a cup she was holding onto flew from her grasp.

Alethea gasped, instinctively lifting her skirt out of the way, but she wasn't fast enough as a red liquid splattered all across her dress.

"I'm sorry!" Clara burst out, her voice breaking. "I didn't mean.. I was only…"

Poor Clara broke out into a mess of sobs. And the sight made Alethea's heart lurch. In that moment, she could care less about the state of her gown. Instinctively, she reached out to protect Clara for what was to come.

He's going to shout, she thought in alarm. He'll shout, or send her away, or…

"It was an accident," she said quickly. She clasped Clara's hand tightly. "I'm not hurt, and it's only a gown."

Oliver's eyes shifted to Alethea, and her rushed words faltered. There was no fury in his face at all. Instead he looked… concerned. Confused, even.

"Clara," Oliver said, stepping forward. Alethea tensed at his approach, but his voice remained calm. "Come here."

Still crying, Clara walked away from Alethea and into Oliver's chest. Oliver wrapped her in his arms, lifting her off the ground as he stood.

Alethea watched, astonished, as Oliver rubbed soothing circles on Clara's back.

He did not yell, nor look angry in the least. If anything, he appeared concerned.

"There now," Oliver murmured, "Haven't I told you to be careful when you're carrying a drink?"

"I'm s-sorry," she repeated for the dozenth time. "I know you said to be careful… I forgot… I was just so excited…"

"I know you were," he said. He managed a small smile for her. "You were excited about Alethea's dress, weren't you?"

Clara nodded, sniffling.

"It was so p-pretty," she hiccupped. "And now she c-can't wear it to the ball.

Oliver cast a brief glance at Alethea, then returned his attention to his sister.

"Clara, hush now," he consoled softly. "Listen to me." He shifted her slightly in his arms so he could look her in the eyes. "We had several dresses made for Alethea, did we not? So you see, you haven't ruined anything. The Duchess will go to the ball, just in a different dress."

"R-really?" Clara sniffed hard, considering his words.

"Really," Oliver confirmed. "We'll simply help her change into another dress. No one will know the difference."

In that moment, watching him, Alethea felt something within her chest tighten. He had not become angry. He had shown only kindness and restraint.

Had her fear been misplaced? Oliver was a far kinder man than anything that she had been accustomed to.

Oliver exhaled and gently shifted Clara in his arms. The little girl had calmed considerably, her sniffles subsiding.

"Eleanor," Oliver said, "why don't you take Clara upstairs now? It's past both your bedtimes." He lowered Clara into Eleanor's arms carefully; Clara went without protest.

"Yes, Brother," Eleanor agreed. She looped an arm around her younger sister, who leaned against her. "We truly are sorry. And… and I know you'll look stunning, no matter which gown you wear," she added.

"Thank you, dear," she said, feeling her heart warm. "Sweet dreams to you both."

Now that the crisis had passed, she became fully aware of the sticky wet patches seeping through the bodice of her gown. She looked down at the red stains.

"Oh dear," she murmured. "I made it about five minutes wearing this without incident."

"Look on the bright side, Duchess," Theodore broke the tension. "You'll have an excellent anecdote to share." He winked at her, then bent to retrieve the empty cup from the floor.

Oliver, however, did not laugh. Alethea turned to find him staring at her and a knot of anxiety formed in her stomach.

Was he angry after all, perhaps at the inconvenience? He might have not wanted to show it earlier in front of the young girls. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he stepped forward quickly.

"Alethea," he said quietly, "are you all right? I apologize for your dress that got ruined."

Alethea blinked at him, at first unsure if she had heard him correctly. He was apologizing to her? For the fact that a very expensive gown was just ruined?

"There is nothing for you to apologize about, Your Grace," she said quickly. "In fact, if anyone must apologize, it shall be me. I should have been more careful, knowing that…"

"Enough," he raised his hand to stop from continuing. "There is no need for apology from your end. Do you believe that you will be able to make do with any of the other gowns, or shall we postpone our appearance today altogether?"

"The other gowns are just as good," she said, immediately. His concern was so complete that she had a hard time wrapping her head around it.

He nodded, seeming satisfied with her answer.

"Very well. I am grateful for the modiste for sending over all of the gowns," he nodded. "They have proven useful."

He turned towards his brother then, who had been watching the two of them with sustained interest all this time. "Theo, could you have the footman delay the carriage a few more minutes? We'll depart as soon as the Duchess has changed."

"Right away." Theodore gave Alethea an encouraging grin before striding out.

With only Oliver now remaining at her side, Alethea suddenly felt awkward, unsure what to do or say.

"You must think me hopelessly clumsy," she said finally.

"I think nothing of the sort," Oliver interrupted.

To her surprise, a hint of a smile played on his lips.

"If anything, I blame myself. I should have had the girls in bed earlier.

But I never want them to feel excluded, especially not tonight when everything is so new. But I did misjudge Clara's excitement."

"Well, she is only a child and cannot be blamed," Alethea nodded, letting her shoulders relax.

"You should change into another gown," he reminded her. "We'll be only a little late at this rate. I'll be right here when you're ready."

As Alethea turned to go, she hesitated. There was a rush of unspoken feeling inside her, something warm that she dared not name. She looked back at her husband.

"Oliver," she said softly, "thank you. For how you handled all of this. You were…" She searched for the right word. Wonderful. Gentle. Nothing like any man I've known. "…very kind," she finished.

"It costs nothing to show a bit of patience," he replied. "Especially to those we care for."

Those we care for. Alethea's heart gave a curious little leap. She offered him one more grateful smile, then swept down the hall toward her chambers.

But even as she rushed to change into her new gown, her thoughts remained occupied with what had just happened.

How could a man so gentle and responsible with those in his care claim he never wished to be a father?

He would make a wonderful father.

The thought came swiftly and, before she could stop it, blossomed into a picture in her mind. Oliver cradling a baby with that same protectiveness. The image was so achingly sweet that Alethea's face flushed hot with embarrassment.

She pressed her cool hands to her burning cheeks.

"Stop this nonsense," she scolded herself firmly. It wouldn't do to indulge such fancies. Oliver's actions tonight came from this kind nature, nothing more.

In no time at all, she changed into her new gown. This one felt more flowing than the last. Her self-confidence had improved this time when she stepped out back into the foyer.

She found Oliver exactly where she'd left him, hands clasped behind his back as he stood staring absently at the floor. He appeared deep in thought, but at the sound of her approach his head snapped up.

"This one is also quite beautiful," he commented, though his voice was a touch lower than usual. "Ivory suits you."

Perhaps it was her imagination, but his eyes seemed to linger at the neckline of her gown before lifting quickly to her face.

"I worried it might be too much lace," she said. "But if you think it's acceptable…"

"Entirely acceptable," he assured. "I fear I might like this one even more than the last."

"Then the modiste truly knew what she was doing," Alethea smiled, trying to divert the attention away from herself.

"No. This one is all on you," Oliver said, gently putting the attention back on her. He must have noticed the way that her cheeks reddened instantly.

"Shall we go?" she spluttered out.

"Let's," Oliver laughed now, seeming amused. "You are not used to taking compliments from your husband."

"Forgive me, Your Grace," she said, still blushing. "I have not yet gotten used to having a husband to begin with."

"I am sure you will adapt in time," he said, a lingering suggestion in his voice.

Alethea had no experience of romance in her life. She had led a sheltered existence, after all. But even she could sense that there was a hint of flirtation in his voice.