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It occurred to her again that his responses were so different to what she had always heard in her life. Standing out had never been a good thing in her previous life.

"You are doing that thing you do again," he commented after a while. She had not realized that she had been silent for a long moment.

"What thing?" she asked, startled as though she had inadvertently done something wrong.

"It's hard to explain. But you get this deeply introspective look on your face," he tried. "And then it is always followed by a panic. You were the same earlier in the evening with Clara."

"I, oh," Alethea was unsure of what to say. "Well earlier I had expected you to be mad at Clara, which is why I got defensive perhaps."

"Mad?" Oliver repeated, taken aback. "Me?"

"Well, yes. She did spill her drink and it is only fair to assume that you would not take kindly to that."

Oliver was startled for a moment, and then broke out into a deep, rumbly laugh.

"Oh, dear heavens," he said, shaking his head. "I would never get angry at such a trivial thing, let alone to my younger sister who knows no better. A dress can be replaced."

She stared at him, almost missing her step.

"Well then. I suppose things are quite different here than what I am used to," she admitted earnestly.

There was a flicker of curiosity in Oliver's face. But he did not question her.

"No one should have to live in fear of those who ought to care for them," he said instead.

"Well, yes," she said, though her voice was not fully sure. "Things are different here, as are you."

Oliver's face was contemplative when he spoke again.

"I hope that is a good thing in your eyes."

"It is," Alethea confirmed, a bit breathless suddenly.

"You have been kinder to me than I imagined any man in your position would be.

I realize I haven't exactly been the easiest person to deal with, well I have so much to learn about this life.

Yet you've shown me nothing but patience and respect.

And with your family… seeing how you are with them…

" She smiled, recalling the earlier scene.

"It's clear how much you love your sisters and brother. They're very lucky to have you."

Oliver's eyes widened slightly. He looked as if he wanted to dismiss the praise, but something in Alethea's expression must have convinced him of her sincerity.

"They mean everything to me," he said quietly. "After our parents passed, I had to become something of a father figure at a young age. It was daunting, to say the least."

Alethea's heart squeezed at the thought of a younger Oliver suddenly responsible for raising young siblings.

"It must have been so hard," she whispered.

"There were challenging days, certainly," he admitted.

"Nights when Clara was a baby when I walked the halls with her for hours because she wouldn't sleep.

And then of course Theodore came with his own challenges.

But I never regretted it. They are my family.

I would do anything to ensure they felt safe and loved. I never wanted them to feel abandoned."

The honesty in his voice moved Alethea deeply. Without thinking, she lifted her free hand from his arm and gently rested it over the one he had at her back.

"You gave up a lot for them," she said. "Not many in your station would shoulder such burdens personally. They would leave it to nannies and governesses."

He shrugged one shoulder.

"I had help. We've a wonderful household staff. But some things I couldn't delegate. I was the eldest; it was my responsibility. And I suspect I needed them as much as they needed me."

Alethea felt an overwhelming tenderness well up. How wrong she had been to think him cold or unfeeling at their first meeting.

"You did a remarkable job," she said. "They're all such fine young people. A credit to you."

There was so much more she wanted to ask, perhaps even to reassure him that if he ever chose to have a family, he would be wonderful at it. But those words felt too large to voice just now.

Alethea meant to look away. But something held her in place. Her hand still rested lightly over his, and it took her a moment before she blinked, belatedly aware of how long her gaze had lingered.

"Be careful," he said in response. "You look at me like that again, and I might get the wrong idea."

"I… what idea?" she managed, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

Oliver's lips curved into a smile.

"A dangerous one."

"I wouldn't dream of misleading you," she said, flushed.

"A moment ago, you were looking at me as if I'd hung the moon," he smirked, seemingly enjoying her discomfort. "And I must confess, I found it terribly disarming."

"Well, I shall endeavor not to disarm you again." Alethea could feel her composure slipping.

"I doubt you could help it."

She frowned at him, not knowing what he meant by that.

"It's hardly your fault," he continued, utterly unbothered. "You were born with those eyes, after all."

"I think you enjoy unsettling me," she muttered.

"A tad."

"And you do it so effortlessly," she added.

"I am not trying to," he chuckled. The dance was drawing to a close now. "I assure you, Duchess, if I ever chose to truly unsettle you, you would know."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. Just the way that he said it made her mind spin with a thousand different possibilities.

Then it is a fortunate thing you haven't tried. I wouldn't know what to expect."

Oliver's mouth twitched, clearly amused. "Wouldn't you?"

"No," she said crisply, though her voice betrayed the slightest tremor. "And I rather think I should prefer to keep it that way."

"Hmm," he said, as if considering it. "That almost sounds like a challenge."

"It isn't," she returned quickly.

"Pity," he said.

The music drew to its final chord, and they separated. Alethea dropped into her curtsy, as though it might shake off the tension still clinging to her. But Oliver seemed rather calm in comparison.

But right as they were about to depart from the dance floor, Oliver leaned in to whisper in her ear one last time.

"You may prefer not to know, Duchess. But I rather suspect you'd enjoy finding out."