Page 24

" I s that a light in the library?"

Alethea stopped in her tracks when she noticed a yellow hue emanating from underneath the doorway of library. She looked to the clock, noticing the lateness of the hour. While her original intention had been to go to her own chambers, curiosity got the better of her.

Slowly, she made her way inside and it did not take her long before she spotted him. Theodore sat slouched in a leather chair, one boot propped on the ottoman and a half-empty tumbler of whiskey dangling from his fingers. He was staring rather morosely at an open book in front of him.

Alethea bit down on her lip. Truth be told, her curiosity was not unfounded. Earlier in the day, she had overheard a squabble between the two brothers, though she could not exactly make out the reasonings behind it.

She took another step forward, the sound alerting of her presence. Theodore's gaze flickered toward her and his eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed.

"Are you lost?"

She offered a tentative smile. "No, I saw that the light on was on. Imagine my surprise when I saw that it was you inside of it. I had not taken you of much of a reader."

"I am not," he replied, curtly. "And frankly, at the moment I am no good company either. It would be better for you leave."

He huffed and looked away, taking another swallow of whiskey.

Alethea approached slowly, undeterred. She lowered herself into the chair opposite his. Theodore ran a hand over his face and grimaced.

"It seems that you did not understand."

"I understood perfectly fine," she said. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the fact that she had now fully settled into her role at the estate, but she felt the least bit intimidated by Theodore. "Would you like some company?"

He finally glanced at her, one brow raised in skepticism.

"Company?" He gestured vaguely with the glass in his hand.

In answer, Alethea reached for the decanter and one of the clean glasses on the tray. Meeting his eyes, she lifted the heavy crystal and poured a glass of whiskey for herself.

"What are you doing?" Theodore straightened a little, frowning.

She tried to inject a lightness into her tone that she did not entirely feel.

"If you insist on drowning your sorrows tonight, the least I can do is offer a toast and drown a few of mine."

Truth be told, Alethea was not much of a drinker.

The sisters at the convent had only ever permitted the occasional sip of watered wine on feast days.

But if sharing a drink might ease Theodore's guard, she was willing to chance it.

Before she could second-guess her decision, she raised the glass to her lips and took a generous swallow.

At once, liquid fire burned down her throat.

Alethea gasped, choking and coughing into her sleeve.

Theodore shot forward, alarmed.

"Steady on!" he exclaimed, thumping her back. "Duchess, heaven's sake."

Eyes watering, Alethea managed a laugh between coughs.

"Gracious, that is far more potent than what I imagined."

A grin tugged at the corner of Theodore's mouth. It was a sign that her little display had worked and he was warming up to her.

"Good Lord. I wasn't expecting you to toss it back like a sailor."

"I admit, that was a bit… ambitious of me," Alethea's cheeks warmed in embarrassment. She coughed once more and cleared her throat. "Perhaps I shall leave the whiskey to you, and stick to wine henceforth."

Theodore reached for the carafe of red wine that sat alongside the spirits.

"Here," he said, pouring her a fresh glass of it instead. "This might be more to your taste."

"Thank you," she said, accepting the wine. She took a careful sip. It was gentle compared to the whiskey. "Much better."

Theodore settled back in his chair, watching her over the rim of his glass.

"I must say, you surprise me, Alethea."

"How so?"

He waved a hand at the now abandoned glass of whiskey that she had poured out for herself.

"Joining me for a midnight drink… I didn't think the Duchess of Redhaven would dare to do something so improper."

She lowered her eyes briefly, running a finger along the stem of her wineglass.

"Right now, I am not a duchess; I'm simply your friend, if you will allow me to be," she said simply.

In earnest, she knew that if she was to be a good wife to Oliver, she would have to improve her relationships with his siblings.

While the girls trusted her enough to confide in her, Theodore was a shell that she had not yet cracked.

Alethea was eager to take the chance, now when he clearly seemed in need of someone to hear him out.

"I'd like that," His expression softened.

"Would you like to tell me why you were squabbling with the duke for?" she asked, unsure of just how much she should pry but unable to not address the elephant in the room either.

"You heard?" Theodore seemed surprised.

"I am sure that most of the estate did," Alethea smiled. "I suppose it got quite heated between the two of you, judging from the raised voices."

"Ah," Theodore took a sip from his glass again. "Well, I suppose I should not be surprised. Both of us had our reasons, though I fail to understand his."

"You know, Oliver cares for you very much," Alethea continued gently.

At once, Theodore's face hardened again. He tilted back the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down with a thud.

"If that's a prelude to defending his behavior, spare me."

"It's not about taking sides," Alethea shook her head. "I only mean… he's worried for you, truly."

"He has a fine way of showing it," Theodore gave a snort. "He does not wish for me to marry your sister. And he certainly does not care about what happens to her."

Alethea paused. Of course. She should have figured this out sooner that it had something to do with Joyce. Somehow, she had assumed that whatever passing fancy he had for her would have passed by now.

"I am sure that His Grace has his reasons," she said, careful in her choice of words.

"Does he?" Theodore's voice was thick with resentment.

"He acts as if love is some childish fancy I'll soon forget.

He keeps asserting that my feelings for Joyce are simply some passing whim, that if left ignored would simply go away.

He does not seem to realize that he only makes my love for her stronger.

Alethea hesitated. It was a rather bold declaration from him. "Is it truly love, then?"

He looked at her sharply, as though offended she would even question it.

"I would marry her tomorrow, this minute, if I could. What else would you call it?"

Under his gaze, Alethea felt heat creep up her neck. Even though she was older than him, this was a topic in which her experience was limited.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to doubt you," she started, "It's only that… I have not had much experience with matters of the heart. I wanted to understand."

Theodore leaned forward, elbows on his knees, turning his empty glass in his hands.

"I love her," he repeated, softer this time.

"From the moment I first danced with Joyce at that ball, I knew there was no one like her.

We spoke of such honest, personal things in those few minutes, it was as if we had known each other for years.

And when I realized she felt comfortable enough to truly laugh with me…

" His lips curved in a sad smile at the memory.

"I felt as though I'd been given something precious. "

Alethea listened intently. Joyce must have trusted him a great deal to lower her guard.

Theodore continued on.

"After the ball, I called on her as often as propriety allowed.

Every visit only convinced me further: I wanted to spend my life by her side.

" He dragged a hand through his hair. "That night I climbed up to your house…

I truly thought she was waiting for me. I thought we had an understanding that.

." He broke off, as though remembering a painful memory, "Well. It doesn't matter now what I thought."

Alethea's heart ached for the remorse etched on his face.

"It matters to me," she murmured. "Please, go on."

"The plan was to elope," he said flatly, looking down at his hands, "I was going to take her away and marry her quietly.

I knew it was rash, but I was desperate to spare her any further gossip.

She'd already been humiliated when people saw us share those unchaperoned dances.

" He grimaced. "I convinced myself it was the only way to protect her and be with her. But I made a botch of it."

Guilt and grief lay heavy in his tone. Alethea felt her heart squeeze. She hated seeing others in pain.

"You made a mistake," she said gently. "A terrible, ill-conceived mistake, yes. But your intentions were born of love, not malice."

"Try telling that to the Duke," Theodore looked up at her, brows drawing together.

"I might, actually," Alethea replied. "He should know how deeply you care for her."

"It won't change anything." Theodore replied like a man who had long given up on hope, "He'll never approve."

Alethea bit her lip. She could not deny Oliver's obstinance.

In truth, she understood both sides. She understood the weight Oliver felt he bore.

He did not wish for his brother to be embroiled in further scandal, and was only protecting him, as he had done for most of his life.

But she also saw genuine love that Theodore had.

Her thoughts whirled back to what Theodore had said moments ago.

As if love is some childish fancy.

Oliver had acted as though love was irrelevant. Did he truly believe that? And what of her? She had agreed to marry Oliver out of necessity, not love. But slowly, something had been changing between them. Alethea's cheeks warmed as she thought back to her husband and her heart fluttered wildly.

Why, she realized with a jolt, I have gone and fallen in love with my own husband.

The revelation stole her breath. Alethea pressed a hand to her cheek, hoping that Theodore did not notice the sudden flush on her cheeks.

"What is it?" Theodore asked, noticing her sudden silence instead.

"Oh, nothing," she said hastily. She could not exactly confess such a discovery to her brother-in-law. "I was only thinking… that perhaps I do have a small understanding of how you feel."

"Do you really?" he seemed skeptic at first.

"I.." Alethea bit down on her lip, "well, yes. I think I do."

"Then you know it's not so simple to just let go," Theodore replied with a defeated smile.

"No. It isn't," she agreed softly.

They fell quiet. Theodore poured himself another finger of whiskey but did not drink it. After a long moment, Alethea found the courage to speak up again.

"If Joyce returns your feelings, there may yet be hope."

"She won't even speak to me. Not since… all of this," He turned his troubled eyes to her. "Oliver has likely warned her away, or she's too ashamed."

"Do you believe she loves you?" Alethea hesitated, weighing her words carefully.

"She hasn't said it. But I know she does."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I've seen it. She didn't have to dance with me that second time, you know. The first could be passed off as circumstance," Theodore said, seeming firm in his conviction, "She knew what it would mean when she agreed to dance with me a second time."

"It would mean something?" Alethea blinked, feeling a bit na?ve suddenly.

"Of course it would," Theodore chuckled faintly. "Two unchaperoned dances is practically akin to an announcement. And it must be no small thing for Joyce, who is otherwise so proper and reserved," he said.

"Ah," Alethea said. She did not know her sister well enough to say for certain if what he was saying was right. "Perhaps.."

"She felt something. I'm sure of it." Theodore's voice was hoarse with conviction now. "She's only holding back because she thinks she must. Or rather, because your husband has made her believe there is no future for us."

"Oliver means well," she murmured. "He wants to protect you both from scandal."

"That's not how love works, Duchess," Theodore let out a bitter laugh.

She looked back at him, startled.

"When you're in love, you don't think clearly.

You don't weigh consequences and reputation like scales.

You think of the person and you ache to see them," Theodore continued on.

"Every part of you yearns to be near them.

And when you can't…" His voice cracked, and he leaned back with a frustrated exhale, running a hand through his hair.

Dream of them. Yearn to see them.

Oliver's face flickered before her eyes once more and she pressed her fingers to her lips.

"What?" Theodore asked, brow furrowed. "You are acting strange again."

"Nothing." Her cheeks flamed. "I was only thinking again about what you said."

"That's your problem. You and Oliver both. Always thinking," he scoffed. "But love doesn't follow rules. It doesn't care for titles or timing or what the world thinks."

Alethea looked down at her wineglass. Her hand trembled slightly.

"I suppose," she said quietly, "that I never thought of it that way."

"You wouldn't," Theodore muttered, then sighed. "I'm sorry. That was unkind. I just… I feel as though no one understands what it's like."

"I'm trying."

At last, Alethea rose to her feet.

"It's late. I should go now," she said, hastily. "I only wished to hear you out."

Theodore slumped his shoulders. "I am not sure of how useful that is, but I appreciate the gesture anyway, I suppose."

Alethea did not give him a reply, and was already darting out of the room. Her cheeks were still heating up from the realization that what Theodore had described was not too different from how she felt about Oliver.

It was love. The thought only frustrated her, for she hadn't the faintest idea what to do about it.