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Anything would be better than her own thoughts at this moment. The door eased open and Daphne slipped inside, clad in a pale dressing gown. The worry was blatant across her face.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she began, crossing the room to perch on the edge of the bed. "But I couldn't go to bed without seeing you. How are you doing now? I was so worried that you had locked yourself in your room, at least I am happy that you had the sense to leave the door open now."

Alethea smoothed the coverlet beneath her palms. It was true, the act of locking herself in had been rather dramatic from her perspective. Even though she had not yet resolved the storm of her own feelings, she had decided to quit her tantrum and unlocked the door earlier on.

"I am all right," she said, though she knew how thin it sounded. "I keep telling you to not worry about me."

"Are you?" Daphne reached for her hand. "Because all signs point differently. I understand that you do not wish to speak about it. But it is only me here now, and perhaps you can confide in me. I promise not to tell anyone."

Alethea tried to meet her gaze but couldn't hold it for long. She considered her offer in her mind.

Out of all of her sisters, it was Daphne to whom she was closest to. And so, it only made sense for her to confide in Daphne.

"I don't know what good it would do to speak of it," she said softly. "I have turned it over in my mind so many times that I can scarcely tell what is true anymore."

"Sometimes," Daphne murmured, "saying a thing aloud helps you hear it properly."

"It feels like a betrayal," she admitted, "To speak of it to anyone, even you."

Daphne's thumb brushed over her knuckles.

"It wouldn't be," she said gently. "It is only sharing the burden. I am your sister, and that is exactly what I am here for."

"I don't know how to explain it," she said finally. "It's not that he has been cruel. He is kinder to me than anyone has ever been. But I have never felt so alone."

"Because he will not let you all the way in?" Daphne asked after a moment of contemplation.

"Because he says he cannot be the sort of man I might one day want him to be. And I…" She broke off, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Daphne waited, patient as ever.

"I don't know if I can love him halfway," Alethea whispered. "How am I meant to be content with that?"

"You shouldn't have to be," Daphne said softly. "You have never asked for anything extravagant, surely."

Alethea let out a sigh. She was finally ready to admit the truth to Daphne.

"He told me he cannot give me children, he has never wished for them. And he said it so finally, as if my say in the matter does not have any bearing. If he claims to love me, then I do not understand his reasoning."

"And do you?" Daphne asked carefully. "Want children, that is. I realize this is not something that we have discussed before."

Alethea shook her head, a tear slipping free.

"I don't know," she confessed. "I never thought so much about what I wanted before him. Now I cannot think of anything else. And when I look at him, I don't know if it is selfish to wish for more than he can give."

"Wanting to be loved completely is not selfish," Daphne said after a moment. "I do not think one can blame you for it."

"But what if he is right?" Alethea's voice broke. "What if I am only setting myself up to be disappointed?"

"Or," Daphne said gently, "what if you are setting yourself up to be happy? To be loved as you deserve?"

"I don't know how to find out," she whispered. "It feels as though the act requires a kind of bravery which I do not have to give."

Daphne reached up to cup her cheek.

"You have already been brave," she said firmly. "You left rather than pretend you were content. That is courage, dearest. Even if you cannot see it."

"It doesn't feel like courage."

"You might not see it that way, but I would urge you to believe me," Daphne's voice was soft. "But I am so proud of you."

Alethea's tears slipped free in earnest then, but she did not turn away. Perhaps wanting everything wasn't so unreasonable after all.

"You're thinking of him," Daphne said softly. "I suppose both of you cannot get each other out of their mind tonight."

At that, Alethea's head snapped up.

"Is he still out there?" she posed the question. Even though she had only suspected it at first, she had tried to tell herself that he might not be there still. It was not a rational thing to do in the least.

"Yes." Daphne's expression was careful. "Felicity tried again to persuade him to come in, but he wouldn't. He said he wouldn't leave until you would see him."

Alethea pressed a hand to her lips, her heart beating too fast. She had gotten the confirmation that she did not know she needed until this moment.

"It's raining," she only managed to say.

"I told him as much." Daphne nodded. "He said he didn't mind."

Something in her chest wrenched. All evening she had told herself she didn't care. That she would not be moved by his stubbornness or his pride. But now, picturing him out there, soaked to the skin, refusing to retreat made all her defenses shatter.

"He is freezing," she whispered, "He must be. I am sat here in the comfort of my bed, and not once have I stopped to consider what he must be experiencing at this time."

Daphne nodded.

"He must be." She hesitated, then went on, "I know you wish to be strong. And you have every right to your anger. But if you wish to see him…no one here will stop you."

For a moment, the rain was the only sound between them. Then Alethea drew in a breath, her decision falling into place as though it had been waiting all along.

"I can't leave him out there," she whispered. "Whatever else is between us, I cannot do that."

"Then let me come with you," Daphne gave a quiet sigh that might have been relief.

"No. I appreciate the offer, but I believe that might just complicate things more," Alethea shook her head. "I think I must do this alone."

Daphne hesitated but then nodded. "Very well."

With trembling hands, Alethea swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She did not bother with her robe. She only pushed her feet into her slippers and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I will be here when you come back," Daphne opened the door.

Alethea managed a small nod and slipped out into the corridor. Her heart pounded as she descended the stairs. At the landing, she paused to steady herself.

She could see the front door, slightly ajar, as though Daphne or someone else had left it open in the vain hope that Oliver might come in of his own accord. When she pushed the door fully open, the cold gust hit her like a shock.

Oliver was there.

He looked up as she appeared, and for a moment neither of them spoke. Rain streamed from his shoulders, and his hair clung to the side of his face.

"Alethea."

"You are soaked," She pressed a hand to the doorframe, her fingers numb.

"I know."

"You can't stay out here," she tried her hardest to keep her voice from breaking.

"I told them I wouldn't leave until you came," he parroted back to her as though it was no small thing.

"This is madness," her voice began to rise steadily. "You see that, surely? Don't you? The girls must be worried where you are, and you can catch an illness standing there. Did it not occur to you that it is bad for you---"

"Careful," he cut her off, a smile forming on his face. "If you continue with your little rant, I might just get the inkling that you do care for me still. Which you have been trying your hardest to conceal."

Alethea was taken aback. She could not understand how even in a moment like this, he was choosing to tease her. She felt all her resentment melting away, and in that moment, all she wished to do was embrace him.

It took her all the restraint that she possessed to not jump into his arms in that moment,

"You should not have done this," she said instead.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "But I could not go home without seeing you. I thought I made that perfectly clear."

She closed her eyes. For a moment she thought she might weep. But instead she swallowed the ache and stepped back.

"Come inside."

He hesitated, as though he did not trust that she meant it. But then he crossed the threshold, rain water dripping behind him as he walked.

It pulled at her heart strings to see him like this. Truly, he looked wrecked. She turned and called up the stairs.

"Felicity? Joyce?"

Footsteps came at once. Felicity appeared first, her mouth tightening as she took in the sight of him. Joyce followed, her gaze flicking from Oliver to Alethea and back again.

"He needs dry clothes," Alethea said,. "And a blanket."

"He needs to leave," Felicity's brows arched. "No offense intended, Your Grace. But my sister has already made it clear that she did not wish to see you. I do not understand the point of these rather extreme measures then."

"Felicity," Joyce murmured reproachfully.

Alethea looked at Joyce, pleading silently what she felt her words could not convey. Joyce seemed to take the hint, and nodded promptly.

"I'll fetch something," she said, and turned away.

Felicity, on the other hand, was proving to be a difficult audience. She had not moved an inch, and was still eyeing the duke with great suspicion.

"It's fine," Alethea tried to calm her. "I have changed my mind about seeing him."

"Clearly you have," Felicity said. "But anyone can see that it is because of his refusal to leave. Would it be a better idea if you came back to the situation in the morning, with a clearer mind?"

"No, I have made up my mind," Alethea argued back.

"I hope you know what you are doing," Felicity said.

"I don't. But I can't let him stand out in the rain."

Felicity's expression softened, just a little.

"Very well," she said quietly, and stepped aside to let her pass.

Oliver had not spoken. He stood there dripping, looking as though he would fall over if she stopped looking at him. She reached for his arm.

"You're shivering," she said.