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"I will be fine," he tried to downplay it. "The important thing is that to you are here now."

"No, you won't." She led him to the small chair and pressed him down into it. He did not resist. Instead, his eyes followed her. He looked like he had something to say but no strength left to say it.

A moment later, Joyce returned, a folded blanket in her arms and an old set of clothing over her shoulder. She set them down carefully and looked at Oliver, her expression softening.

"You must be chilled to the bone," she said.

He met her gaze, and for a heartbeat, something like surprise flickered over his face.

"Joyce," he rasped. "I suppose this is the first time that we are interacting with one another."

"Yes, well," Her brows lifted in surprise. "I suppose that we have not had any direct correspondence before this."

"But I know of you all too well," he shook his head. "My brother has not yet stopped talking about you."

The words felt a bit out of character for Oliver to say, but Alethea suspected that it must be the tiredness that had him be a bit more honest and not so diplomatic.

"I suppose I can say the same about him," Joyce gave him a sad smile. "I only came to ensure that you are warm. Take care of my sister."

He inclined his head once and Joyce slipped back into the hall, closing the door behind her.

Alethea picked up the blanket with trembling hands. She laid it over his shoulders, careful not to meet his eyes.

"I don't know why you have come," she said, "I don't know what you expect me to say."

His hand reached up, closing over hers where it rested on the blanket.

"Nothing," he said. "Only that you would let me see you."

"Then perhaps it would do us better if we do not say anything for now," Alethea said.

She was more concerned about keeping him warm. Without hesitation, Alethea was at his side again.

"Shall we get you changed out of these wet clothes?"

Oliver slowly peeled away his sodden coat and shirt, Alethea laid a soft blanket over his knees. The skin of his arms was flushed with cold. She brushed damp strands of hair from his face, and his eyes opened to meet hers but she avoided his gaze.

Her hands shook a little, though she tried to pretend they didn't. When at last she straightened, their eyes met.

It was Oliver who broke first.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said. "I need you to know that. I have spent every day since you left wishing I could take it all back."

"And what is it you wish you had said?" She took a careful breath, willing her composure to hold.

"That I love you." His voice cracked on the last word, and his hands clenched in the blanket as though he needed something to hold him steady.

Alethea's eyes blurred with tears. He reached for her hand, and when she did not pull away, he held it steadily.

"But I do not understand a love where you only consider your own wishes," she admitted with a sigh.

"I understand how it may come across as that to you," Oliver hung his head low. "I suppose I can only explain my reasonings to you, and hope that you see why I said what I did."

Alethea was quiet. She did not dare hope yet, for she knew how much it hurt to be disappointed. Instead, she just waited for him to continue on.

"You asked me once if I could ever want children," he said. "I told you no. I did not realize at the time that I was hurting you by saying that."

"By denying me," she corrected for him.

"By denying you," he smiled. "But you should understand that I said so only because I was afraid of failing you, or perhaps the child that we would have."

"Failing me?" Alethea looked up at him, surprised. Of all the things she had expected him to say, this had not been one of them. "You are perfectly capable of fatherhood, and I cannot imagine why such a thought would even occur to you."

"You cannot say that. For I am not yet a father," he smiled. "In my mind, I thought if I failed you and any child you might bear me, it would be the final proof that I was never enough."

He met Alethea's stunned gaze with a comforting one.

"Give me a chance to explain myself," he drew in a sharp breath. "When my parents died, everything was chaos. Both of them left us earlier than we had ever expected them to, and I was only nineteen when it happened."

"That is too young an age," Alethea conceded.

"Yes but you know what followed it," he continued. "Suddenly, it was all mine: the title, the estate, the responsibility for my sisters, who were still only children. I had no idea how to be the man everyone expected."

"You were only a boy," Alethea whispered. "That needs to be said, even though I know you shall try to resist it."

She knew him well enough to say that now. Oliver had never really allowed himself to be seen as someone who depended on others. Only as the carer and protector.

"Yes." His smile was hollow. "But it does not matter really when you have to fill in shoes that are far larger than yourself. So I tried to solid, reliable, untouched by any weakness. And I suppose part of me never stopped trying."

A tear slipped down her cheek. Her heart ached for him, almost as though it was her who had gotten through this trauma. He brushed it away with the back of one shaking finger.

"I thought the only way to protect my siblings was to never let myself want anything too badly," he went on. "Because then it could not be taken from me. So when you came into my life, so warm and certain, I didn't know how to be anything but afraid."

"I wish you had told me," Alethea's voice broke.

"I know." His thumb traced her cheekbone, lingering for a second. "And I am sorry. I have made a ruin of everything by trying to pretend I did not care as much as I did."

There was a long silence. It was Oliver who spoke up again.

"I need you to know one more thing. When I told Theodore he could not marry Joyce…it was not only my pride. I had decided years ago that he would be my heir. If I never married, he would carry on the line. It was easier to believe I had made peace with it."

"And did you?" she asked softly.

"No. But I told myself I had." He looked down.

"And now?" Alethea's heart twisted.

He lifted his head, and she was struck by how tired he looked.

"Now," he said, "I see that I was wrong in everything that mattered. I was wrong to deny happiness to both myself and my brother. Even worse, I was wrong to imagine that love was something I could do without."

"Oliver…." Tears blurred her vision again. She had not expected him to be so candid with her. He was being more open than he had even been before, and she worried that she would ruin it by saying the wrong thing.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he said quickly. "But I needed you to hear the truth. You were never the problem. It was always me."

Alethea reached for him then, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

"You think you were alone in your fear?" she asked, her voice thick. "I have been terrified every day since I met you that somehow I was not enough for you. That one day you would look at me and regret ever bringing me here."

His hands came up to cover hers, holding them fast.

"You made me feel wanted," she whispered. "And seen, really. I have never known what it is to be loved without conditions. But with you I started to believe it might be possible."

"It is possible," he murmured with a soft smile.

Alethea blinked at him, her own tears finally spilling free.

"I do want children," she said softly, "And the reasons are clear to me now. I do not wish to have them simply because God demands it, or because it is expected of me to bear them. I want them for a selfish reason and that is because I love you."

Oliver paused, listening intently now.

"You make me want a home," she went on, unable to stop the words now. "You make me want to see what kind of father you would be. You make me imagine…so many things I never dared before."

He drew her closer, pressing his forehead to hers.

"You are right," he whispered. "I blamed you for wanting more than I thought I could give."

"Do you blame me still?"

"No," he shook his head. "Your absence made me realize that living without you is not something that I wish to do."

Alethea cupped his cheek in her palm, and he leaned into it.

"And I am still afraid. But not so much that I will let it cost me you."

She smiled through her tears. He was not denying her anymore, and she knew that it must have taken all his strength to come to such a conclusion.

"You would not be alone in that," she said to him. "I suppose I am afraid, too. But I do not think it would do justice to the life we could have if we were to be held back with our fear."

Oliver did not answer back to her in words. Instead, he kissed her. Out of all of their kisses, this one would be her favorite. There was a sense of unhurriedness to it, as though for the first time, they finally had the pleasure of certainty.

She kissed him back with everything she had, her hands sliding into his damp hair as though to anchor them both. When at last they parted, they were both breathing hard. Alethea rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed.

"I don't need a perfect man," she whispered. "I want you only, with all of your imperfections."

"I am glad of it," he murmured, his lips curving faintly. "Because I have never been anything close."

She laughed, watery and relieved, and he pressed another soft kiss to her cheek.

"I want you," he said. "I want a life with you. Children, if we are fortunate."

She nodded, her heart too full for words.

"But perhaps," he added more gently, brushing a thumb over her damp lashes, "we might wait a little. Until the girls are older and settled in their own lives. Then…then I want us to have a family of our own. Is that something that you can come to accept?"

"Of course." Alethea drew in a shaky breath. "Nothing would make me happier. I understand that, and if anything, I might prefer it. I have never wanted us to rush, only that we should not close a door for ourselves."

"I will never do that again," His smile softened into something almost boyish. "I just hope that you mean what you say."

"I do," she whispered.

"Then it is settled." He kissed her again, even slower this time.

The rain was still falling hard in sheets outside. It had turned into a storm now, worse than before. But Alethea could not care less. Oliver held her hand in his, refusing to let go even though they were both tired into the late hour of the night.

But there was no time to sleep now. For now, Alethea suddenly had a wonderful future to look forward to with Oliver.