Page 7

" H ow much longer am I meant to wait?"

Two hours had passed since she had been escorted to her chambers her wedding night.

At first, Alethea had been nervous at the thought of meeting Oliver here.

With each creak of the floorboards in the hall, she had straightened, heat rising to her cheeks in anticipation.

But as minutes ticked by, her anticipation soured into impatience. .

It was most improper for a husband to leave his bride alone for so long on their wedding night. Was he avoiding her on purpose?

Alethea's upbringing had taught her modesty and patience, but it had also instilled in her a firm sense of duty—both to God and to the vows she had taken mere hours before.

Duty, as she understood it, did not involve sitting meekly while one's husband found more interesting company elsewhere in the house.

She rose abruptly from the bed. If Oliver would not come to her, she would go to him. It was a bold decision, but it felt like the only way that she would be able to get any answers. A bride should not have to chase her groom through the halls on their wedding night.

Throwing on a robe, she made her way down the corridor and into his study. For a moment, she worried if he had gone to bed already but the light coming in from the bottom of the door assured her that he was there and still awake.

Did he truly think whatever occupied him at this hour was more important than his wife? She raised a hand to knock, then paused. Her heart was thudding now.

What was she to say? She had not exactly planned this far, beyond finding him.

"Well, I suppose I shall figure this out as it happens," she sighed to herself.

Gathering her resolve, Alethea knocked firmly. There was a brief shuffling noise inside, and then the door opened.

Oliver stood before her. He had removed his formal wedding attire and looked more at ease than she had seen him all day. A strand of his dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead.

"Alethea?" he said, surprise evident in his voice. He made no move to step aside or invite her in immediately, clearly too caught off guard by the appearance of his bride. "Is something the matter?"

Something the matter? The casual question fanned Alethea's irritation. She pushed past him into the room without waiting for an invitation.

Oliver closed the door hastily, perhaps mindful of servants who might pass by.

"What is wrong?" he asked again, turning to face her. "Why are you so angry with me?"

"Why am I not in my bedchamber where a new wife belongs on her wedding night?

" Alethea interrupted. She did not want to sound like a petulant girl, but the emotions she had bottled up were dangerously close to spilling over.

"Perhaps you can answer that, Your Grace. I have been waiting for you for hours."

He blinked, clearly taken aback. "You have been waiting for me?"

"Yes," she exclaimed. "Waiting for my husband to join me. It is customary, I believe, for the husband to come to his bride's chamber on the night of their wedding. Or have marriages changed in custom since this morning and I was simply not informed?"

Oliver ran a hand through his hair.

"I... No, that custom has not changed," he replied quietly.

He stepped further into the study, the door now firmly shut behind them.

Alethea's eyes flicked to the desk, where a glass lay beside an open book.

He had been reading and enjoying a drink while she sat upstairs alone. The realization made her jaw tighten.

"I did not realize you were expecting me tonight," he continued.

For a moment, Alethea could only stare. It felt as though he had spoken in a foreign tongue.

"Not expecting you? We are married," she stated. "Or did I dream the entire day? If so, do inform me, for I would dearly love to know that I have not been made a fool of."

A flash of something crossed Oliver's face. He approached her slowly, stopping a few paces away.

"You have not been made a fool, my darling."

"Oh do not call me that," she snapped, and his mouth actually quirked as if he almost smiled. The nerve of him. Here she was confronting him with what she considered a serious dereliction of duty, and he had the audacity to find humor? "You find this amusing?"

"No," he said immediately. "No, I assure you, I am merely surprised by this outburst. Forgive me, I did not mean to smile. I realize you are upset."

She turned away from him to glance around the room and regain her composure.

"I am at a loss, Your Grace. Why would you think I would not expect you? It is our wedding night."

Oliver exhaled slowly and placed his hands behind his back, as if bracing himself.

"Our marriage," he began, then paused, searching for the right phrasing. "It is not... I did not presume you wanted any, ah, intimacy between us."

Alethea felt her face grow hot at his mention of intimacy, but she pressed on.

"We are husband and wife. Intimacy, as you put it, is part of what a marriage is, is it not?" She faltered only slightly before adding, "Marriage is meant for children, is it not?"

She had thought to appeal to reason, to the natural outcome of any union. The nuns who raised her had always taught that marriage was fundamentally about family in God's design. In her mind, this was an undeniable truth. She expected Oliver to acknowledge as much.

Instead, his expression shifted. His amusement vanished at once, replaced by a guarded look.

"Children," he repeated softly.

"Yes, children," Alethea pressed on, unsure why he suddenly looked so grim.

Surely he, like any man, desired heirs? Perhaps he thought her overly bold to bring it up so soon.

"I may have been raised in a nunnery, but I was not kept ignorant of the facts of marriage.

I know that in order to have children, a marriage must be consummated. "

Her heart thudded at the brazenness of discussing such a thing so plainly, but she had to make him understand her position.

"Do you even know what you are asking for?" he asked.

There was a subtle shift in his tone, something almost like a challenge. It unsettled her, though she could not say exactly why.

"I am asking for what is expected and what is right," she replied.

A faint smile touched his lips, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if steeling himself.

"Alethea... you speak of expectations and what is right," he said. "But perhaps you do not fully grasp what it entails. Intimacy, consummation, sharing a bed... These are not things to approach so mechanically, as a mere duty."

"It is a duty, is it not?" she asked, her anger returning, "I should not have to remind you of it."

Oliver took a single step closer, then halted, as though wary of coming too near.

"You speak of duty and requirements. Tell me, Alethea, is that all this is to you? A necessary task to be endured solely to produce children?"

She stared at him, thrown by the undercurrent in his voice. What other reason could there be?

"I scarcely know you," she admitted, "We were wed to fulfill an arrangement, were we not? Affection was never discussed between us. So yes, at this moment I do speak of duty, because that is all I can rely on. There are still expectation, of society and of God."

"God," he interjected, turning away from her abruptly. "Yes, of course. God's will."

Alethea flinched as if he had struck her.

"You mock my faith now?"

"I mock nothing," he said. "I am merely pointing out that your perspective on marriage comes entirely from the teachings of a nunnery. You speak of God's will and duty as if love means nothing, as if marriage is only a contract for procreation."

It was Alethea's turn to fall silent. Her cheeks burned.

"And you," she retorted after a moment, "speak as if those things are not important. Are you saying they are not?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line. Alethea's pulse pounded in her ears. Her earlier anger was slowly giving way to dread.

"Your Grace, why did you not come to me tonight? Truly. If you will not speak of duty, then be plain. What is it that you want... or do not want from our marriage?"

He regarded her for a long moment.

"I did not come because I did not think you truly desired it to happen. Or perhaps, if I am honest, because I did not truly desire to raise certain expectations."

"Expectations of what?" Her mouth suddenly felt dry. "Of children?"

"I do not want children, Alethea."

It was a simple statement, but it's impact on her was immense. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. Surely she had misheard.

"You... you do not want... children?" she repeated.

"I have no wish to be a father," he said, enunciating each word clearly. His gaze remained fixed on her, unapologetic.

Shock held Alethea in place. Of all the replies she had imagined, this had never crossed her mind. She had taken it as given that one day their marriage would produce a family. She opened her mouth, but for a moment no sound emerged.

Oliver used the silence to continue, his tone gentler now.

"I am sorry if this is not what you expected. I did not intend to have this conversation tonight, but by coming here you have forced my hand. I would not have you live under false hopes."

"It is not a ‘hope' to assume a marriage will result in a family.

It is a natural expectation. And you say you never intend.

..?" She broke off, pressing a hand to her chest to steady herself.

"Why would you not want children? Have I…

" She caught herself before voicing the fear that perhaps she was the problem, that he found her lacking.

Oliver stepped toward her, then halted, his hand half-lifted as if he might reach for her but thought better of it.

"This is not because of you," he said quietly. "This is my own choice. I simply do not wish to father any children. Ever."

"Did it not occur to you that marriage is not a choice one makes alone? That in marrying me, you involved me in this choice as well? How could you keep such a thing from me?" Her eyes stung fiercely with the threat of tears, but she refused to let them fall.

He looked away, shame flickering over his features.

"Perhaps I should have told you before the wedding," he admitted. "But our engagement was so swift, and circumstances, well you know how it went. I do not need to repeat the story to you."

"But surely you did not think the details of what that entailed unimportant? Or did you assume I would be content to be a wife in name only?" she asked him.

His eyes flashed with a hint of anger now.

"Many marriages among our class are little more than that," he said. "Heirs produced out of necessity, but otherwise husband and wife lead largely separate lives. I thought perhaps you would prefer an arrangement of mutual respect and companionship, without pressures you might not welcome."

"I do not see children as an unwelcome pressure," she told him. "In fact, they are the one thing I thought a husband and wife might actually share, apart from a roof and a title. I imagined raising a family. Was I so wrong to want that?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if her words pained him. When he opened them, she saw him flex his hands at his sides. "I am not judging you for wanting that," he said finally, "But it is not something I can give you. I am sorry."

The apology, sincere though it sounded, did nothing to ease her anger.

"And what do you propose I do with that apology? Frame it and hang it on the nursery wall that will never exist?"

She had not ever meant to be so harsh with him, but he was denying her something that was her duty to provide.

"Alethea..."

She held up a hand to halt him, stepping back in turn. If he touched her, even in comfort, she feared she might break.

"No. I have heard enough." Her voice wavered. "In fact, more than I ever wanted to hear tonight."

"You will come to understand in time," he said simply.

"I do not understand," she cut in, and now the first hot tear escaped to slip down her cheek.

She ignored it. "I understand nothing of your reasons, since you do not see fit to share them.

All I know is that you have entered into a sacred union with me all the while intending that there will be no children.

And you thought I would simply accept this? "

Oliver opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some explanation, but then closed it again without a word.

What explanation could he give that would not hurt her further? If there was one, he clearly chose not to voice it. Alethea wasn't sure she wanted to hear it anyway.

Perhaps he cannot have children... or perhaps he already has an heir somewhere, some illegitimate child, and has no need of more?

She pushed the speculation away before it consumed her. She could not stand here and ruminate over his secret motives.

She saw that Oliver at least had the decency to look miserable.

His brows were drawn, and he was frowning. But he remained silent, and that silence confirmed the finality of his pronouncement.

Alethea straightened her spine.

"Then, Your Grace," she said quietly, "if there is to be no consummation and no prospect of children, I suppose there is little point in my remaining here tonight."

"Alethea," he began, a hint of desperation threading his voice. "Do not be like that. This is still your home now. We can discuss this again, if you wish to understand it better."

Each word felt like salt on a wound. Alethea could bear no more. Without another glance, she turned and walked swiftly toward the door.

Oliver did not try to stop her. With a trembling hand, Alethea grasped the handle. She paused, not looking back but decided to speak one final time.

"I may have been raised in a convent, but even I know that what you propose is not a true marriage. You offer me a cage with no song. I did not expect love from you, but I did expect respect for the vows we entered into. Good night."

She opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

By the time Alethea reached the door of her own chambers, a hot tear was trailing down her cheek.

She hurried inside and closed herself into the darkness, finally allowing a sob to escape her lips.

Leaning back against the door, she pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the next cry.

In the quiet of that lonely bedroom, Alethea realized she had entered into a marriage far colder and emptier than the life she had left behind.

This was not what she had wanted.