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.
"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.
