"When she is old enough," Oliver nodded. "Eleanor is already of age that she can attend such functions."
"Well, it's only a few years until Clara will be as well," Alethea nodded.
They entered the nursery together. Clara lay curled beneath the covers, her dark hair spilling over the pillow. In sleep, she looked impossibly small and at peace.
A rush of warmth crossed Alethea at the sight.
Oliver crossed to the bed first. He sank to sit on the edge of the mattress and brushed a stray lock of hair back from Clara's cheek.
"She is sleeping soundly," he whispered, only watched the rise and fall of Clara's breathing for a moment.
At last, Oliver leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to Clara's forehead.
"Sleep well, my love," he whispered.
"Sweet dreams," Alethea kissed her cheek in turn.
They stood together then, their hands brushing as they stepped back from the bed. Clara shifted but did not wake. Oliver quietly pulled the door closed. He did not let go of her hand as they returned to the corridor.
Alethea turned her face toward his shoulder and breathed him in. When she lifted her gaze, he was watching her in a way that always made her feel as if she were the only person in the world.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?" she asked, taken aback slightly. "It was not me who put Clara to bed."
"That is not what I am referring to," he corrected her gently. "More so for everything. I believe that I do not get the chance to thank you as often as I would like to."
Alethea blushed at the comment.
"Oh, this is hardly the place," she tried to argue but he caught one of her wrists in his hand.
"There was a time I thought none of this would ever be mine," he traced his thumb on the inside of her wrist. "So, yes, this is the right place."
Alethea lifted a hand to his cheek.
"Well, it was always meant to be yours," she said softly. "You only needed to let yourself want it, and it would have been available to you."
"I am still learning how," he admitted. "Even now, I feel a flush of pride whenever you are by my side and every time that I get to introduce you as my wife."
"I'm glad." She rose on her toes and brushed her lips over his. She had gotten used to the intimacy now, and sharing kisses no longer felt as though they were doing something forbidden. "You are doing rather well."
"But you say that about everything that I do," he laughed under his breath.
"Then I must admit that I do have a bias," she grinned. "But it is also objectively true."
"You make no sense," he laughed, and then he kissed her again. This time, the kissed lingered on for a moment longer than before. She let her heart tip forward into the softness of it, her hand slipping to rest over his heart.
He was grinning ear to ear when they broke apart again.
"I have been thinking," he started, "and I feel that this is the right time to share with you."
"I am always interested in hearing whatever you might have to say," she nodded.
"Perhaps…" he said, his voice suddenly rough, "we might…"
He hesitated, the faintest flush touching his cheekbones.
"Yes?" she prompted, unable to hide her curiosity. "Are you blushing? I cannot imagine what it might be that you wish to tell me that has you reacting in this manner."
