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?"
