"You are the Duchess here. This is as much your domain as mine," he said simply. "More so, in fact, when it comes to the household. I trust your judgment completely."
When she did not seem convinced still, he continued on.
"Do you know, my mother—God rest her soul—hardly ever consulted my father about household expenditures. She ran things with absolute authority, and he was content to have it so, because he respected her capability. I share his philosophy."
"Your mother was raised to such duties," she said. "Whereas I…"
"Whereas you were not born to it," he finished for her gently. "That may be true. But it doesn't mean you aren't more than capable of learning and excelling at it."
She felt the sting of tears threatening unexpectedly. Perhaps because he had unwittingly touched on one of her deepest insecurities, that she was inadequate for the role fate had thrust upon her.
"Sometimes I worry I'll make a mistake that reflects badly on you," she admitted, "I couldn't bear it if I failed you or your family in some way."
"You will not fail me," Oliver said simply. "And besides, you are my wife, Alethea. You may do whatever you wish."
Wife. His wife. The words felt strange hear out loud and they seemed to fill her with a warm feeling.
"I… see," she said quietly, though she did not see anything at all. Her vision blurred slightly, and she found herself clutching the papers in her lap a little tighter.
"You look pale," Oliver said, his brows pulling together in concern. "Are you unwell?"
"No, I just.." She paused, trying to swallow the butterflies erupting inside of her stomach. "I think I ought to.."
"You're flushed," he said suddenly, taking a step closer. Before she could protest, his hand came up to brush the side of her neck. "Let me just check."
The moment his fingers touched her skin, everything inside her stilled. It was not unpleasant, not at all. His hand was warm and the weight of it against her neck sent her pulse racing even more wildly.
"Alethea?" he asked, concerned. "Are you certain you're all right?"
"I—I should go," she stammered, bolting upright from the armchair so abruptly that Oliver rocked back on his heels, surprised. In her haste, the pile of forgotten papers slid from her lap once more, scattering across the floor for a secondtime tonight—though she hardly registered it now. Her face felt aflame.What on earth am I doing?an inner voice screamed.
"Wait a minute…"
But she was already stepping around him, practically stumbling in her rush to put space between them. What had just happened between them was overwhelming.
Oliver caught her by the elbow as she nearly tripped over the corner of the rug.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out, still avoiding his eyes as she straightened. "I must look a frightful mess. It's so late, I've kept you up dreadfully, and you have early meetings tomorrow, do you not? I should let you rest."
"As you wish," he said, stepping backwards. But she could feel his eyes on her back even as she walked away from him.
CHAPTER 7
"Duchess, do you have a moment?"
Alethea stopped dead in her tracks at the Duke's request. She was on her way to the breakfast room, and had not anticipated that she would cross paths with her husband this morning.
In earnest, she wished to avoid him. Not out of anything he had done, but more so, she had still not understood her reaction to him the other night. In her mind, it would be easier to avoid him rather than confront the strange feeling she had whenever she interacted with him up close.
"It is time for breakfast," she told him, looking at the floor instead.
The duke made a show of pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, and she peeked at him just enough to catch the slight smile that formed on his face as he spoke again. "Surely,breakfast does not require any form of urgency. It will still be there for you on the table after we get a chance to speak."
"Well, then," Alethea cleared her throat and folded her arms out to her front. "Is it something particularly urgent that you wish to speak to me about?"
"I see that you are being particularly impatient this morning," he remarked, eyeing her with curiosity.
"Not at all," Alethea stumbled over her words. She did not wish for him to think of her as an impatient wife. "Please. Tell me what it is that you wish to say."
