"Oliver," she said softly, "thank you. For how you handled all of this. You were…" She searched for the right word.Wonderful. Gentle. Nothing like any man I've known."…very kind," she finished.
"It costs nothing to show a bit of patience," he replied. "Especially to those we care for."
Those we care for. Alethea's heart gave a curious little leap. She offered him one more grateful smile, then swept down the hall toward her chambers.
But even as she rushed to change into her new gown, her thoughts remained occupied with what had just happened.
How could a man so gentle and responsible with those in his care claim he never wished to be a father?
He would make a wonderful father.
The thought came swiftly and, before she could stop it, blossomed into a picture in her mind. Oliver cradling a baby with that same protectiveness. The image was so achingly sweet that Alethea's face flushed hot with embarrassment.
She pressed her cool hands to her burning cheeks.
"Stop this nonsense," she scolded herself firmly. It wouldn't do to indulge such fancies. Oliver's actions tonight came from this kind nature, nothing more.
In no time at all, she changed into her new gown. This one felt more flowing than the last. Her self-confidence had improved this time when she stepped out back into the foyer.
She found Oliver exactly where she'd left him, hands clasped behind his back as he stood staring absently at the floor. He appeared deep in thought, but at the sound of her approach his head snapped up.
"This one is also quite beautiful," he commented, though his voice was a touch lower than usual. "Ivory suits you."
Perhaps it was her imagination, but his eyes seemed to linger at the neckline of her gown before lifting quickly to her face.
"I worried it might be too much lace," she said. "But if you think it's acceptable…"
"Entirely acceptable," he assured. "I fear I might like this one even more than the last."
"Then the modiste truly knew what she was doing," Alethea smiled, trying to divert the attention away from herself.
"No. This one is all on you," Oliver said, gently putting the attention back on her. He must have noticed the way that her cheeks reddened instantly.
"Shall we go?" she spluttered out.
"Let's," Oliver laughed now, seeming amused. "You are not used to taking compliments from your husband."
"Forgive me, Your Grace," she said, still blushing. "I have not yet gotten used to having a husband to begin with."
"I am sure you will adapt in time," he said, a lingering suggestion in his voice.
Alethea had no experience of romance in her life. She had led a sheltered existence, after all. But even she could sense that there was a hint of flirtation in his voice.
CHAPTER 9
The ball was unlike anything that Alethea had ever come into contact with.
Surely, she thought that about a lot of things in her new life. But this ball was truly the picture of splendor. Oliver was by her side, his hand resting on the curve of her waist.
"Are you cold, Alethea?" Oliver's voice came low against her ear, acknowledging the shiver which was not due to the weather but rather his touch.
Alethea turned her face up to his. His features were carefully neutral, but concern flickered in his eyes.
"Not cold," she assured softly. "Just taking everything in. It's a bit overwhelming."
"Understandable," he said. He looked out over the crowded room. "I remember my first ball. Believe me, I would have rather faced a charging bull."
Alethea felt a laugh bubble up, picturing a much younger Oliver awkwardly navigating an event like this.
