This was her room. Or so they said. She had no recollection of this life.
When Alethea finally made her way downstairs for dinner – which she was kindly reminded by a maid more than once, she found a new set of faces waiting for her that she had not seen before.
Everyone was already seated. Her three sisters sat at the long table, two of them accompanied by well-dressed men who rose at once upon seeing her. Joyce, by contrast, sat alone.
Alethea's gaze lingered on her, the only sister without a man beside her. It was something that they had in common this evening, and it made her more curious than she cared to admit.
Even seeing the gentlemen seated at the same table as her was a new experience. At the nunnery, her interactions with men had been limited, at best. And not ones that she would recall fondly.
"Please," Daphne said, gesturing to the chair set out for her. "Sit with us."
Alethea obeyed, smoothing her skirts as she sank into the chair. All the while, she kept her eyes low, unsure where to look.
"Allow me to make some introductions," Daphne started in her usual cheerful manner of speaking, "This is my husband, Ambrose Linwood, the Duke of Greymont."
"That makes you a duchess?" Alethea asked, raising an eyebrow. Even though her life at the nunnery had been sheltered, even she knew the status such a title holds in society.
"Yes," Daphne smiled, as though it was a natural thing.
Alethea glanced between them.
"At the convent, the only titles that mattered were ‘Sister' and ‘Mother.' All were equal in obedience," she said finally.
"The world outside the convent is less egalitarian, I'm afraid," It was Ambrose who answered, chuckling quietly. Alethea made sure not to look in his direction as he spoke.
One must never make direct eye contact with men, she had been taught. And that modest women must avoid speaking excessively with those whom she has no direct relationship with. She wondered if that applied here. This was her family, after all. Even though they felt like strangers in practicality.
"Society has its own… expectations," Felicity offered gently. "Though you needn't worry about them all at once. Let me introduce my husband, as well. Charles Voss, the Earl of Glavingale."
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," the Earl replied. "Felicity has told me about the circumstances of your life, and I must say that I find the story quite remarkable."
"I am not sure if remarkable is the word I would use," Alethea let slip before she could stop herself. She noticed the slight unease on her sisters' faces at the comment, and so instead decided to divert her attention to the third sister, who was yet to speak, as a way to avoid probing too deeply on her ‘circumstances'.
"And what of you?" she said to Joyce, "I could not help but notice that you sit alone."
"I was married to the Viscount of Alborne," she said in a flat voice, "Edward Reeves. But I am his widow, as he passed three years ago from a terrible lung disease."
Alethea gasped loudly, clamping her mouth with her hands. And then immediately, bowed her head, folding her hands as though in prayer.
"May his soul find peace," she said solemnly, "Three years in purgatory, if not already called to rest, is mercy enough. I shall remember him in my evening prayers."
There was a brief, stunned silence at the table and some looks were exchanged.
"Thank you," she managed, a bit awkwardly. "That's… very kind of you."
Alethea gave a small nod, as if the matter were settled. To her, death required acknowledgment. In the nunnery, even the smallest passing was marked with reverent observance and a prayer for the deceased. But her sisters' reaction seemed to indicate that things were different around here. It made her realize once again that her ways did not match theirs.
"I have been gracious to have the full support of my sisters during this process of grieving," Joyce said after a moment. "And I find myself healed in their presence. I hope that you can find the same with us."
The footmen moved silently around the table, lifting domed silver covers to reveal the food. Platters of roasted meats, delicate vegetables in buttered sauces, and baskets of fresh rolls were laid out. For a moment, Alethea could only stare at the expanse of options available for her.
"Is there anything you prefer? We've a bit of everything tonight," Daphne turned to her, smiling.
"Yes, we were not sure what you would like," Felicity chimed in.
"I don't have a preference," Alethea said plainly. "At the nunnery, we ate what was available."
She folded her hands in her lap, unsure if she should reach for anything without being told. A feast like this would have fed the entire nunnery for a week.
