Alethea pulled her into an embrace, cradling Joyce's head against her shoulder as her sister wept quietly. For a long moment, the only sounds were Joyce's soft. Alethea's own tears escaped in sympathy.
When Joyce finally drew back, blotting her eyes, her expression had gone cold.
"So you see," she whispered, "it is better if I put him from my mind. In time, he'll forget me and find someone more suitable. And I shall be content with my memories."
Alethea's heart twisted painfully. Joyce was only twenty-eight, far too young to seal herself away with such loneliness. She brushed a tear from Joyce's cheek.
"But you deserve happiness too," she said, "the same happiness that you wish for me to have."
"My happiness is seeing you happy," Joyce returned. "That will be enough for me."
Alethea could think of no reply that wouldn't sound hollow, so she simply gathered Joyce's hands in hers. Joyce was willing to sacrifice her own chance at love to protect the man she loved. It was a heartbreaking irony that such selflessness only caused them both more pain.
"I have returned," Daphne said, walking back into the room. Joyce shot her a look, as if to say that the conversation between them was now over. But Alethea could not think of anything else.
Now that she had the confirmation that Joyce returned Theodore's feelings, it felt almost criminal to sit and do nothing about it.
Something had to be done.
CHAPTER 16
"Your Grace," one of the footmen at the bottom of the stairs called up, "His Grace the Duke awaits you."
Alethea had been standing at the top of the grand staircase, taking in the scene downstairs. The day that she threw her very first ball had finally arrived, and she felt a mess of nerves.
The servant's announcement carried just enough for her to hear, and indeed Alethea spotted Oliver standing near the base of the staircase, looking up at her. He was surrounded by a few curious onlookers but had eyes only for his wife.
That alone was enough to ease her nerves, only if momentarily.
Alethea descended the staircase. Her gown had been custom-made for her, and it clung to her skin better than any gown that she owned before. She had been anxious about wearing it, in fear of drawing too much attention to herself, but the way that Oliverwas gazing at her now, she felt as though she had made the right choice.
Chin up. Shoulders back. Smile, but not too broadly. Most of all, do not show your fear.
She repeated the words back to herself like a mantra. Tonight would be the true test of her abilities as a duchess, and she was not willing to lose. As she reached the final step, she placed her hand in Oliver's outstretched palm.
"Good evening, Your Grace," she murmured playfully, just loud enough for him to hear as he bowed over her hand.
"Good evening," Oliver replied, straightening. He looked handsome, she surmised. But then again, it was rare that she did not have that opinion of him. "You look beautiful, Duchess."
Alethea's cheeks warmed instantly. She had grown somewhat accustomed to compliments from the maids as they helped her dress, but hearing it from Oliver was entirely different.
"You are kind to say so," she managed softly. Her lips curved into a shy smile, the praise bolstering her confidence. "I only hope I…"
"You will do splendidly," Oliver cut in gently, reading the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and began to lead her forward into the ballroom. "This night is yours, Duchess. Enjoy it."
"I suppose that is easier said than done," she noted with a nervous smile.
"I have seen the same nervousness in you before," he nodded, unfazed. "But you always manage to do wonderfully. You should know that about yourself, and find the confidence."
She nodded, exhaling. The two of them made their way out to the ballroom. A hush fell over the immediate vicinity as people took in the Duke and his bride as everyone took in the sight of them, some openly assessing while others warm and welcoming. Alethea kept her chin raised.
Before Alethea could take in more, they were intercepted by the first of many well-wishers.
"Your Graces," The Duchess of Haworth greeted, executing a courteous curtsy. "What a delightful affair. We are all so eager to meet the new Duchess of Redhaven." Her eyes traveled over Alethea appraisingly.
"Thank you, it is a great pleasure to meet you," Alethea nodded.
"And might I say, Your Grace, that gown is a triumph. The color is bold, but you wear it marvelously."
