He held her hand tighter, as if afraid she would vanish from his grasp. "
No. Never. I'm sorry if that hurts you." His voice cracked on the last word, but he kept his eyes locked on hers.
Alethea's mind reeled. She pulled her hand free, trembling, and took a half-step back.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "I didn't know… You never said?—"
"I never lied to you," Oliver interrupted softly, but firmly. "I only said I was grateful not to be alone raising my siblings. That was true. But I didn't tell you everything about myself." His jaw tensed. "One reason I stayed distant for so long is because… because I never wanted to be a father."
Alethea felt tears pricking her eyes again, but these were not tears of joy.
"You never wanted… I don't understand." Her voice broke, shock turning to hurt. "All this time… you let me hope…"
He bowed his head, regret etched across his face.
"I should have been honest, yes," he admitted softly. "But I feared how you would feel. Perhaps I was afraid of losing you."
"But you knew how much I dreamed of a family," she protested.
"And I love you, Alethea. I love you with all my heart," he said, "But… to me, it is enough to have the girls. Clara and Eleanor… they are wonderful. I thought, we could be happy raising them together, and we wouldn't need more."
"But it isn't the same. Don't you see? I meant what I said about raising them with you, and then maybe havingourown someday. I would have been patient." She took a steadying breath. "I love them as if they were my own already. God's will,as I was raised, is for a man and woman to join as one, and for a family to grow."
The familiar voice of religion in her reasoning made Oliver's face darken momentarily. He reached out, gently pressing a hand to her arm. His expression was torn.
"God's will?" he repeated slowly. His tone wasn't mocking, but it was pained. "What do you want, Alethea? Please tell me."
She stared at him, trembling. She didn't know how to answer. Part of her wanted to shout that God had no place interfering with her own life, but the words would not come to her throat. Her faith had comforted her through so many trials.
"I … I love you," she managed to whisper, drawing back. "I wanted to share my life with you. God's will or not… I would have had children for you, Oliver."
"Alethea…" he began. His fingers still brushed her arm.
Alethea could only stare at him in stunned disbelief. How could this be happening?
He had confessed his love for her. In her mind, that was reason enough to start a family. If not for duty, then for love.
Alethea felt herself trembling with hurt. She realized she had been sitting on her heels on the cold kitchen floor all this time. She rose unsteadily.
"No." She said it quietly, more to herself than him. "No, I cannot accept this."
Oliver suddenly stood as well, reaching out instinctively as if to stop her.
"Alethea, please," he said softly. But Alethea had already pushed past him. Fury and betrayal filled her as she brushed past. All the confidence and trust she had felt minutes before collapsed into emptiness.
She turned away and began walking up the stairs, pulling her lace petticoats tightly around herself with trembling fingers. Before she disappeared from sight, she heard Oliver's voice, broken and stunned, mutter:
"You know I love you… don't you?"
She didn't answer. Alethea fled to her chambers, tears quietly spilling as she shut the door behind her. Upstairs, moonlight streamed through the tall window, and she allowed herself to collapse against the sill.
Her cheeks were wet and her heart felt as if it had been wrenched in two. She clung to the wooden frame as if it could hold her up.
She had longed to hear these words from him, but if love came without the assurances it was meant to bring with it, was it really enough?
There was a lingering tension at the breakfast table the next morning. Alethea arrived at the breakfast table with a heavy heart, one that was still weighed down from her conversation with the duke yesterday.
The great oak table was set and his sisters and Theodore already gathered; but at one end sat her and Oliver, each avoiding the other's eyes.
