Oliver's greeting had been curt."Good morning,"he had said, without looking up. She had replied in kind and then silence fell between them.
Theodore, who sat to Oliver's right, cleared his throat. He regarded Alethea and her husband with a lopsided grin.
"It seems," he said in a playful tone, "that the Duke and Duchess have decided upon a new breakfast tradition: silence."
Alethea's throat tightened. The comment was innocent enough but it stung.
The ball and the family party were hours past. Why should today be so difficult?Even now, sitting here at breakfast, her belly felt clenched with nerves and confusion.He says nothing and looks at nothing,she thought bitterly.He is still angry, or something.
Oliver finally spoke, his voice measured as he reached for the butter.
"I hope you slept well, Duchess." His eyes were fixed on the butter dish, not on her.
"Yes, very well, thank you. And you?" Alethea cleared her throat and spoke evenly.
He hesitated, then answered, "I did." There was no warmth in his voice; it was as flat as a statement of fact.
Had he always answered so stiffly?
Just then, Clara plopped down beside Alethea in an energetic manner.
"Good morning, Alethea!" Clara chirped.
Alethea felt her resolve soften at the sight of the excited child. She managed a small smile. "Good morning, Clara."
Clara's gaze darted to the slice of strawberry jam toast on Alethea's plate.
"Your Grace," she said politely, "I'm sorry to bother you, but may I please have some more jam?"
Before Alethea could answer, Oliver reached over and took Clara's hand.
"Not yet, darling. You must wait a moment." His voice was gentle as ever with the child, a tone of affection that seemed almost at odds with his distant manner toward Alethea. Clara's face fell slightly, but Alethea leaned over and ruffled the girl's curls.
"Come sit with me, dear," she offered. "I'll get you another piece of bread with jam. It's perfectly all right."
Quickly, Alethea cut another slice of toast and spread a generous dollop of jam on it. "There you go," she said with a soft smile, handing it to the child.
"Thank you, Alethea!" Clara beamed, snapping up the toast and taking a big bite. As Alethea turned back to her own meal, she shot Oliver a quick look. His attention was elsewhere.No acknowledgment. Not even a glance.Her chest ached.
Her eyes slid to Theodore, who was eyeing her curiously.
"You seem rather quiet today," he teased lightly. "All the teasing at the ball have worn you down, Duchess?"
Alethea caught herself biting back a sharp reply.Instead, shetook a slow breath and answered calmly, "We were all a little tired, I think. It was a late night."
Oliver cleared his throat. "Yes," he said quietly to Alethea, his gaze drifting over to the open windows. "It was a long night."
"Did I miss something?" Theodore questioned. He was gazing inquisitively between the duke and the Duchess.
"Nothing at all," Alethea remarked suddenly, looking at her husband.
The table lapsed into an uneasy quiet. Clara swung her legs under her chair, humming softly to herself. Alethea forced herself to focus on her tea. She lifted the delicate cup to her lips, hoping it might steady her trembling hands.
Nothing at all,she had said. But the words felt sour on her tongue. In earnest, a lot had changed since the night before. Now she had a confirmation of her husband's intent, and even though she had tried her hardest to come to terms with it, it was proving rather difficult to do.
It was only when Clara reached for the cream jug when the silence broke again.
"Careful," Oliver said at once in a firm voice.
