Page 17 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

Freddie was simply testing boundaries. He wanted to know where she stood. Wanted to know if she would shout, or laugh, or pretend nothing had happened at all.

Alice wouldn’t shout at him.

The sheets warmed around her, and she closed her eyes. She fell asleep with the ghost of a smile on her lips and the sound of small footsteps fading into the dark.

Morning came with all her belongings in their place. Luckily.

She ate breakfast in silence, then returned to her chamber, where she pretended to attend to correspondence. Eventually, she could no longer bear her boredom, so she made her way to the library.

She paused in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and absorbed the quiet of the room. Morning light fell through the tall windows in diagonal shafts that turned the dust motes to gold.

It truly was the most magnificent room in the castle.

She had not expected to find the library occupied. Charlie sat in the window seat, with a book open against his thighs. He did not look up when she entered. His concentration appeared absolute, his finger tracing the line of text with the focused precision of a child who treated reading as both a refuge and an occupation.

“Good morning, Charlie.” Alice kept her voice soft.

He turned a page without responding.

“I did not realize the library was in use,” she added, moving toward the shelves carefully. “I can return later, if you would prefer.”

“Stay, if you wish.” Charlie’s voice emerged level and cool. “It makes no difference to me.”

Alice selected a volume from the middle shelf and carried it to the armchair that faced the window seat. Not directly opposite Charlie, but at an angle, close enough for conversation if it arose and far enough to respect the bubble of silence he had constructed around himself.

She opened the book. The pages fell open to her placemark, a thin strip of blue ribbon that the previous reader had left between the leaves. She smoothed the page with her palm and began to read.

The silence between them acquired texture: Charlie’s breathing, slow and even; the occasional soft creak of the spine as he turned a page; the distant sound of the household moving through its morning routine beyond the library door.

“You tap your finger,” Charlie noted. He did not look up from his book.

Alice’s right index finger paused mid-descent toward the third tap. She curled her hand into a loose fist and set it on the arm of the chair. “Do I?”

“Three times. Then a pause. Then three more.” He turned another page. The motion was unhurried, almost casual, but his eyes remained fixed on the text. “You did it just now.”

“I was not aware.” She kept her voice even.

The history of garden design blurred before her eyes, the text rearranging itself into shapes that conveyed no meaning.

“Most people aren’t aware of their habits.” Charlie’s finger traced the margin of his page, following some invisible path only he could see. “That’s what makes them habits.”

Alice turned a page. The sound was louder than she had intended.

Charlie closed his book. He looked at her directly for the first time that morning, and the expression on his face belonged to a child twice his age.

“So… you are my mother now.”

“I…” Alice hesitated. “I suppose so.”

A frown settled between his eyebrows. “I don’t really know what that is like.”

She simply looked at him and waited. Children who were rarely listened to would speak without encouragement if given the chance.

How well she knew that.

“What does a mother do?” he asked.

“I suppose that she gives love and advice,” Alice offered. “That she cares. I will make sure to tuck you in bed. Read you stories if you want.”