Page 42 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

“The roses were removed several years ago,” he said, his voice level and clipped. “They had become diseased.”

Alice looked at him. She was certain that there was not a speck of truth in that statement.

“Did she sing?” Freddie asked. His voice had lost its usual volume.

“Freddie.” Kenneth set his glass down. “That is enough.”

“But I want to know.”

“I said enough.”

The word fell across the table and smothered whatever Freddie had been about to say next.

Charlie’s hands tightened in his lap. His gaze dropped to his plate, and the grin from minutes ago vanished as though it had never existed.

Alice turned to Kenneth. She kept her voice low, pitched beneath the register of command. “They are asking about their mother. It is a reasonable question.”

Kenneth’s eyes met hers across the table. His face had gone pale.

“The boys have had a long day,” he said. “Perhaps we could discuss more cheerful subjects.”

“They have a right to⁠—”

“Alice.” Her name in his mouth carried a warning so cold that she nearly flinched. “Not now.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you about the time your father and I sailed a raft across the lake at Morleigh Park?” He turned to the boys. “We were fifteen. The raft was fence posts and stolen rope, and its seaworthiness was approximately equal to that of a dining table. We launched at dawn because your father insisted on secrecy, though the only witnesses were a herd of extremely uninterested Herefords.”

Freddie looked at him. His curiosity was still there, dampened but not extinguished. Alice watched him decide whether to let the diversion carry him.

“Did it sink?” he asked.

“Magnificently. We were perhaps forty yards from shore when the rope dissolved and the fence posts began to drift apart beneath us. Your father, who was standing at the front pretending to be Admiral Nelson, went in first. I followed shortly after, though I maintain that my descent was more graceful.”

“Papa doesn’t swim,” Charlie said quietly.

“Your father can swim. He claims that it is undignified.” Jonathan grinned.

Though most of the tension dissipated, Alice was still overly aware of Kenneth’s pale countenance and the darkness in his eyes. She allowed the rest of dinner to pass in silence, sitting back and watching as the rest of the company enjoyed the treacle tart.

Jonathan retired to the guest chamber shortly after, squeezing Alice’s arm at the foot of the staircase and murmuring, “Give him time. He’s stubborn, not stupid.”

Alice waited breathlessly. When she turned, Kenneth was staring at her with those dark eyes.

“You undermined me.” His voice was as cold. “In front of my children. In front of Jonathan. You challenged my judgment on a subject you know nothing about.”

“I know that your sons asked about their mother, and you silenced them.”

He turned then, and in the warm light, he was whiter than a sheet. “Do not tell me how to speak to my sons about their mother.”

“They need to know her, Kenneth. They need stories. They need to hear her name spoken aloud without the room going silent, as though she is a secret too terrible to share.”

“She is not a secret.” His voice roughened. “She is dead. She died in this castle, in a room thirty feet from where they sleep, and there is nothing I can tell them about her that will not end in the same place. Nothing else matters.”

Alice took a step toward him. “You cannot protect them from grief. It exists, regardless of whether you acknowledge it or not.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am not⁠—”

“You cannot shield them from sadness for the rest of their lives.” Her voice had softened. “If you keep trying, you will build a silence so large that they will fill it themselves. They will invent a mother from fragments, and she will never be as real as the one you could give them.”