Chapter 1 #3
Alethea gave a small nod, as if the matter were settled.
To her, death required acknowledgment. In the nunnery, even the smallest passing was marked with reverent observance and a prayer for the deceased.
But her sisters' reaction seemed to indicate that things were different around here.
It made her realize once again that her ways did not match theirs.
"I have been gracious to have the full support of my sisters during this process of grieving," Joyce said after a moment. "And I find myself healed in their presence. I hope that you can find the same with us."
The footmen moved silently around the table, lifting domed silver covers to reveal the food. Platters of roasted meats, delicate vegetables in buttered sauces, and baskets of fresh rolls were laid out. For a moment, Alethea could only stare at the expanse of options available for her.
"Is there anything you prefer? We've a bit of everything tonight," Daphne turned to her, smiling.
"Yes, we were not sure what you would like," Felicity chimed in.
"I don't have a preference," Alethea said plainly. "At the nunnery, we ate what was available."
She folded her hands in her lap, unsure if she should reach for anything without being told. A feast like this would have fed the entire nunnery for a week.
"Well, then. You must try a little of everything," Daphne suggested, "That's what we usually do when we can't decide."
"I cannot imagine being so wasteful."
"It is not being wasteful," Daphne said, her lips curving downwards into a frown for the briefest second before recovering.
"Is it not?" Alethea asked. "We are not that many people at the table, and I think we could have done with much less."
"I daresay the cook would be rather offended if she heard you," Ambrose remarked lightly. "She considers it a personal failing if there aren't at least three courses too many."
"I meant no insult," Alethea said immediately.
"I know," he replied, offering her a half-smile. "But I think you'll find that in houses like these, excess is sometimes mistaken for comfort. A bad habit, perhaps, but not always ill-intended."
Alethea considered that for a moment. "Where I come from, comfort was considered dangerous to the soul."
"Well, as I said before," Daphne replied, "things are a bit different around here. But do not worry, you will get used to it rather quickly. Let us begin eating now."
Alethea nodded, and bowed her head and pressed her hands together, murmuring a brief prayer under her breath. She had done it before every meal for as long as she could remember. When she looked up again, the table had gone quiet.
Joyce stared openly. Felicity's brow creased, and Daphne's lips were parted.
"I wasn't aware we prayed before meals," Charles commented, trying to ease the moment.
"We don't," Felicity said, too quickly. Then, catching herself, she added, "But of course… it's perfectly fine if you do."
Alethea straightened her back.
"It is what I have always done," Alethea explained, finding it rather strange that this not the norm for them. "One should always say grace before a meal."
"Of course," Daphne said gently, offering a smile to the others as though to smooth it over.
"It was beautiful," Joyce said after a pause, though she still looked mildly startled. "Perhaps we can learn a thing or two from you as well."
Alethea served herself a small portion of the steamed vegetables.
It was the one familiar thing she found on the table.
At the nunnery, meat was only served on rare occasions and she had never developed a taste for it as a consequence.
As she ate, she could feel several eyes on her, watching her closely.
"So how does it feel?" Ambrose broke the silence, "You have returned home after such a long time. I imagine this must be an emotional time for you, as it is for your sisters."
"It doesn't feel emotional," Alethea replied in a steady tone. "I would argue instead that it is strange, if anything."
"Strange in what way?" Daphne asked gently, her eyes searching her sister's face for something more.
"Everything is too much," Alethea said, casting her gaze briefly around the table. "Even the silence feels different here."
"The silence?" Joyce said, making no secret of her curiosity.
"At the convent, silence was the rule, not the exception," Alethea explained. "Here, it feels like people don't know what to do with it."
"I suppose we don't," Felicity murmured, glancing at Charles as if seeking reassurance.
"I do not say that as judgment," Alethea added quickly. "Only as an observation. You asked me what it feels like."
"It's an honest answer," Ambrose said, watching her closely. "Not many people are so clear-eyed after such a change."
"I was taught that emotion clouds reason," Alethea nodded. "We were discouraged from indulging it."
"That might serve you well," Daphne said after a moment. "You'll find that in high society, reason is in far shorter supply than appearances. You'll need all the clarity you can manage."
The others at the table nodded in agreement.
"Is that needed?" Alethea asked, a flash of panic in her voice. "Must I really re-enter high society? I feel fine here, as I am."
"Of course," Felicity said. "Your story is an interesting one. People will want to know where you've been and who you are now. We must go shopping for dresses soon, in preparation of the balls ahead."
Alethea felt her throat tighten. She had never been to a ball before, though she had heard of them. Nor did she have many dresses. Her attire, for most of her life, had been simple and practical. Fashion was not something that was considered, rather modesty was the point of clothing.
"Why?" Alethea asked, setting her fork down. "What does it matter what I wear or who sees me wearing it?"
"It matters because that is the world we live in," Daphne said carefully. "And because you deserve your place in it. You're not hidden anymore, Alethea."
"And what am I meant to do at these gatherings?" Alethea asked. "Smile and pretend the past twenty three years did not occur?"
"You are not expected to pretend," Ambrose said. "Only to carry yourself with the dignity that your name affords you. That, in itself, says everything."
"I was not raised for this," she replied. "And I have no idea how to begin."
"No one does," Daphne said, her expression warming. "That's the secret of it. We all begin somewhere. You simply begin now."
Alethea glanced down at her plate, her appetite waning beneath the weight of expectation.
She opted not to speak for the remainder of the dinner, already feeling as though she had been spread too thin.
While her sisters tried to encourage conversations, they too stopped after they saw that she was simply not in the mood anymore.
When dinner was over, Alethea stood to return to her chambers. It felt like the one place inside this strange new house where she could afford a sense of comfort. She made her way down the corridor, but right as she exited the door, she heard them speaking amongst themselves.
Her cheeks reddened when she realized that they were talking about her.
"She is… very different," she heard Felicity say, "I do not say it as a criticism, only as fact."
"Well, what else could she be?" Joyce answered. "She's lived a life none of us can understand."
"She barely spoke after the first few questions. I could not tell whether she was offended or merely overwhelmed," Joyce added.
"She has every right to be overwhelmed," Daphne said. "She's been thrust into a world she was never prepared for, among people she cannot possibly remember."
"But Daphne, you must see the point that I am trying to make here," Felicity countered, "how is she to survive in society if she cannot speak freely at her own dinner table?"
"She does not need to charm the ton all at once," Daphne replied. "She only needs to be herself, and that will be enough."
"But will it?" Joyce asked. "You know what they will say, once word spreads. That she is a Carter by birth but not by breeding. That no one knows what became of her in all those years."
There was a pause, and then it was Ambrose who spoke up.
"Let them say what they will. There are few with the nerve to speak openly, and none who will dare while I am present."