Page 60 of The Duchess’ Little Miracle

It never ceased to amaze Seraphina how naturally Alice gravitated toward natural philosophy. When Seraphina was a girl, her own devotion to science had been a slow, deliberate burn. A discipline cultivated over years of study rather than an instant passion.

Yet Alice was entirely different. They had tried reading classic children’s stories, English fables, and simple poetry, but the girl remained largely indifferent to them. It was always the mysteries of the physical world... the stars, the tides, the mechanics of the earth, that held her captive.

In the beginning, whenever Seraphina had started speaking to her about science, Alice would drift off to sleep almost immediately. Seraphina had worried that she was boring the poor girl into unconsciousness with dense lectures. But lately, the dynamic had shifted. Alice was staying awake longer, her eyes wide with curiosity as she asked thoughtful questions.

It was then that Seraphina realized that Alice wasn’t sleeping out of boredom; she had always been listening, fascinated by the world Seraphina described. It was an immense relief, and a source of wonder, to realize that science had become their shared language.

For the first time since Alice had been brought to the estate, she was sleeping entirely alone now. Without nursemaids hovering in the corner, without a guard at her door, and without the violent thrashing of night terrors. Her small face was pale but peaceful.

Seraphina offered a reassuring smile, closing the book on her lap. “The star is not afraid of the dark,” she continued. “It is the source of its own light. No matter how vast or cold the night around it may seem, its brightness comes from within itself.”

Alice shifted beneath the covers, turning onto her side and propping her cheek against her small, folded hand. “Like His Grace?”

Seraphina’s heart gave an unexpected flutter. “His Grace?”

“He stays steady,” Alice whispered, her articulation clearer than it had been in all the weeks prior. “When he came to the asylum. He was... strong. Like the place did not scare him.”

“Did the place scare you?”

Alice nodded. “A little. It was cold. Everyone was... yelling most of the time. But they did not yell at him.”

Seraphina felt a tight sensation in her throat. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, leaning closer to snuggle Alice. “Well, it would be strange for him to falter, Alice. He can be quite... commanding. His Grace protects those he cares for, and he cares for you.” She paused. “I must say, Alice, you are speaking so much more clearly tonight. Does your chest not feel tight when you talk anymore?”

Alice shook her head slowly. “No.”

“That’s good,” Seraphina beamed. “I am so happy to hear that. You can talk all you want about anything. No one will ever stop you from speaking.”

“It is because you sit here. You read the books with the big words. It makes the room feel... heavy. Like a blanket.”

A swell of tenderness spread through Seraphina’s chest, so poignant that it caught her entirely off guard. “I am glad my big words can be of some use, then.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rain. The peace in the room was tangible, a fragile sanctuary built slowly over weeks of patience.

“Your Grace?” Alice asked.

“Yes, my dear?” Seraphina replied gently, shifting closer on the edge of the mattress.

“I am sorry for waking up so many times,” Alice whispered, looking down at the edge of the quilt as her fingers picked at a loose thread. “I am sorry for making so much noise at night with the nightmares. I know I am supposed to be good and sleep quietly.”

“Oh, Alice, no,” Seraphina said, shaking her head. “You must never apologize for that. You are a child, my sweet girl. You are allowed to be frightened. You are allowed to cry, to call out, or to simply need comfort when the dark feels too vast. It is not your duty to manage your fears alone so as not to disturb the house. It is the responsibility of the adults around you to make room for your feelings, to shelter you, and to keep you safe until the morning comes. Do you understand me?”

Alice looked up at her, blinking slowly as if digesting a concept entirely foreign to her. “Even if the dreams come every single night?”

“Even if they come every single hour,” Seraphina promised softly. “There is no limit on the patience here.”

Alice swallowed hard. “Where Mama and I lived... before... it was always... loud,” Alice murmured. “It was a small room that we lived in. People were always shouting, or breaking things, or banging on the doors. It was hard to sleep because of the noise, so in my dreams people were always banging. Mama would hold my hand until the sun came up.”

She paused, staring past Seraphina toward the window glass where the rain tapped incessantly.

“But then one day, Mama got very quiet,” Alice continued. “When she got very sick. She went to sleep on the bed, and she didn’t wake up when the sun came up. I tried to shake her shoulder, but she was very cold. I thought she was just having a very deep dream because of the noise outside.”

Seraphina went entirely still as she processed Alice’s words. Her breath hitched in her throat, her grip on Alice tightening involuntarily, though she forced herself not to pull away.

“I stayed in the room with her,” Alice said simply. “I sat on the floor with my doll. I stayed there for days waiting for her to wake up. But... but by the third day, Mama didn’t really look like Mama anymore. Her skin started to turn a strange color, and her eyes stayed half-open, but she wasn’t looking at me. She didn’t look pretty or nice anymore. She looked... wrong. Nobody came to open the door for a very long time.”

Alice let out a shuddering breath, her chin quivering just a fraction. “That is why I didn’t like the dark, Your Grace. That is why I used to be so afraid to close my eyes. Whenever I went to sleep, I didn’t see nice things. I saw Mama lying on that bed, cold and quiet, looking so wrong. I thought... I thought I was going to see her like that forever.”

She paused. “But lately... it is not like that anymore,” Alice whispered softly. “When I lay down now, I try to think about the things you read to me. I think about how big the stars are, or how the rain turns into clouds and falls back down, or how the earth spins around without falling over. I think about the books with the small print, like the ones by Mr. Newton you told me about. My brain gets so busy thinking about it that there isn’t room for the bad things.”