Page 114 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Alexander stood slowly, his expression darkening. "Action? What kind of action?"
"Evictions, Your Grace. Multiple families. Tonight, if the rumours are true."
Ophelia stood as well. "They can't do that!"
"They can on their own lands," Alexander said grimly. "And they will, to make a point about maintaining order." He looked at her, and she saw something shift in his expression—a decision being made. "James, have the carriage prepared. The large one."
"Alexander, what are you..."
"We're going to the village. Together."
"Together?"
"You started this with your compassion. Now we deal with the consequences. Together."
Chapter Twenty-Two
"Your Grace, I strongly suggest you reconsider this course of action before you make an even greater fool of yourself than you already have."
Lord Harrington's voice carried across the village square with the kind of pompous authority that made Ophelia's teeth clench even from where she stood beside Alexander near their carriage. The older man sat atop his horse like he was posing for a portrait, his riding crop pointed at a cluster of terrified families who huddled together with their meager belongings already half-loaded onto carts.
Alexander's response was delivered in that dangerously quiet voice she'd come to recognize as his most furious. "The only fool I see here, Harrington, is a man who thinks throwing children into the street in October makes him appear strong rather than simply cruel."
"Cruel?" Harrington laughed, the sound echoing off the stone buildings that lined the village square. "This is business, Montclaire. Something you used to understand before your merchant wife started filling your head with sentimental nonsense about compassion and charity."
Ophelia felt Alexander stiffen beside her, and she placed a warning hand on his arm. The muscle beneath her fingers was rigid with controlled rage, but he didn't shake her off as he might have even a day ago.
"At least eight families, Your Grace," James had reported barely an hour ago, bursting into the library where she and Alexander had been sitting in their usual awkward silence. "Lord Harrington and some of the other landowners, they're evicting anyone who's behind on rent. Tonight. They're sayingif Montclaire can forgive debts for sentiment, they'll show what proper estate management looks like."
They'd been in the carriage within minutes, Alexander's face carved from granite, Ophelia's heart racing with dread. The ride to the village had been tense, both of them understanding that this was somehow their fault—her compassion and his capitulation had triggered this retaliation against innocent families.
Now, standing in the village square with what seemed like half the county watching, the weight of their choices pressed down on them both. The evicted families consisted mostly of elderly couples and young families with children, the most vulnerable who'd fallen behind during the harsh harvest season. Mrs. Cooper, whose husband had died in the summer, stood with her three young children, the youngest no more than two years old, clutching a ragged doll.
"These families have been given multiple opportunities to make their payments," Harrington continued, clearly enjoying his moment of authority. "Unlike some estates", his gaze shifted pointedly to Alexander, "we maintain standards. We don't allow sentiment to override sound business practices."
"Sound business practices," Alexander repeated, his voice carrying that particular aristocratic drawl that suggested the speaker had said something too foolish to merit genuine response. "Is that what you call terrorizing widows and orphans in the dark? How very brave of you, Harrington."
"Brave?" Lord Carrington, another of the local landowners, pushed his horse forward. "What's brave is standing up to the deterioration of proper order. First you marry beneath yourself", his eyes flicked dismissively to Ophelia," and now you're acting beneath yourself. Your father would be appalled."
"My father is dead," Alexander said flatly. "And therefore spared the sight of what passes for nobility these days."
Ophelia stepped forward before the confrontation could escalate further, her voice carrying with more authority than she felt. "Lord Harrington, surely these families could be given until the end of the month to make arrangements? Throwing them out tonight, with nowhere to go, with children who'll sleep in the cold...that's not business, it's cruelty."
Harrington's laugh was ugly. "And here she is, the merchant's daughter, trying to teach us about proper management. Tell me, Your Grace, did they cover estate management between lessons on how to count money in your father's shop?"
The insult was so blatant, so deliberately cruel, that gasps rose from the watching crowd. Ophelia felt heat flood her cheeks, but before she could respond, Alexander moved. Not violently, but with the kind of controlled precision that was somehow more frightening. He walked to Harrington's horse, looked up at the mounted man, and smiled. It was the coldest expression Ophelia had ever seen on his face.
"Harrington, I'm going to make you an offer, and I suggest you take it because it's the only one you'll get." His voice carried clearly across the square, meant for everyone to hear. "I will purchase every debt you're calling in tonight. Full payment, immediately, transferred to you by morning."
The square went silent. Harrington's smug expression faltered. "That's... that would be thousands of pounds."
"Seven thousand, three hundred and forty-six pounds, to be precise," Alexander said with the casual tone of someone discussing the weather. "I reviewed the accounts on the way here. Did you think I wouldn't know exactly what my neighbours were owed?"
"You can't be serious," Carrington spluttered. "You'd ruin yourself for these people?"
"Hardly. Unlike some, I don't live beyond my means or gamble away my children's inheritance at cards." The pointed look he gave Carrington made the man flush dark red—apparently his gambling debts were well known. "I can afford it. The question is whether you can afford not to take it."
"And why wouldn't we?" Harrington tried to regain his composure. "Your money spends as well as anyone's, even if your judgment has been compromised by your unfortunate marriage."
