Page 133 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Alexander considered. On one hand, Charles Coleridge in his library with his rare books was a recipe for disaster. On the other hand, the man seemed genuinely interested in the poetry, not just the monetary value.
"After dinner," he conceded. "Under strict supervision."
"I'll supervise," Ophelia offered. "I'll stand between Charles and anything valuable."
"Your confidence in your brother is inspiring."
"I'm being realistic. Charles around rare books is like putting a child in a sweet shop and telling them not to touch."
"I have self-control," Charles protested.
"You really don't," Edward said flatly. "Remember the incident at Hatchard's?"
"That was different. The book fell on its own."
"After you tried to reach the one above it."
"The ladder was faulty."
"The ladder was fine until you climbed it."
Alexander looked between them, then at Ophelia, who was trying not to laugh. "Should I be concerned?"
"Probably," she admitted. "But Charles does genuinely love books. He just gets... enthusiastic."
"Enthusiastic. That word keeps appearing in connection with your family."
"We're enthusiastic people," Edward said with a grin. "It's the merchant blood. We get excited about things."
"Whereas aristocrats maintain proper emotional distance from everything?" Charles suggested.
"Exactly. It's why we're so boring at gatherings," Alexander said dryly. "All that breeding removes the capacity for genuine enjoyment."
"You're not boring," Ophelia said, squeezing his hand.
"I'm extremely boring. Ask anyone."
"You're selectively boring," Edward corrected. "Boring to people you don't like, which is most people. But when you're interested in something—like horses—you become almost animated."
"Almost animated. Another ringing endorsement."
"For you, that's practically effusive," Charles said.
They finished dinner without major incident, though there was a tense moment when Charles knocked over a salt cellar and everyone froze, waiting for Alexander's reaction. But he merely righted it and continued the conversation, even if Ophelia noticed his jaw tighten slightly.
After dinner, they did indeed visit the library, where Charles maintained an admirable distance from the Blake volumes while practically vibrating with the desire to examine them more closely.
"The detail in the illustrations," he said reverently, peering from a safe distance. "The way he integrates text and image; it's revolutionary."
"He hand-colored many of them," Alexander found himself explaining, moving closer to point out particular details. "Each copy is unique in that way. See here, how the tints vary?"
They spent an hour discussing Blake's work, with Edward occasionally contributing observations and Ophelia watching with poorly concealed delight as her husband and brother found common ground in their appreciation of art.
"You know," Charles said eventually, "you're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone completely frozen, incapable of genuine feeling or interest. Someone who only cared about bloodlines and tradition."
