Page 141 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"I'm trying to provide intellectual stimulation," Henry corrected with dignity. "Though I admit the possibility of causing trouble does add a certain appeal to the gift."
"Where are Mother and Father?" Ophelia asked, partly to divert the conversation from potentially dangerous territory and partly because she was genuinely curious about their absence.
"Mother insisted on stopping at the inn to change into her finest dress, because apparently the one she traveled in wasn't good enough for a ducal ball," Edward explained, guiding his nervous wife to a settee where she perched as if afraid the furniture might object to her presence. "Father's with her, practicing his bow and muttering about proper forms of address. He called me 'Your Grace' three times in the carriage."
"And how are you finding married life, Margaret?" Ophelia asked kindly, noting the way the young woman's eyes darted nervously around the elegantly appointed room as if expecting something to leap out and challenge her right to be there.
"It's been lovely, Your Grace," Margaret replied in a voice barely above a whisper, then seemed to gather her courage. "Edward's told me so much about you, and I've been so eager to meet you properly, though I must confess I'm rather terrified of meeting His Grace. Edward says he's not nearly as frightening as he first appears, but then Edward also said that about his horse, and that beast tried to bite me just last week."
"Alexander is nothing like Edward's horse," Ophelia assured her with a laugh. "For one thing, he has much better manners, and he hardly ever bites anymore."
"Anymore?" Margaret squeaked, looking genuinely alarmed.
"She's jesting," Edward said quickly, patting his wife's hand reassuringly. "The duke has never actually bitten anyone to myknowledge, though he does have a way of looking at you that makes you feel like he's considering it."
"Speaking of our delightful host," Henry interjected, "where is the great duke himself? I expected to find him hovering protectively, given that we've invaded his sanctuary once again."
"He's been in his study since dawn, reviewing his speech for tonight," Ophelia explained, unable to entirely suppress a fond smile at the thought of Alexander's determination to make everything perfect. "He's written at least six drafts, each more elaborate than the last. I believe the current version includes references to classical literature, three philosophical quotations, and a rather lengthy metaphor about gardens that I'm not entirely certain I understand."
"Heaven help us all if he actually delivers it," Robert muttered, though there was less hostility in his tone than there might have been even six months ago. The relationship between Alexander and Ophelia's brothers had evolved from open warfare to something resembling an armed truce, with occasional moments of what might generously be called camaraderie, particularly between Alexander and Edward on the subject of horses.
"He means well," Ophelia defended, though she privately shared some of her brother's concerns about the speech. Alexander's formal addresses had a tendency toward the pompous when he was nervous, and she knew he was far more anxious about this evening than he would ever admit. "He wants to prove to society that our marriage is a success, that we've overcome our rather inauspicious beginning."
"By gathering all the witnesses to your original catastrophe in one room and essentially daring fate to strike again?" Henry asked with raised eyebrows. "That seems rather like tempting providence, doesn't it?"
Before Ophelia could respond, the door opened once more, this time to admit Alexander himself, looking every inch the duke in his perfectly tailored morning coat and intricately tied cravat. He paused in the doorway, his grey eyes surveying the assembled Coleridges with an expression that managed to convey both resignation and something that might have been genuine pleasure, though it was difficult to tell with Alexander.
"I thought I heard the dulcet tones of brotherly invasion," he said dryly, entering the room with that particular grace he possessed that made every movement seem deliberate and significant. "Charles, I trust you had a pleasant journey despite your apparent encounter with what appears to be most of the mud between here and London?"
Charles looked down at his boots with surprise, as if only just noticing their deplorable state. "The roads were rather challenging, Your Grace. But I've been very careful not to track anything onto your carpets, which I think shows admirable restraint and personal growth."
"Indeed, your restraint is noted and appreciated," Alexander replied with what Ophelia recognized as his version of humor, so dry it could have been used to preserve flowers. "Robert, Henry, Edward, I trust you're all well? And the new Mrs. Coleridge." He turned to Margaret with a bow that was perfectly correct without being excessive. “Welcome to Montclaire House."
Margaret managed a curtsey that only wobbled slightly, though she looked as if she might faint when Alexander's attention focused on her. "Your Grace is very kind to invite us. The house is magnificent, and the preparations for tonight look absolutely spectacular."
"My wife deserves nothing less than spectacular," Alexander said simply, moving to stand beside Ophelia's chair in a gesture that had become habitual over the past months, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder in a touch that conveyed bothpossession and affection. "Though I confess the evening would be considerably less stressful without the attendance of certain individuals who seem determined to find fault with everything I do."
"If you're referring to Lord Harrington, he wouldn't dare show his face here after the village incident," Robert said with obvious satisfaction. "The man's reputation hasn't recovered from being so thoroughly outmaneuvered by a duke who actually chose compassion over profit."
"I wasn't referring to Harrington, actually," Alexander replied. "I was thinking more of your collective presence and the potential for catastrophe it represents. Need I remind you what happened the last time we attempted a formal gathering?"
"That was entirely different," Charles protested. "For one thing, I've been practicing my behaviour around breakable objects. Edward's been helping me with what he calls 'spatial awareness exercises,' which mostly consist of him shouting warnings whenever I get within three feet of anything valuable."
"How reassuring," Alexander murmured, though Ophelia could feel the slight tremor of suppressed laughter in his hand on her shoulder. "And have these exercises been successful?"
"I haven't broken anything in six months," Charles announced proudly, then seemed to reconsider. "Well, nothing that belonged to anyone else, anyway. I did manage to destroy my own watch last week, but that was more of a curiosity incident than actual clumsiness."
"A curiosity incident," Alexander repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "I'm almost afraid to ask for clarification."
"It's better if you don't," Edward advised.
Ophelia felt the conversation beginning to spiral into the kind of cheerful chaos that tended to occur when her brothers were gathered, and while she normally found their energy amusing, her stomach was beginning to rebel against thecombination of nerves and morning sickness that had been plaguing her. She pressed her hand discreetly to her midsection, hoping the gesture would go unnoticed, but Alexander's fingers tightened slightly on her shoulder, and when she glanced up, she found him looking down at her with an expression of concern.
"Are you well?" he asked quietly, the question pitched for her ears alone despite the room full of people.
"Perfectly well," she assured him, though she suspected her pale complexion rather betrayed the lie. "Perhaps just a little overwhelmed by all the preparations. It's been such a busy morning, and there's still so much to be done before tonight."
Alexander studied her face for a moment longer, and she saw something flicker in his eyes, suspicion, perhaps, or recognition, but before he could pursue the matter, the butler appeared in the doorway with an expression of barely controlled panic.
