Page 144 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"Perfectly well, Mother," Ophelia said, though she could see from her mother's expression that the lie hadn't been believed for a moment. Mothers, as she'd suspected, always knew.
"Your Grace," Mr. Coleridge said formally to Alexander, bowing with the excessive precision of someone who'd been practicing. "Thank you for inviting us to this magnificent event. The house looks spectacular."
"Thank you, Mr. Coleridge," Alexander replied with equal formality, though Ophelia noticed he'd relaxed slightly. Her father's obvious nervousness seemed to make Alexander feel more comfortable, as if dealing with someone else's anxiety eased his own. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"
"Oh yes, quite comfortable, Your Grace. The roads were excellent, well, not excellent exactly, rather muddy actually, but certainly passable, and the carriage you sent was magnificent, such springs, hardly felt the bumps at all, though there were quite a few, but as I said, the springs..." Mr. Coleridge trailed off, apparently realizing he was babbling.
"I'm glad it was satisfactory," Alexander said kindly, and Ophelia felt a surge of affection for him. A year ago, he would have been coldly dismissive of her father's nervous rambling. Now he simply accepted it as part of the package that came with marrying into the Coleridge family.
The next hour passed in a blur of arrivals and greetings, each requiring the perfect balance of warmth and formality that Ophelia was still learning to navigate. She noticed Alexander staying close to her side, his hand occasionally touching her elbow or the small of her back in gestures of support that helped ground her when the combination of social performance and nausea threatened to overwhelm.
The dinner itself was an elaborate affair with what seemed like dozens of courses, each more rich and aromatic than the last. Ophelia managed to maintain her composure through thesoup course, though the fish nearly proved her undoing when its particular sauce released a scent that made her stomach churn. She caught Charles watching her with concern from his position further down the table, and she gave him a tiny shake of her head, pleading silently for him to maintain his silence.
The conversation flowed around her like a river, touching on topics from politics to poetry, with occasional dangerous eddies when someone mentioned the original wedding or made veiled references to the Coleridge family's merchant origins. Alexander handled these moments with a skill she'd come to admire, deflecting insults with such subtle wit that the offenders often didn't realize they'd been insulted in return until much later.
Finally, as the dessert course was being cleared and the guests were beginning to shift in anticipation of the evening's entertainment, Alexander rose from his position at the head of the table, crystal glass in hand. The room fell silent with the kind of anticipation usually reserved for public executions or particularly scandalous announcements.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Alexander began, his voice carrying with that particular ducal authority that could make even the simplest statement sound like a royal decree. "One year ago, many of you witnessed what has been charitably called an 'unconventional' wedding ceremony."
A ripple of nervous laughter ran through the assembled guests, and Ophelia saw Lady Jersey lean forward with obvious interest.
"Some might even have called it a disaster," Alexander continued with a slight smile that Ophelia recognized as his attempt at self-deprecating humor. "Certainly, it was not the dignified affair that generations of Montclaires before me might have expected or desired."
He paused, his eyes finding Ophelia's across the length of the table, and something in his expression softened. "Butperhaps dignity is overvalued when compared to other qualities; courage, for instance, or resilience, or the ability to find humour in even the most catastrophic circumstances."
Ophelia felt her stomach lurch, though whether from emotion or nausea was unclear. Alexander was departing from his prepared speech, she could tell from the way his hand tightened slightly on his glass.
"My wife," he continued, and the warmth he put into those two words made several ladies sigh audibly, "has taught me that there are things more important than maintaining perfect control or preserving ancient dignities. She has shown me that kindness matters more than protocol, that compassion is not weakness but strength, and that occasionally being human is more valuable than always being ducal."
He raised his glass higher, and Ophelia noticed with alarm that the room seemed to be tilting slightly. The heat from all the candles, the press of bodies, the overwhelming mixture of perfumes and food aromas—it was all combining into a perfect storm of sensory overload that her rebellious stomach was not prepared to handle.
"Some of you came tonight expecting another disaster," Alexander was saying, though his voice seemed to be coming from very far away. "Others perhaps hoped to witness the ongoing failure of a marriage that began so inauspiciously. But I stand before you to say that what began as an obligation has become the greatest unexpected gift of my life."
Ophelia gripped the edge of the table, desperately trying to maintain her composure as Alexander continued his speech. She could see him building to his conclusion, his voice gaining the particular cadence that meant he was about to say something significant.
"The Coleridge and Montclaire families were united by force, it's true, but we have chosen to remain united bysomething far stronger; mutual respect, genuine affection, and the kind of partnership that can weather any storm, even one that begins with a bride casting up her accounts on her groom."
The reference to their wedding disaster drew laughs from the crowd, but Ophelia barely heard them. The room was definitely spinning now, and she could feel that familiar and unwelcome sensation rising in her throat. Not now, she pleaded silently with her body, not when he's being so wonderful, not when everything is going so well.
"And so I ask you all to raise your glasses," Alexander was saying, "to unexpected blessings, to the triumph of love over obligation, and to my magnificent wife, who has made me better than I ever thought possible."
The crowd rose to their feet with a rustle of silk and superfine, glasses raised high, and Ophelia knew she should stand as well, should acknowledge the toast with gracious dignity. She managed to get to her feet, though the movement made her vision swim alarmingly. Alexander was looking at her with such pride and affection, and she wanted desperately to return his smile, to be the duchess he deserved in this moment of triumph.
But her body had other plans entirely.
The moment she opened her mouth to speak, to thank the guests for their kind attention, her stomach finally rebelled completely against the evening's accumulated assaults. She had just enough presence of mind to turn toward Alexander, reaching for his support, before disaster struck for the second time in their marriage.
The silence that followed was absolute and somehow louder than any scream could have been.
Alexander stood frozen, his beautiful evening coat now decorated with the remains of Ophelia's dinner, his prepared speech cards scattered on the floor and similarly adorned. Theassembled guests stared in collective shock, two hundred of society's finest witnessing the Duchess of Montclaire recreate the most infamous moment of her wedding day.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, Charles's delighted laugh rang out like a bell. "It's tradition!" he shouted with evident glee. "The Duchess of Montclaire's signature blessing!"
For a moment, the ballroom teetered on the edge of either scandal or humor, the guests uncertain which direction to fall. Then Alexander, still dripping and still holding Ophelia steady with one arm, did something extraordinary. He laughed. Not his usual controlled chuckle or sardonic amusement, but genuine, full-bodied laughter that transformed his face entirely.
"As I was saying," he managed between laughs, "marriage requires adaptation. And apparently, in our case, a substantial investment in replacement evening wear."
The tension broke like a dam bursting. Some guests laughed, others gasped, Lady Jersey appeared to be having another fainting spell, but Alexander ignored them all. His attention was entirely focused on Ophelia, who was mortified beyond description and swaying alarmingly on her feet.
