Page 32 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Montclaire Manor was, as promised, overwhelming. It rose from its parkland like something from a fairy tale—all towers and wings and centuries of accumulated grandeur. It was beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
“This will be mine?” she asked faintly.
“Yours to manage. The duchess traditionally oversees the household.”
“How many servants?”
“Forty? Fifty? I don’t really know.”
He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. Why would a duke concern himself with such things?
He led her through room after room; the great hall with its wooden support ceiling, the long gallery with portraits of dead Montclaires, the library that could have swallowed her father’s entire house, the ballroom that had hosted kings.
“It’s… substantial,” she managed.
“The family wing is more comfortable. Your chambers are being prepared.”
“My chambers?”
“The duchess’s suite. They connect to mine.”
Connect. The word sent an unexpected shiver through her.
“Would you like to see them?”
“I… yes.”
The duchess’s suite was beautiful; a sitting room in soft blues and creams, a dressing room larger than her current bedroom, and a bedchamber dominated by a bed that could have slept a small army.
“It’s been redecorated,” he said. “My mother’s taste was… different.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s yours. Or shall be.”
In four days.
“The connecting door,” she said, not looking at it. “Does it lock?”
“From both sides.”
The relief must have shown on her face because he stiffened.
“I’m not a beast, Miss Coleridge. Despite what your brothers think.”
“I didn’t say such a thing!”
“You thought it.”
“I thought… I don’t know what I thought.”
“That I’d force myself on you? Demand my rights as a husband?”
The bluntness made her face burn. “I didn’t know what to expect.”
“Expect to be left alone. I have no interest in… that is, I won’t trouble you.”
“Ever?”
