Page 42 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Alexander appeared. "We should depart. The weather is worsening."
The carriage was loaded and the moment arrived. As she climbed in, Ophelia turned back to look as her entire family stood in the doorway, watching her leave.
She was no longer one of them. She was a Montclaire now.
Alexander climbed in after her, sitting across from her as was proper. The door closed and the carriage lurched forward.
They were alone.
"Two hours to Kent," he said into the silence.
"Yes."
"Do you require anything?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Don't lie. It's tedious."
She looked at him, startled by his bluntness.
"I'm not fine," she admitted. "Are you?"
"I'm married to a Coleridge who vomited on me at the altar. No, I'm not fine."
The brutal honesty of it was somehow refreshing.
"That was the worst wedding in the history of matrimony," he continued conversationally.
"Probably."
"Definitely. We've set a record that will stand for generations."
Despite everything, Ophelia felt her mouth twitch slightly. "An achievement of sorts."
"Indeed. We're champions of disaster."
They looked at each other across the carriage, and something shifted—not friendship or affection, but perhaps acknowledgment of their mutual catastrophe.
"Your coat was new, wasn't it?" she ventured.
"How did you know?"
"It was perfect. Wedding clothes."
"It's being burned as we speak, I imagine."
"I'm sorry."
"For which part? The vomiting or the marriage?"
"Both, I suppose."
"As am I."
They fell into silence that wasn't quite comfortable but was less hostile. The rain continued to fall as they rolled toward Kent.
"Ophelia," he said suddenly.
