Page 51 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"My parents never knew. I was very good at being invisible, remember?"
They moved through the steps, and Alexander found himself oddly aware of her. The way she concentrated on the movements, the slight flush in her cheeks from the warmth of the room, the way her borrowed dress made her look younger, less guarded.
"You're not terrible at this," she said.
"I had a dancing master."
"For common dances?"
"He believed in being thorough."
"Did he also teach you to dance while shirtless in random inns?"
"That was notably absent from the curriculum."
She actually smiled at that—not her polite society smile, but something more genuine. It transformed her face, making her almost...
No. He wasn't going to finish that thought. She was a Coleridge. His unwanted wife. The source of his current humiliation. Nothing more.
The dance ended, and the room applauded; not mockingly, but with apparent genuine warmth. Several people raised their tankards in salute.
"There now," Martha declared. "That's better! A bit of music makes everything brighter!"
They returned to their corner, and Alexander was disturbed to find he actually felt... not better, exactly, but less murderous. Which was something.
"Thank you," Ophelia said quietly. "For dancing."
"The alternative seemed worse."
"Still. You didn't have to."
"Yes, I did. Martha would have dragged us out there by our ears otherwise."
"True. She seems formidable."
"Terrifying. Much worse than Parliament."
They fell into silence again, but it was less strained than before. The crowd had moved on to other entertainment, though Alexander caught occasional glances their way.
"Your Grace?" Jeffords appeared, looking apologetic. "About the luggage..."
"How bad?" Ophelia asked before Alexander could.
"Your trunk, Your Grace... the water got into everything. Your dresses, they're... well, they're unwearable."
Alexander watched her face carefully. She'd been so distressed in the carriage about her clothes, and now to hear they were completely ruined...
But she just nodded. "I expected as much. Thank you for trying, Jeffords."
"Your Grace's things might be salvageable," Jeffords told Alexander. "Some of them, at least."
"Focus on drying what you can," Alexander instructed. "We'll make do."
Jeffords departed, and Alexander studied his wife. "You're taking this well."
"What's the point of hysteria? The dresses are ruined. I can't un-ruin them by crying."
"They were your trousseau."
