Page 62 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Right. Her trousseau was destroyed. She had nothing but the borrowed dress from yesterday.
"You'll have to wear the maid's dress."
"To arrive at your estate? The servants will think you've married a commoner."
"Haven't I?"
She hit him with the pillow. "That's for being rude before breakfast."
"Assault. I can have this marriage annulled on grounds of violence."
"You'd have to admit you were attacked with a pillow, in an inn, while wearing a borrowed shirt."
"Good point."
They rose and dressed with awkward efficiency, taking turns looking away. The morning light streaming through the window was unforgiving, showing just how thoroughly destroyed their appearance was.
Alexander looked like a laborer, and Ophelia looked like a maid. The Duke and Duchess of Montclaire, indeed.
"Ready to face your new life?" he asked as they prepared to leave.
"Ready to face breakfast," she corrected. "One disaster at a time."
Downstairs, the common room was mostly empty but for a few early travelers. The innkeeper's wife had laid out a simple breakfast; bread, butter, some preserved fruits.
"Your Graces," she said, curtsying. "I hope you slept well?"
"Very well, thank you," Ophelia said warmly.
"The bed was... sufficient," Alexander managed.
The woman beamed as if he'd given her highest praise.
They ate quickly, both aware of the carriage waiting outside. This strange interlude was ending. Soon, they'd be back in the real world, where he was a duke and she was his unsuitable wife.
"Your Graces?" A footman in Montclaire livery appeared, looking shocked at their appearance. "The carriage is ready."
Alexander stood, then remembered. "The bill. I need to pay for breakfast."
"Oh, Your Grace, that's not necessary," the innkeeper began.
"Of course it is." Alexander turned to the footman. "Thomas, isn't it? Do you have any money?"
"I... yes, Your Grace." The footman produced a purse.
Alexander paid their bill, adding a generous amount extra. "For your kindness," he told the innkeeper and his wife.
They walked outside to find not one but three carriages—one for them, one for the servants that had come along and one for what remained of their luggage.
"Bit excessive," Ophelia murmured.
"It's called being prepared. Though apparently, we should have brought four. One for catastrophes."
She smiled slightly as he handed her into the carriage. This one was everything the inn was not—luxurious, pristine, screaming wealth and privilege.
"Back to reality," she said as they settled into the velvet seats.
"This was reality too," Alexander pointed out. "Just a different version."
