Page 66 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"That went well," Ophelia said dryly.
"They didn't openly revolt. I consider that a victory."
"Your standards really have lowered."
"It's been an educational few days."
They reached the duchess's suite, and Alexander opened the door.
"I shall have Mrs. Morrison assign you a lady's maid," Alexander said, hovering in the doorway as if crossing the threshold might commit him to something. "Do you have preferences?"
"Someone who won't actively despise me would be nice."
"That might be challenging. The Coleridge name isn't popular here."
"How encouraging."
He studied her for a moment, this woman who should be his duchess but looked like she'd wandered in from the kitchens. "You're taking this remarkably well."
"Would hysteria help?” She asked once again.
"No, but it would be more expected."
"I'm tired of meeting expectations. They haven't done me much good so far."
"Fair point." He gestured toward the connecting door. "My rooms are through there. The door locks from both sides."
"Yes."
They stood there awkwardly, neither quite sure what to say. They'd shared a bed last night in the inn, but somehow this felt more intimate.
"I should change," he said finally.
"Yes."
"Mrs. Morrison will help you... settle."
"Thank you.”
He left through the connecting door, closing it with a soft click that somehow sounded very final.
Ophelia stood alone in the duchess's rooms, her rooms now, and tried to comprehend that this was her life. These silk-covered walls, these priceless furnishings, this view over manicured gardens that stretched to the horizon. All hers, except none of it felt remotely like it belonged to her.
A knock at the door interrupted her musings. Mrs. Morrison entered, followed by two younger women carrying towels and fresh linens.
"Your Grace, I've taken the liberty of preparing a bath. The seamstresses will arrive within the hour, and I thought you might wish to refresh yourself first."
"Thank you, that's very kind of you."
The housekeeper's expression softened marginally. "This is Mary," she indicated one of the maids, a girl of perhaps twenty with kind eyes and freckles. "She'll serve as your lady's maid until we can arrange someone more... experienced."
Mary curtsied nervously. "Your Grace."
"Hello, Mary." Ophelia smiled, trying to put the girl at ease. "I'm afraid I'm not very experienced at being a duchess, so we can learn together."
Mary's eyes widened, but she smiled back tentatively.
Mrs. Morrison looked slightly scandalized at this admission but said nothing. She supervised the preparation of the bath with military precision, and soon Ophelia was sinking into gloriously hot water that smelled of roses.
