Page 75 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"I haven't tried very hard."
"You've tried enough."
She went to her rooms before the conversation could become any more confusing. Mary was waiting to help her prepare for bed.
"How was dinner, Your Grace?"
"Formal."
"His Grace prefers formality."
"Has he always?"
Mary looked uncertain about gossiping but clearly wanted to. "My aunt was a maid here when the late duchess was alive. She said it was different then. Warmer. The duchess laughed a lot, apparently."
"And after she died?"
"Everything went back to how it was before. Or worse. Quieter."
"How long have you worked here?"
"Three years, Your Grace."
"And in those three years, has anything ever changed?"
"Not until today, Your Grace."
"What changed today?"
Mary smiled slightly. "You arrived."
"In a maid's dress."
"But still. You're here. That's different."
She helped her into a borrowed nightgown—Mrs. Morrison had found something somewhere, probably from her ownwardrobe. It was plain cotton, practical, nothing like what a duchess should wear. But it was clean and soft and reminded her of home.
"Will Your Grace need anything else?"
"No, thank you, Mary."
The maid curtsied and left, and Ophelia was alone in the duchess's bedroom. Her bedroom now, theoretically. Though it felt more like a museum she was guarding overnight.
She could hear movement through the connecting door; probably Alexander preparing for bed. It was oddly intimate, knowing he was just there, just through that door. Last night they'd shared a bed in the inn, but this felt different. More permanent. More real.
She climbed into the enormous bed and stared at the canopy above but a soft knock at the connecting door made her sit up.
"Yes?"
The door opened slightly, and Alexander peered in. "I forgot to mention that breakfast is served at nine in the morning room. Unless you'd prefer a tray in your room?"
"The morning room is fine."
"Good." He paused. "Are you... comfortable?"
"The bed's very large."
"Yes."
