Page 76 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"Yours too?"
"Yes."
"Seems wasteful. All this space for two people."
"Would you prefer the inn?"
"The inn had character."
"The inn had insects, probably."
"But also warmth."
"There are fires in all the rooms."
"That's not the kind of warmth I meant."
"I know."
They looked at each other across the dim room, and Ophelia thought how strange this was. Yesterday they'd been strangers forced together. Today they were... what? Still strangers, but with a shared disaster behind them?
"Sleep well," he said finally.
"You too."
He closed the door, and she heard the soft click of his own door closing on the other side. Two doors between them now. It might as well have been an ocean.
But still, he'd checked on her. That was something.
Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks had passed since Ophelia arrived at Montclaire House in a borrowed maid's dress, and the transformation was remarkable, at least on the surface. She now possessed a wardrobe that would make any duchess proud; morning gowns in soft muslins, afternoon dresses in rich silks, evening gowns that caught the light like captured stars. The seamstresses had worked miracles, and when Ophelia looked in her mirror each morning, she saw someone who might actually belong in this house.
Except she didn't feel like she belonged. She felt like an actress in an elaborate play, wearing costumes and speaking lines while the real her watched from somewhere far away.
The morning routine had become predictable. Mary would arrive at precisely seven to help her dress, selecting from the array of gowns with careful consideration of the day's requirements. This morning, it was a pale blue muslin with delicate embroidery at the hem—suitable for a day with no callers expected, though one must always be prepared for the unexpected, as Mrs. Morrison frequently reminded her.
"Your Grace looks particularly lovely today," Mary said, putting the finishing touches on Ophelia's hair, which had been tamed into an elegant chignon that bore no resemblance to the simple styles she'd worn at home.
"Thank you, Mary. Though I rather feel like I'm wearing armor instead of a dress sometimes. Beautiful armor, but armor nonetheless."
Mary smiled in the mirror. "It does take some getting used to, I imagine. All the layers and pins and such."
"At home, I could dress myself in ten minutes. Now it takes an hour to achieve the proper duchess appearance." Opheliatouched the strand of pearls at her throat, not the family jewels yet, Alexander hadn't arranged that, but a simple set he'd had sent from London. A gesture that was both generous and impersonal, like everything else about their arrangement.
"But Your Grace looks suitable now," Mary assured her.
Looking suitable and being suitable were two vastly different things, Ophelia thought but didn't say. Instead, she rose from the dressing table and made her way down to breakfast, her silk slippers silent on the staircase.
The morning room was bright with early sunlight, and Alexander was already there, hidden behind The Times as was his custom. She could see only his hands holding the paper and the top of his perfectly styled dark hair. He didn't lower the paper when she entered, though she knew he was aware of her presence. He was always aware, watching even when seeming not to.
"Good morning," she said, taking her seat at the opposite end of the table.
"Good morning," he replied from behind his newsprint fortress. "I trust you slept well?"
"Quite well, thank you." The same exchange every morning, like actors who'd been performing the same play for years rather than weeks.
The footman, James, poured her tea and she smiled at him. "Thank you, James. How is your mother feeling? I heard she'd been unwell."
