Page 89 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Charles had already noticed the library through an open door. "Is that the library? Oh, Heavens, look at all those books! Have you read them all, Your Grace?"
"Not all," Alexander said through what appeared to be gritted teeth.
"I wouldn't read them either. Lots of dust, I expect. Makes me sneeze." Charles was already wandering off, Edward trailing behind, both of them touching things and exclaiming over paintings and generally treating the house like a museum they'd paid admission to enter.
"United front," Ophelia murmured to Alexander, who looked like he was reconsidering every life choice that had brought him to this moment.
"They're touching everything," he said faintly.
"They're excited."
"They're Coleridges."
"So am I, remember?"
He looked at her, and something in his expression softened marginally. "You're different."
"Am I? Or am I just quieter about my chaos?"
Before he could answer, Edward's voice rang out: "I say, is this your mother? Beautiful woman. Phee, come see! She looks a bit like you around the eyes."
They found the twins in the portrait gallery, studying the painting of the late Duchess of Montclaire with inappropriate intensity.
"That's not really appropriate..." Alexander began.
"She was lovely," Charles said, ignoring the interruption. "Died young, didn't she? Terrible shame. House must have been gloomy after that."
The casual mention of his mother's death made Alexander go very still. Ophelia touched his arm lightly, a warning or perhaps comfort, she wasn't sure which.
"Yes," Alexander said quietly. "It was."
Even the twins seemed to sense they'd stumbled into difficult territory. They moved away from the portrait, Charles for once not filling the silence with chatter.
"Perhaps we should have tea," Ophelia suggested. "You can tell me all the news from home."
"Oh, the news!" Edward perked up. "Henry sends his regards and a book he said you'd find amusing. Something about the history of terrible marriages, which seems pointed."
"And Robert's furious about something, but when isn't he?" Charles added. "Oh, and Mother sent preserves. Three jars. We only ate one on the journey."
"You ate Mother's preserves?"
"We were hungry! And it's not like you can't get preserves here. You probably have fancy preserves. Duke preserves. Preserved by royal warrant or something."
Alexander made a sound that might have been a laugh.
Tea was served in the blue drawing room, and the twins immediately made themselves at home. Charles sprawling in a chair while Edward helped himself to enough sandwiches to feed a small army.
"So," Charles said around a mouthful of sandwich, "how's married life? Are you a proper duchess? Do you have to wear a tiara to breakfast?"
"Charles," Ophelia said warningly.
"What? I'm curious! Our little Phee, married to a duke. It's like something out of one of those novels Mother pretends she doesn't read."
"It's nothing like a novel," Alexander said coolly.
"No? No romance? No passionate declarations?"
"Charles, stop," Ophelia said, but the damage was done.
