Page 115 of Married to a Frozen Duke
Alexander's smile widened, and Ophelia recognized the look of a predator who'd just cornered his prey. "Because if you don't, I'll make some calls of my own. Starting with your creditors in London, Harrington. Did you think I didn't know about the bridge loan you took against next year's rents? Rather presumptuous, spending money you haven't collected yet. And Carrington, that investment in the failed canal project—your partners would be very interested to know just how much you still owe them."
"You're threatening us?" Harrington's voice had gone shrill.
"I'm offering you a solution that allows everyone to save face," Alexander countered smoothly. "You get your money, these families keep their homes, and we all pretend this unfortunate evening never happened. Or, we can do this the hard way, and by morning, everyone in the county will know exactly how precarious your own financial situations really are."
While Alexander dealt with the landowners, Ophelia had moved among the families, speaking quietly, offering reassurances. She found Mrs. Cooper trying to comfort her crying children and knelt beside them, uncaring that her fine dress was trailing in the mud.
"It's going to be alright," she said softly to the children. "You're going to stay in your home tonight."
"Your Grace," Mrs. Cooper whispered, tears streaming down her face, "we can't accept such charity. It's too much."
"It's not charity," Ophelia said firmly, loud enough for others to hear. "It's justice. And more than that, it's an investment in this community's future." She stood, addressing the gathered families. "But His Grace and I can't solve every problem with money. You need to help each other, support each other. Those who have a little extra this month help those who don't. Create a fund, a network of support."
"Like a parish council, but for emergency aid," Mr. Fletcher, the blacksmith, said thoughtfully. "We could each contribute what we can, help families before they get to the point of eviction."
"Exactly," Ophelia encouraged, watching as the idea sparked conversations among the villagers. "You're stronger together than apart."
"Listen to her, teaching revolution to the masses," Lord Carrington sneered. "This is what comes of allowing merchants into proper society. They bring their common ideas with them."
That was apparently the final straw for Alexander's control. He turned from Harrington and fixed Carrington with a stare that could have frozen fire itself.
"My wife," he said, each word deliberate and sharp as a blade, "has shown more nobility, more grace, and more genuine leadership in the past hour than you've managed in your entire worthless existence. She is the Duchess of Montclaire, and you will address her with the respect that title demands, or you will answer to me. And I assure you, Carrington, that's not a conversation you want to have."
The defense was so unexpected, so vehement, that even Ophelia stood frozen. Alexander had defended her. Not grudgingly, not from duty, but with genuine fury at the insult to her.
"Furthermore," Alexander continued, his voice carrying to every corner of the square, "any man who thinks compassion is weakness has forgotten what real strength looks like. My wife reminded me of that truth. She saw suffering and acted to stop it, while you saw opportunity to cause more. Which of us looks stronger now?"
Harrington, red-faced and clearly outmaneuvered, yanked his horse's reins. "You'll regret this, Montclaire. Making enemies of your neighbours for the sake of peasants and a merchant's daughter..."
"The only thing I regret," Alexander interrupted coldly, "is that it took my wife's courage to show me what I should have seen myself—that men like you are parasites, feeding on the vulnerable while calling it tradition. Now get off my land before I forget I'm a gentleman."
"Your land? This is the village square."
"Which is part of the original Montclaire grant from 1487. Would you like to see the documentation? I have it memorized." Alexander's smile was all teeth. "You have three minutes to leave before I have you removed for trespassing."
The landowners left in a flurry of outrage and threats, but they left. The moment they were gone, the square erupted in cheers. The saved families surrounded Alexander and Ophelia, tears and thanks pouring out in equal measure.
"Your Graces," Mr. Fletcher said, speaking for the group, "we don't know how to thank you. What you've done tonight..."
"What we've done," Ophelia corrected gently, taking Alexander's arm, "is what any decent people would do given the means. Use this chance well. Build that support network. Help each other. That's all the gratitude we need."
It took another hour to sort out the immediate needs, ensure everyone had shelter for the night, and establish a plan for the morning. Through it all, Alexander and Ophelia worked intandem—he handled the legal and financial aspects while she managed the human element, organizing temporary aid and comfort for the most distressed families.
Finally, exhausted and muddy, they climbed back into their carriage. The moment the door closed, Ophelia felt the adrenaline that had sustained her drain away, leaving her shaky and overwhelmed.
"That was..." she began, then stopped, not sure how to finish.
"Expensive," Alexander supplied, though there was no recrimination in his tone. "Roughly seven thousand pounds expensive."
"I'm sorry. If I hadn't insisted on helping the Wheelers..."
"Then a child would have died, and these families would have been evicted anyway, just without anyone to stop it." He was looking out the window and said, "you were right, and I was wrong. About all of it."
The admission was so unexpected that Ophelia couldn't immediately respond. They rode in silence for several minutes, but it was a different kind of silence than their usual uncomfortable quiet. This felt charged with something new, something that had sparked when he'd defended her so fiercely.
"You called me your wife," she said finally.
"You are my wife."
