Page 132 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"Brandy," Alexander said at the same time Ophelia said, "Time."
They looked at each other and laughed—Ophelia with that little snorting sound Alexander had come to adore, andAlexander with genuine amusement that transformed his face entirely.
"My goodness," Edward said faintly. "He actually knows how to laugh. And not in a menacing way."
"I don't laugh menacingly," Alexander protested.
"You absolutely laugh menacingly," Charles disagreed. "Last time you laughed, it sounded like you were planning our demise."
"That's because I was."
"Alexander!" Ophelia protested.
"What? They'd just destroyed a vase. Some light demise planning was entirely justified."
The brothers exchanged glances again, and Charles ventured, "You're actually making jests about it. That's... unexpected."
"Your sister has corrupted my sense of appropriate ducal behaviour. I now occasionally display humour and even, on rare occasions, genuine human emotion."
"Very rare occasions," Ophelia added with a smile. "We shouldn't want him to strain himself."
"The horror," Alexander agreed solemnly. "Next thing you know, I'll be smiling at servants and remembering people's names."
"You already remember people's names," she pointed out.
"Yes, but now I use them. It's very disconcerting for everyone involved."
"Mrs. Morrison nearly fainted when you asked about her sister's health yesterday."
"A momentary lapse. I'm sure I'll recover my proper cold indifference soon."
"Well, I hope not," Edward said, then seemed surprised he'd spoken aloud. "That is...you're much more tolerable like this."
"Tolerable. High praise from a Coleridge."
"It is, actually," Charles said seriously. "We don't tolerate many people."
"A family trait I've noticed."
They were actually bantering, Alexander realized with shock. He was sitting at dinner with the Coleridge brothers, trading quips without bloodshed or broken artifacts. Ophelia was beaming beside him, her hand still in his, and he thought perhaps this was what she'd meant about families coexisting.
The conversation continued through the remaining courses, touching on safer topics—the weather (unseasonably warm), the roads (terrible as always), and surprisingly, literature.
"You've read Wordsworth?" Alexander asked Charles with surprise.
"I read," Charles said defensively. "Not just ledgers and trade papers. I actually enjoy poetry."
"Which poets?"
"Byron, mostly, though I know he's considered scandalous. Coleridge. Some of Blake's work, though he's often incomprehensible."
"Blake is an acquired taste," Alexander agreed. "His illustrations are more accessible than his verse, I find."
"You have some of his illustrated works?"
"In the library. First editions of several."
Charles's eyes lit up with genuine interest. "Could I...that is, would it be possible to see them? Not touch!" he added quickly. "Just look. From a safe distance. With my hands firmly clasped behind my back."
