Page 140 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"I told you, I'm not good at romantic."
"You're getting better."
"Another process?"
"Everything worthwhile..."
"Takes time," he finished. "Yes, I'm learning that."
They fell asleep like that, mid-conversation, wrapped around each other in a way that would have been inconceivable weeks ago. The Duke and Duchess of Montclaire, formerly miserable, currently content, making progress one day at a time.
In the morning, there would be a letter from Edward about visiting the stables. Charles would send a carefully worded note about potentially commissioning a piece for the gallery. Mrs. Morrison would smile at breakfast. The world would continue turning, slightly shifted on its axis by the unlikely happiness of a frozen duke and a chaotic Coleridge.
But for now, they slept. And in the morning, Alexander would only grumble a little about Edward's upcoming visit to the stables.
Progress, indeed.
Epilogue
A year later
"Your Grace, if you continue to fuss with those flowers for even one moment longer, I fear they shall wilt from the sheer exhaustion of being rearranged," Mary said with the kind of gentle exasperation that only a lady's maid of considerable tenure could manage while still maintaining appropriate deference to her mistress.
Ophelia stepped back from the elaborate arrangement of white roses and orange blossoms that dominated the entrance hall, though her fingers still itched to adjust just one more stem that seemed slightly askew. The anniversary ball that Alexander had been planning with meticulous attention for the past three months would commence in less than four hours, and the entire household had been transformed into something that resembled a fairy tale palace rather than the usually dignified but understated Montclaire House.
"I cannot help but feel that something is going to go catastrophically wrong," Ophelia confessed, pressing her hand to her stomach in what had become an unconscious gesture over the past fortnight. The morning sickness that had plagued her for these two weeks had been carefully hidden from everyone, including Alexander, though she suspected her mother would see through her pretense the moment she arrived. "The last time we attempted anything approaching this level of social grandeur, I rather memorably destroyed my husband's dignity along with his wedding clothes."
Mary's expression softened considerably as she guided Ophelia away from the flowers and toward the morning room where tea had been laid out. "That was a year ago, Your Grace, and if I may be so bold as to observe, His Grace seemed torecover quite admirably from that particular incident. Indeed, one might even say it was the making of your marriage rather than its undoing."
The observation was astute, and Ophelia found herself smiling despite her nerves as she settled into her favorite chair, the one positioned to catch the morning light while still affording a view of the gardens that had become considerably less formal over the past year. Alexander had initially resisted her suggestions for introducing what he termed 'chaos' into the precisely manicured grounds, but he had eventually capitulated when she'd pointed out that a little wildness made the formal elements appear even more refined by contrast.
"Still, one cannot help but notice that he has invited every single person who witnessed that spectacular disaster, including Lady Jersey, who actually fainted when I cast up my accounts all over him at the altar," Ophelia mused, accepting the cup of weak tea that was all her rebellious stomach would tolerate these days. "It seems rather like tempting fate, does it not?"
Before Mary could respond, the door burst open with the kind of dramatic enthusiasm that could only herald the arrival of one particular person. Charles Coleridge stood in the doorway, his traveling clothes somewhat disheveled and his face bearing an expression of such genuine delight that Ophelia couldn't help but laugh despite her queasy stomach.
"Phee! There you are, hiding away like some sort of recluse when you should be preparing to dazzle society with your magnificence!" Charles bounded into the room with his characteristic disregard for the dignity typically expected in a duke's household, though Ophelia noticed he was careful not to actually touch anything breakable in his enthusiasm. "Robert's just paying off the carriage, and Henry's examining your husband's gates with that expression that means he's composingsome sort of satirical verse about aristocratic pretensions, but I had to see you immediately."
"Charles, you look well," Ophelia said warmly, rising to embrace her brother, who swept her into a hug that was perhaps more exuberant than strictly proper but exactly what she needed to calm her nerves. "However I notice you've already managed to lose a button from your coat, and is that mud on your boots?"
"The roads were abysmal, as if nature itself conspires to make travel to your husband's estate as difficult as possible," Charles replied cheerfully, settling himself into a chair with rather more force than the antique furniture was designed to accommodate. "But never mind that. You look pale, Phee. Has His Grace been treating you properly? Because if he hasn't, Robert is prepared to defend you, though admittedly that might have been more for show than actual intent."
"Alexander has been wonderful," Ophelia assured him, and she meant it quite sincerely. The past few months had seen a transformation in her husband that still sometimes took her by surprise—small gestures of affection that would have been unthinkable during their early days, conversations that extended beyond the merely functional, and a warmth in his grey eyes when he looked at her that made her heart perform the most unusual acrobatics. "He's been planning this ball for months, determined to show society that our marriage is a success rather than the disaster they all predicted."
"And is it? A success, I mean?" Charles asked with unusual seriousness, studying her face with the kind of attention he usually reserved for examining something he was about to accidentally break.
"More than I ever dared hope," Ophelia admitted, then felt compelled to add, "though if you could manage not to destroy any priceless artifacts tonight, I would be enormously grateful.Alexander has only just stopped flinching every time you're in the same room as something spherical."
Charles had the grace to look abashed. "That was one incident, and I've apologised at least a dozen times. I even offered to commission a replacement piece."
Before they could say anything else, the door opened again to admit the rest of the Coleridge contingent. Robert entered first, his expression bearing that particular combination of protective concern and barely suppressed aggression that he had worn consistently since Ophelia's betrothal. Behind him came Henry, carrying what appeared to be a wrapped gift with suspicious care, followed by Edward and his wife Margaret, who was clutching Edward's arm with the expression of someone about to meet a beast they'd heard stories about but never quite believed existed. They had been married for a month but Ophelia and Alexander did not have time to meet her properly as they went for the wedding but had left the same day.
"Ophelia, you look remarkably well for someone whose husband has been tormenting society with invitations to what he's calling a 'reciprocal celebration of matrimonial success,' which sounds rather ominous if you ask me," Henry observed, bending to kiss his sister's cheek with rather more affection than his sardonic tone might suggest. "I've brought you an anniversary present, though I suspect Alexander might confiscate it when he realises the subject matter."
"Please tell me it's not another compilation of societal disasters," Ophelia pleaded, though she was smiling as she said it.
"Oh, it's much better than that. It's a first edition of 'A Vindication of the Rights of Women,' which I thought might provide interesting breakfast conversation given your husband's evolving views on female capability and independence."
Robert made a sound that might have been a laugh or possibly a groan. "You're trying to cause trouble, aren't you?"
