Page 81 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"Of course."
Another silence stretched between them, filled with all the things they couldn't or wouldn't say.
"I'll leave you to your practice," he said finally.
"Good evening, Your Grace."
"Good evening, Your Grace."
He left, and she returned to Bach, playing with technical perfection and no soul whatsoever.
The next morning brought the same routine—Mary silently helping her dress, breakfast in careful formality, Alexander hidden behind his newspaper. But there was a tension now, anawareness that something had shifted between them, though neither could say exactly what.
She spent the morning dealing with household accounts, Mrs. Morrison having finally agreed to let her see them. The numbers were staggering—the amount spent on candles alone could have supported a small family for a year. But she made notes carefully, suggesting no changes, asking no uncomfortable questions about efficiency or waste.
"Your Grace," Mrs. Morrison said as they finished, "might I speak freely?"
"If you wish."
"The staff... they're concerned they've somehow offended you. Yesterday's change in... manner... has them worried."
"They haven't offended me at all. I've simply realised that I need to maintain more appropriate boundaries. His Grace was quite right that I was being too familiar."
Mrs. Morrison looked like she wanted to say something else but settled for, "As Your Grace thinks best."
Luncheon was again in her rooms, avoiding the awkwardness of the dining room. She was picking at a plate of cold meats and cheese when Mary announced, "His Grace would like a word, Your Grace."
Alexander entered, looking uncertain—an expression she'd never seen on him before.
"I wanted to discuss your brothers' visit," he said. "They arrive tomorrow?"
"Yes, in the afternoon, I believe."
"I thought perhaps we should... prepare."
"Prepare?"
"Present a united front. Whatever our private difficulties, it would be best if we appeared..."
"Happy? In love? Not barely speaking?"
"Cordial, at least. Comfortable with each other."
"And how do you propose we achieve that when we can barely manage a conversation?"
He moved to the window, a habit when he was thinking. "We could practise."
"Practise being married?"
"Practise being comfortable. We managed it at the inn, didn't we? After the disaster, we actually talked."
"That was different. We were both too exhausted and overwhelmed to maintain our guards."
"Then perhaps we need to lower them again. At least temporarily."
She looked at him skeptically. "You want to lower your guard?"
"I want your brothers' visit to go smoothly. If that requires some... adjustment in our interaction, then so be it."
