Page 91 of Married to a Frozen Duke
"No, but we're good at adapting. It's the merchant blood. We see an opportunity and we take it."
"I'm not an opportunity, Edward. I'm your sister."
"You're both. And that's not a bad thing."
Dinner was less catastrophic than anticipated, though that was a low bar. The twins managed to use the correct forks and didn't tell any truly mortifying stories. Alexander maintained rigid politeness, and Ophelia tried to bridge the gap between her two worlds with limited success.
"Excellent wine," Charles commented. "What year?"
"1794," Alexander replied.
"Good year for wine. Bad year for French aristocrats."
"Charles," Ophelia warned.
"What? It's history. Can't argue with history."
"You can avoid mentioning revolutions at dinner."
"Where's the fun in that?"
But he subsided, and they made it through the rest of the meal with only minor incidents—Edward knocking over a salt cellar, Charles laughing too loudly at his own jest, both of them eating with more enthusiasm than elegance.
After dinner, in the drawing room, things relaxed marginally. The twins told stories about home—carefully edited stories that avoided mention of trade or anything too merchant-class. Alexander even contributed a few observations, though he remained carefully distant.
"We should visit more often," Charles said as they prepared to retire. "Phee needs family around her in this museum."
"It's not a museum," Alexander said coldly.
"Of course not. Museums are warmer."
"Charles!"
"What? Look at this place. It's beautiful but it's like... frozen in time. Nothing personal anywhere. Except..." He paused, looking at a small vase of violets on a side table. "Those are Phee's touch, aren't they? She always did love violets."
Alexander looked at the flowers as if seeing them for the first time. "She arranged them?"
"Every week at home. She said they were cheerful. Tiny little spots of color where you didn't expect them."
Something shifted in Alexander's expression, though Ophelia couldn't read what.
"It's late," she said quickly. "We should all retire."
The twins bid them goodnight with more enthusiasm than grace, and soon she and Alexander were alone in the drawing room.
"They're not what I expected," he said finally.
"Better or worse?"
"Different. They're... young."
"They're only five years younger than you."
"It seems like more."
"That's because you've been preparing to be a duke since you were seventeen. You've never had the chance to be young."
"Is that what you think?"
