Chapter Twenty-Four
Friday arrived with unseemly haste, and by seven o'clock Alexander was pacing the drawing room like a caged animal while Ophelia tried to calm him.
"It's just dinner," she said for the fifth time.
"It's dinner with people who actively despise everything I represent."
"They don't despise you."
"They called me a statue!"
"That was before they knew you."
"They don't know me now either."
"No, but they know I'm happy. That will make a difference."
Before he could argue further, they heard the sound of a carriage arriving. Alexander straightened his cravat unnecessarily and assumed what Ophelia called his "duke face"—expression neutral, posture perfect, every inch the aristocrat.
"Don't freeze up on me now," she warned, taking his arm.
"I don't freeze."
"You absolutely freeze. You're doing it right now."
"This is my normal expression."
"This is your 'I'm about to endure something unpleasant' expression."
"How perceptive of you."
The doors opened, and Charles and Edward Coleridge entered, looking remarkably subdued compared to their last visit. They were properly dressed, Charles's cravat actually tied correctly for once, and both wore expressions of genuine nervousness.
"Ophelia!" Charles started forward, then caught himself, bowing formally instead. "That is, Your Grace. You look well."
"I am well," she said warmly, embracing each brother despite their formality. "Very well indeed."
"Your Grace," Edward addressed Alexander with a proper bow. "Thank you for the invitation."
Alexander inclined his head slightly. "Mr. Charles Coleridge. Mr. Edward Coleridge."
There was an awkward pause where everyone seemed unsure how to proceed. Then Ophelia, with the social grace that Alexander was beginning to deeply appreciate, took charge.
"Shall we go through to the drawing room? Dinner won't be served for a bit, and I thought we might actually converse like civilized people rather than stand here terrifying each other."
"We're not terrified," Charles protested, though his voice suggested otherwise.
"No? Then why do you look like you're about to be executed?"
"Because His Grace looks like he's planning our execution," Edward muttered, then seemed to realize he'd said it aloud. "That is, I mean..."
"I'm not planning anyone's execution," Alexander said dryly. "That would be terribly messy, and we've just had the house cleaned."
There was a startled pause, then Edward laughed. "Did you just make a jest?"
"I do occasionally attempt humor. I'm told it's humanizing."
"Who told you that?" Charles asked, seeming genuinely curious.
"Your sister. She's insistent that I'm actually human despite all evidence to the contrary."
Ophelia squeezed his arm, and he could see her trying not to smile too broadly. They moved into the drawing room, where Alexander had strategically had all the breakable objects removed earlier, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Charles.
"The room looks different," Charles observed carefully.
"We're having some pieces restored," Alexander lied smoothly. "Routine maintenance."
"Of course." Charles looked around, then took a breath.
"Your Grace, before we go further, I need to say something.
About the vase and the sphere. I'm deeply sorry.
It was inexcusable, and I've been sick about it since it happened.
I know they can't be replaced, but I wanted to offer, that is, if you would permit, I could commission something for the space.
Not as a replacement, but as a... a gesture. An acknowledgment of the loss."
Alexander studied the younger man, noting the genuine distress in his expression, the way his hands clenched and unclenched nervously. This wasn't the blustering Charles of the previous visit but someone genuinely trying to make amends.
"That's a thoughtful offer," Alexander said slowly. "I shall consider it."
Charles's relief was palpable. "Thank you. And I promise, I won't touch anything tonight. Or ever. My hands will remain firmly at my sides or on approved surfaces only."
"Approved surfaces?" Edward raised an eyebrow. "What constitutes an approved surface?"
"Chairs, tables, eating utensils, and nothing else," Charles said firmly. "I've given this considerable thought."
Despite himself, Alexander felt his mouth twitch toward a smile. "Your dedication to not destroying my home is appreciated."
They settled into seats, and James appeared with drinks. Alexander noted both brothers took their glasses with excessive care, as if afraid the crystal might spontaneously shatter at their touch.
"So," Edward said after a moment of awkward silence, "we heard about the village incident. With Lord Harrington."
Alexander tensed. Here it came—the criticism, the political commentary, the suggestion that he was either a tyrant or a fool.
"That was well done," Edward continued, surprising him. "Standing up to him like that. The man's been harsh to his tenants for years, hiding behind tradition and proper management while grinding people into dust."
"You approve?" Alexander couldn't hide his shock.
"Of course we approve," Charles said. "You protected vulnerable families and put Harrington in his place. That's exactly what a duke should do with his power."
"But I thought you believed the aristocracy was a parasitic institution that should be abolished," Alexander said to Edward.
Edward had the grace to look embarrassed. "I may have been somewhat... emphatic in my previous statements. And possibly slightly drunk. The aristocracy as an institution has problems, certainly, but individual aristocrats can choose to use their power well. Which you did."
"Your sister did most of it," Alexander deflected, uncomfortable with the praise. "I just provided the funds."
"You provided seven thousand pounds and political leverage," Ophelia corrected. "And you publicly defended me when Harrington insulted me."
"He did?" Charles's expression darkened. "What did he say?"
"Nothing worth repeating," Alexander said quickly, not wanting to reignite hostilities. "He's been dealt with."
"But he insulted our sister?" Edward pressed.
"And I made it clear that insulting the Duchess of Montclaire has consequences," Alexander said firmly. "The matter is closed."
The brothers exchanged glances, and something shifted in their expressions as they looked at him; not approval exactly, but a reassessment perhaps.
"Right," Charles said slowly. "Good. That's... good."
Dinner was announced, saving them from further awkwardness. As they walked to the dining room, Alexander noticed Ophelia had arranged the seating so the brothers were safely away from anything particularly valuable, which showed admirable forethought.
The first course was served, and conversation initially remained stilted. Then Edward mentioned something about a new hunter he'd acquired, and Alexander, despite his best intentions, found himself interested.
"A Thoroughbred cross?" he asked.
"Three-quarters Thoroughbred, one-quarter Cleveland Bay. Gives him the speed but with more bone and better temperament for hunting."
"Interesting combination. How's his jumping?"
"Exceptional. Clears five feet easily, and brave with it. No hesitation at water."
They fell into a discussion of bloodlines and breeding that became increasingly animated. Charles and Ophelia exchanged amused glances as Alexander and Edward debated the merits of various crosses with surprising enthusiasm.
"Your stable here must be impressive," Edward said. "I'd love to see it sometime."
"You're welcome to visit," Alexander said without thinking, then realized what he'd offered. "That is, if you're interested."
"Very interested. I've heard you have a descendant of Eclipse?"
"My prize stallion. Remarkable speed, though his temperament can be challenging."
"The best ones usually are challenging," Edward agreed. "It's the spirit that makes them great."
"Rather like people," Ophelia interjected with a smile.
"Are you suggesting I'm challenging?" Alexander asked.
"I'm suggesting you're spirited. There's a difference."
Charles made a choking sound. "Are you two actually flirting? At dinner? In front of us?"
"We're married," Ophelia said mildly. "We're allowed to flirt."
"It's disconcerting," Charles complained. "Last time we were here, you could barely stand to be in the same room."
"Things change," Alexander said, surprising himself by reaching over to take Ophelia's hand.
"I'll say they have," Edward observed, staring at their joined hands. "You're actually touching. Voluntarily. Without looking like you want to die."
"Your faith in our marriage is overwhelming," Alexander said dryly.
"Can you blame us?" Charles asked. "The last time we saw you together, you had just banished us from the house and were looking at Ophelia like she was a problem you couldn't solve."
"She is a problem I can't solve," Alexander admitted. "But I've decided I rather like unsolvable problems. They're more interesting than the solvable ones."
"Did you just call me interesting?" Ophelia asked.
"Interesting, challenging, occasionally infuriating, and absolutely unsolvable."
"You say the sweetest things."
"This is strange," Charles announced. "Our sister and the Duke of Montclaire are actually happy together. How did this happen?"
"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, and Alexander 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."