Chapter Twenty-Four #3
They walked together back to the library, where the fire was dying down. Alexander added another log while Ophelia curled up in what had become her chair. He sat beside her, and she immediately tucked herself against his side.
"So Edward can really visit the stables?" she asked.
"I suppose. If he must."
"And Charles could see more of the rare books?"
"Under extreme supervision."
"And perhaps we could have regular dinners? Once a month maybe?"
"Let's not go too far."
"Once every two months?"
"Every three months, and that's my final offer."
"Deal."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the fire. Then Alexander said, "Your brothers think I've changed."
"You have changed."
"Have I? I feel like the same person, just... more visible somehow. Like I was always here but hiding."
"That's change, Alexander. Becoming visible. Letting yourself be seen."
"It's terrifying."
"You keep using that word about emotions."
"Because emotions are terrifying. They're unpredictable and messy and completely beyond control."
"And wonderful."
"Sometimes," he conceded. "When they involve you, they're tolerable."
"Such high praise."
"The highest I'm capable of."
She laughed, that snorting laugh he'd told her about while drunk, and he found himself smiling in response.
"Your brothers will tell everyone about this," he said. "About us being happy. It will ruin my reputation as a cold, unfeeling duke."
"How terrible for you."
"I'll have to be pleasant at social events. People will expect me to actually converse rather than just glare."
"The horror."
"You've ruined me for proper ducal behaviour."
"Good."
"I'll never be properly intimidating again."
"You were plenty intimidating with Harrington."
"That was different. He threatened you."
"And you protected me."
"Always," he said, meaning it completely.
She tilted her head up to look at him. "Do you really think we'll be alright? Long-term, I mean? We're so different."
"We are different," he agreed. "You're warm where I'm cold. You're open where I'm closed. You see the best in people while I expect the worst. But perhaps that's why we shall be fine. We balance each other."
"Exactly like that."
"Well," he said, pulling her closer, "I suppose there are worse ways to spend a lifetime than being thawed by a Coleridge."
"That might be the most romantic thing you've ever said."
"I love you," he said again, because apparently now that he'd said it once, he couldn't stop.
"Because I am different?"
"Because you think of everything. Because you protect me from disasters while letting me think I'm protecting you. Because you're you."
"I love you too. Even though you made rules about my brothers."
"Especially because I made rules about your brothers."
"That makes no sense."
"Very little about us makes sense, but here we are anyway."
"Here we are," she agreed, settling more firmly against him. "The frozen duke and the chaotic Coleridge."
"Former frozen duke," he corrected. "I'm at least partially thawed now."
You still have your moments of complete frigidity."
"It's a defense mechanism."
"Against what?"
"Feelings. Coleridges. Spheres."
She laughed again, and he decided he'd spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh if it meant hearing that sound.
My parents will want to meet you properly."
"I know."
"And eventually there will be social events where we have to appear together as a couple."
"I know."
"You're being very accepting of all this."
"I'm resigned to my fate."
"Your fate being a life entangled with Coleridges?"
"My fate being a life with you. The other Coleridges are an unfortunate but apparently unavoidable addition."
"You could learn to like them."
"I could learn to tolerate them."
"You already tolerate them."
"Then I could learn to tolerate them without grimacing."
"Progress."
"Your favourite word."
"Because we keep making it."
They stayed in the library until the fire died completely, talking about everything and nothing, planning future visits (with strict supervision), discussing which spheres could be returned to their proper places (none, they decided, at least not until Charles had visited several more times without incident).
As they finally made their way upstairs, Alexander reflected on how things had changed since that disastrous wedding day.
He'd married a stranger, fought with her for weeks, gotten drunk and confessed feelings he didn't know he had, and now was planning regular dinners with her chaos-inducing brothers.
"What are you thinking about?" Ophelia asked as they paused outside their bedchamber doors.
"How unexpected this all is. If someone had told me on our wedding day that I'd voluntarily invite your brothers to dinner, I would tell them they are insane."
"And if someone had told me you'd defend me against Lord Harrington and drunkenly confess to loving my laugh, I'd have thought the same."
"We're both quite insane, then."
"Apparently. But it's a pleasant sort of madness."
"The best kind," he agreed, pulling her close for a kiss.
When they finally separated, both a bit breathless, Ophelia smiled up at him. "Should we stay in your chamber or mine tonight?"
It was a bold question, one that made him flush slightly. They hadn't... that is, since the drunken confessions, they'd maintained separate rooms, despite the growing affection between them.
"Yours," he said finally.
Later, much later, as they lay together in the darkness, Ophelia said, "Thank you for tonight. For trying with my brothers."
"They're important to you."
"So are you."
"Then I suppose I'll have to learn to coexist with them."
"Peacefully coexist?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Coexistence first, then we'll work on peaceful."
"Another process?"
"Everything with us is a process."
"But we're making progress."
"We are," he agreed, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Slow, sometimes painful, but definite progress."
"From disaster to tentative peace to actual happiness."
"With a stop at drunken confessions along the way."
"A very important stop."
"The most important stop."
She turned in his arms to face him. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if your grandfather hadn't put that clause in his will?"
"We'd never have met."
"And?"
"And I'd still be frozen, alone, thinking I preferred it that way."
"And I'd still be invisible in my parents' house."
"So my grandfather’s will actually did us a favour, even though I was certain he hated me and that was my punishment."
"Alexander! That's your grandfather."
"Who forced me into marriage with a complete stranger."
"It worked out."
"Through sheer luck and excellent brandy."
"And persistence. Don't forget persistence."
"How could I forget? You persistently existed in my space until I had no choice but to notice you."
"I'm very good at existing."
"You're very good at many things."
"Such as?"
"Caring for those in need. Making me feel things I don't want to feel."
"You love feeling things now."
"I tolerate feeling things."
"You love it."
"I love you. The feelings are a side effect I'm learning to manage."
"How romantic."
"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.