Epilogue #2
"He's been in his study since dawn, reviewing his speech for tonight," Ophelia explained, unable to entirely suppress a fond smile at the thought of Alexander's determination to make everything perfect.
"He's written at least six drafts, each more elaborate than the last. I believe the current version includes references to classical literature, three philosophical quotations, and a rather lengthy metaphor about gardens that I'm not entirely certain I understand. "
"Heaven help us all if he actually delivers it," Robert muttered, though there was less hostility in his tone than there might have been even six months ago.
The relationship between Alexander and Ophelia's brothers had evolved from open warfare to something resembling an armed truce, with occasional moments of what might generously be called camaraderie, particularly between Alexander and Edward on the subject of horses.
"He means well," Ophelia defended, though she privately shared some of her brother's concerns about the speech.
Alexander's formal addresses had a tendency toward the pompous when he was nervous, and she knew he was far more anxious about this evening than he would ever admit.
"He wants to prove to society that our marriage is a success, that we've overcome our rather inauspicious beginning. "
"By gathering all the witnesses to your original catastrophe in one room and essentially daring fate to strike again?" Henry asked with raised eyebrows. "That seems rather like tempting providence, doesn't it?"
Before Ophelia could respond, the door opened once more, this time to admit Alexander himself, looking every inch the duke in his perfectly tailored morning coat and intricately tied cravat.
He paused in the doorway, his grey eyes surveying the assembled Coleridges with an expression that managed to convey both resignation and something that might have been genuine pleasure, though it was difficult to tell with Alexander.
"I thought I heard the dulcet tones of brotherly invasion," he said dryly, entering the room with that particular grace he possessed that made every movement seem deliberate and significant.
"Charles, I trust you had a pleasant journey despite your apparent encounter with what appears to be most of the mud between here and London? "
Charles looked down at his boots with surprise, as if only just noticing their deplorable state. "The roads were rather challenging, Your Grace. But I've been very careful not to track anything onto your carpets, which I think shows admirable restraint and personal growth."
"Indeed, your restraint is noted and appreciated," Alexander replied with what Ophelia recognized as his version of humor, so dry it could have been used to preserve flowers.
"Robert, Henry, Edward, I trust you're all well?
And the new Mrs. Coleridge." He turned to Margaret with a bow that was perfectly correct without being excessive. “Welcome to Montclaire House."
Margaret managed a curtsey that only wobbled slightly, though she looked as if she might faint when Alexander's attention focused on her. "Your Grace is very kind to invite us. The house is magnificent, and the preparations for tonight look absolutely spectacular."
"My wife deserves nothing less than spectacular," Alexander said simply, moving to stand beside Ophelia's chair in a gesture that had become habitual over the past months, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder in a touch that conveyed both possession and affection.
"Though I confess the evening would be considerably less stressful without the attendance of certain individuals who seem determined to find fault with everything I do. "
"If you're referring to Lord Harrington, he wouldn't dare show his face here after the village incident," Robert said with obvious satisfaction. "The man's reputation hasn't recovered from being so thoroughly outmaneuvered by a duke who actually chose compassion over profit."
"I wasn't referring to Harrington, actually," Alexander replied. "I was thinking more of your collective presence and the potential for catastrophe it represents. Need I remind you what happened the last time we attempted a formal gathering?"
"That was entirely different," Charles protested.
"For one thing, I've been practicing my behaviour around breakable objects.
Edward's been helping me with what he calls 'spatial awareness exercises,' which mostly consist of him shouting warnings whenever I get within three feet of anything valuable. "
"How reassuring," Alexander murmured, though Ophelia could feel the slight tremor of suppressed laughter in his hand on her shoulder. "And have these exercises been successful?"
"I haven't broken anything in six months," Charles announced proudly, then seemed to reconsider. "Well, nothing that belonged to anyone else, anyway. I did manage to destroy my own watch last week, but that was more of a curiosity incident than actual clumsiness."
"A curiosity incident," Alexander repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "I'm almost afraid to ask for clarification."
"It's better if you don't," Edward advised.
Ophelia felt the conversation beginning to spiral into the kind of cheerful chaos that tended to occur when her brothers were gathered, and while she normally found their energy amusing, her stomach was beginning to rebel against the combination of nerves and morning sickness that had been plaguing her.
She pressed her hand discreetly to her midsection, hoping the gesture would go unnoticed, but Alexander's fingers tightened slightly on her shoulder, and when she glanced up, she found him looking down at her with an expression of concern.
"Are you well?" he asked quietly, the question pitched for her ears alone despite the room full of people.
"Perfectly well," she assured him, though she suspected her pale complexion rather betrayed the lie. "Perhaps just a little overwhelmed by all the preparations. It's been such a busy morning, and there's still so much to be done before tonight."
Alexander studied her face for a moment longer, and she saw something flicker in his eyes, suspicion, perhaps, or recognition, but before he could pursue the matter, the butler appeared in the doorway with an expression of barely controlled panic.
"Your Grace, forgive the interruption, but Lady Jersey has arrived.
She insists on speaking with you about the seating arrangements, and she's brought what appears to be half of her acquaintance with her.
They're currently examining the ballroom decorations with what I can only describe as aggressive interest."
Alexander's expression shifted to one of long-suffering patience.
"Of course she has. Heaven forbid we should have a single moment of peace before the actual event begins.
" He looked down at Ophelia again, clearly reluctant to leave her.
"Will you be all right with your brothers?
I promise to return before they can destroy anything significant. "
"Go," Ophelia urged him with a smile that was only slightly forced. "I'll keep them under control, and Mary can help me dress shortly. Everything will be perfectly fine."
Alexander bent to kiss her forehead, a gesture that would have been unthinkable in their early days but had become wonderfully habitual, then straightened with the air of a man preparing for battle.
"Gentlemen, I trust you can behave yourselves for the next hour without supervision.
Charles, the vases in the hallway have been temporarily relocated, so you needn't worry about accidentally destroying any more priceless artifacts.
That particular anxiety can wait until the ball itself. "
"You relocated the vases?" Charles asked, looking both offended and relieved. "Because of me?"
"Because of statistics and probability," Alexander replied smoothly. "The likelihood of disaster increases exponentially with the number of Coleridges in proximity to valuable objects. It's simple mathematics."
With that parting shot, he left the room, his footsteps echoing with ducal authority as he went to confront whatever crisis Lady Jersey had manufactured. The moment he was gone, all four brothers turned to stare at Ophelia with identical expressions of suspicion.
"Tell us sister, is something amiss?" Robert demanded without preamble. "You're pale as parchment, and you've been pressing your hand to your stomach for the past ten minutes."
"Nothing's wrong," Ophelia protested, but even to her own ears, the denial sounded weak.
"You're a terrible liar," Henry observed, moving closer to study her with uncomfortable intensity. "You always have been. Remember when you tried to convince Mother you hadn't been reading the books Father had forbidden? You looked exactly like this—guilty and slightly green around the edges."
"I'm not green," Ophelia objected, though she could feel her complexion betraying her as another wave of nausea rolled through her stomach.
"You're definitely green," Charles confirmed, then his eyes widened with sudden understanding. "Oh my goodness, you're not ill, are you? Because if Alexander's been exhausting you with all this ball preparation, I'll personally..."
"I'm not ill," Ophelia interrupted quickly, recognizing the martial light beginning to gleam in Robert's eyes.
"I'm... that is, I might be... oh, botheration, I'm increasing, all right?
But Alexander doesn't know yet, and I want to tell him properly after the ball when we're alone, so you absolutely cannot say anything. "
The silence that followed this announcement was complete and rather comical. All four of her brothers stared at her with expressions ranging from shock to delight to something that looked suspiciously like tears in Robert's eyes, though he would certainly deny it if questioned.