"Yes. I'm to be a proper duchess. Distant, formal, appropriate." She moved to the window, looking out at gardens that were beautiful and controlled and nothing like the chaotic gardens at home. "The duke feels I've been too familiar with the staff."
Mary was quiet for a moment, then said carefully, "You've been very kind to all of us, Your Grace."
"Apparently, kindness and familiarity are too easily confused. I'm to maintain proper boundaries from now on."
"I see." Mary's voice was small, hurt.
Ophelia turned to her. "It's not my choice, Mary. But His Grace is right. I need to learn to be what I am now, not what I was."
"If Your Grace says so."
"I do. So from now on, we'll maintain proper protocol. No more friendly chats while you're doing my hair. No more sharing stories about our families. Just... proper duchess and lady's maid relations."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The rest of the day passed in careful formality. Luncheon alone in her rooms, an afternoon spent reading in the library—alone, of course—and preparations for dinner that involved Mary silently arranging her hair and helping her into an evening gown of deep green silk.
Dinner was the usual elaborate affair, she and Alexander at opposite ends of the table that could have seated twenty. The footmen served in perfect silence, and she acknowledged them with only the barest nod. No inquiries about their families, no warm smiles, just the distant politeness of a proper duchess.
"The fish is excellent," she said to the middle distance between them.
"Cook will be pleased to hear it," Alexander replied.
And that was the extent of their dinner conversation. The courses came and went, soup, fish, meat, vegetables tortured into decorative shapes, desserts that were architectural marvels, all consumed in an atmosphere that could have frozen fire.
After dinner, she retired to the music room to practice pianoforte. She was working through a Bach piece, technically proficient but without much feeling, when she sensed rather than heard Alexander in the doorway.
"You play well," he said.
"Adequately," she corrected, continuing to play.
"You've been very formal today. With the servants, I mean."
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Yes."
"Then why do you sound disappointed?"
"I don't sound disappointed."
She stopped playing and turned to face him. "You do, actually. Did you expect me to argue more? To refuse to change?"
"I expected... I don't know what I expected."
"You expected me to be a Coleridge. Stubborn, argumentative, scheming. Instead, I'm doing exactly what you asked...being a proper duchess, maintaining appropriate boundaries, knowing my place."
"You make it sound like a punishment."
"Isn't it? You've made it clear that being myself is inappropriate, so I'm being what you want instead. Cold, formal, distant. Just like you."
"I'm not..." He stopped, seemingly unable to complete the denial.
"You are, though. You're exactly what you've asked me to become. And if that's what it takes to be a proper duchess, then that's what I'll be."
He stood there for a long moment, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Finally, he said, "Your brothers' visit. Do you need anything arranged?"
"I'm sure Mrs. Morrison can handle the guest rooms."
