Page 10 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

The next few days passed by far too quickly, and although Spencer had been the one to ask for the short engagement, the day of his wedding to Lady Felicity came around too quickly.

He had swiftly arranged the ceremony, suiting himself up appropriately for the occasion. He had arranged for Lady Felicity to be fitted with a simple but fine dress.

It was worthy of a duchess without the flare and frill of a gown she may have chosen for herself under normal circumstances.

He had the church ceremony organized and turned up alone as he watched too many of his guests whose attendance he didn’t care for enter with their families. Spencer entered, ignoring how the gazes of the ton followed him, as the whispers picked up behind their fans.

“A second marriage… let us hope that this one lasts far longer than his former one.”

“I do wonder if Lady Felicity knows what she is getting herself into.”

“I heard he is rather reformed. Lord and Lady Merriweather seemed impressed by his intentions to marry Lady Felicity.”

“After all, nobody really knows what happened to Lady Sophia.”

“Has anybody spoken with Lady Helena? She must be heartbroken. She had her eye on the duchy.”

Spencer kept his eyes fixed forward, and his jaw tight, as he stalked down the aisle of St. James’s church.

In mere moments, Lady Felicity and the rest of the Merriweathers would arrive, and he would take her as his duchess.

Alexander had remained at home upon Spencer’s request, which only really left Rupert and the rest of the Wexley family as the only faces he could find comfort in.

Rupert offered him a silent nod of his head, a reminder that Spencer was doing the right thing.

For a moment, as Spencer took his place at the altar, he waited for another woman. He was almost eight years younger, and his stomach had jumped with nerves, awaiting his first love to meet him there.

A church had stretched above and behind him back then, the ton looking on, waiting to cast judgement on the bride’s wedding dress and what colors the duke wore.

Lady Sophia had matched Spencer that day. She had worn flowers in her hair the same color as his tailcoat and cravat—a deep, rich blue. He had been anxious to be a perfect husband back then while already navigating being a perfect duke.

Now, he was not as much nervous as he was impatient and detached. It would not be Lady Sophia coming down the aisle, and Spencer was old enough to know that love was a foolish notion.

It was an emotion people used to cover up interactions that wanted an excuse to be favored. We are in love, so we want you to be happy for us. He had called what he had with Sophia love so she might have wanted it, too. But he had genuinely felt it.

With Lady Felicity…

He bit back a humorless scoff. Convenience and nothing else. That was all there was to it, and he was quite fine with that.

Even then, when the old church’s door opened, his stomach tightened, and he fought not to look back. Yet he did—Spencer could not help himself.

In his mind, the faces of two women overlapped. Lady Felicity was admittedly beautiful in a quieter way than Sophia had been, and Spencer hated himself for making any sort of comparison, but he could not stop.

Green eyes met his, Lady Felicity looking so uncertain, so hesitant. Spencer blinked, and swore he saw the softest of brown eyes gazing back at him.

Back then, on their wedding day, Sophia’s face had been filled with love. She had been loudly beautiful, her features striking and demanding of attention even if she did not try to attract it, but oh, she had.

How long did it take her to stop feeling that love we’d had? Had she ever lo—

Spencer forcefully wrenched his mind away from those thoughts and refocused on Lady Felicity. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a delicate style, allowing a lot of the curled length to flutter down her back.

Several strands framed her face, and Spencer admitted it was prettily done, but there was a voice in his head that rang with too much similarity.

She walked toward him, and he could see how deeply she inhaled. Was she nervous, as Spencer had been during his first wedding?

He’d given her four days to prepare for a new life. Heavens, four days, all for a selfish advantage, and also because Spencer hadn’t trusted himself not to retract his offer of marriage and pull away from the idea altogether, losing his nerve.

It was hardly enough time, especially given their first meeting in the Grand South Walk. He had been so rude to her. It was bad enough he’d been rude to any lady, impulsive and brash, but for that stranger to turn out to be Lady Felicity…

A cruel twist of fate, surely.

A chance to ask forgiveness that he still wasn’t convinced he had asked for well enough.

By the time Lady Felicity reached him at the end of the aisle, Spencer hadn’t figured out how to put his worries behind him or quell his racing thoughts. He mustered a smile as he reached to take her hand, but she awkwardly let her hands rest on her bouquet instead.

Right, Spencer reminded himself. This is not that sort of wedding.

Even if the church, and the guests, and the whole arrangement of it was all too similar.

Once, he had stood there and sworn his life to a woman he had thought would be his eternity, but he had grieved that woman for seven years, for she had not been present even during their marriage, even prior to her death. Did Lady Felicity believe the rumors that he had something to do with it?

Their vows were quickly made, and Spencer could not help but notice more differences.

His voice had jumped during his first wedding, through declarations full of nerves yet confident in emotion, knowing he would uphold his part of the bargain. Sophia had as well, back then.

His vows had been lengthy, and he’d incorporated her favorite poem—Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight?—and he recalled how their guests had sighed in adoration at their show of promise to one another.

There was no sighing now.

There was nothing but an audience that watched raptly, wondering what would become of such a hasty match.

Spencer himself wondered as well as he endured, with a rigid spine, the rest of the ceremony, and before he knew it he was wed.

Although he hadn’t wanted to have a celebration after the ceremony, Lord and Lady Merriweather had insisted on throwing a wedding breakfast at their townhouse.

He had thought it was for show—a grand, public display of aligning with the Duke of Langdon—but upon arriving with Felicity, he was proven both right and wrong.

He realized it was much more than that. Once their guests had filed into the dining hall where tables had been lain for a feast, they were approached by Lady Daphne Merriweather.

“Felicity!” she squealed, embracing her sister so tightly and familiarly that Spencer stepped aside uncomfortable.

He looked anywhere but at the sisters, a pang going through him.

Instead, he looked toward Rupert who stood with his own siblings.

The three women watched in envy, their smiles immediately appearing when Spencer nodded in their direction.

“You look beautiful,” Lady Daphne praised, although they would have left Merriweather House together that morning.

Spencer realized the compliment was to appeal to him for the choice of dress as Lady Daphne said, “your husband chose well for you.” Spencer cleared his throat, wondering how fast he could eat, show face through a dance or two, and then leave.

“Thank you,” his new duchess said, her voice pleasant but not injected with anything that particularly showed her gratitude.

The words were merely words, no emotion behind them, and that knot of discomfort further tightened in his stomach.

“The dress has made me feel pretty enough.” She half turned to him. “Thank you.”

“I cannot claim a woman’s beauty,” Spencer said quickly, still avoiding true eye contact. Felicity looked away too, while Daphne simply regarded the two of them with an amused smile on her lips.

“It a dress, nothing more. I could not have you wed in just any ballgown.”

At the responding silence, he finally looked back at the two sisters. Felicity looked surprised, while Lady Daphne’s amusement had only grown.

“I see you care for my sister already, Your Grace,” Lady Daphne giggled.

Spencer went to shake his head profusely, only to stop himself. It would be rude to outright deny such a thing, but he could hardly admit to something untrue. Instead, he straightened, and made to leave.

“I must greet my friend.” He paused before leaving.

Spencer walked away to properly greet Rupert. His friend pulled him aside, away from his eavesdropping sisters.

“Well, you do not look like a man on the cusp of a content marriage,” Rupert pointed out.

Spencer merely stared out at the gathering of guests. “You of all people know I am not.”

“I merely tease.” Rupert dismissed him, and Spencer tried to clear his head of the intrusive thoughts, but his eyes strayed to Felicity as she was led deeper into the fray of guests by her sister.

If anybody had thoughts on the immediate distance the couple put between them they did not comment on it.

He watched as his new wife sat among her sister, mother, and some friends. Lady Merriweather caught his eye, trying to beckon him over politely. Spencer gestured at his friend, feigning an apologetic wince.

Lady Merriweather’s small frown unsettled him, but it was quickly wiped away by the time she turned back to her daughter.

Their chatter wasn’t audible from where he sat, although he could see their excitement well enough.

Lady Daphne’s hand flitted over Felicity’s hair, her dress, her face, as if she was complimenting every element.

Even Lady Merriweather cupped Felicity’s face, her expression soft and proud. Her mouth moved with more words Spencer couldn’t hear—and likely didn’t want to.