Page 12 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

The carriage rolled away from London’s city streets, past the grand townhouses, and toward the countryside in the distance.

Felicity had barely spoken to the duke all day—a fact that hurt her more than she cared to think about—and she glanced over at him in confusion.

“My mama told me that you live in Marlen Row,” she said.

The duke’s eyes flicked to hers with cool neutrality. “Yes.”

“Well, we have just passed it.”

“I know,” he answered, eyes narrowing. “It is customary for a man to take his wife to his countryside estate for their honeymoon to ensure privacy away from the ton for a while, to become more acquainted.”

That silenced Felicity for a moment. “Oh,” she finally said. “And we… we are to have a proper honeymoon?”

Those eyes didn’t look away from her, and she found her stomach curling with nerves and an unsettling intrigue. “No.”

“Right,” she whispered. “That is very well, then. I suppose it makes sense. Has Alexander already been taken to the country estate?”

“Yes.”

She waited for him to ask her something in return, or to at least elaborate on where they were going, but he remained silent and simply looked away from her.

Felicity slumped back against the carriage bench.

Over the day, her gown had grown stifling, and her mind had wandered painfully every time she had looked up at her new husband.

He looked at her with so much resentment she could not stand holding his gaze for very long.

But… perhaps beneath the resentment was pain of his own, masked impeccably, but noticeable at times. She made no comment on it. It was not her place. Only… the pain kept her considerate of him. Felicity was miserable, but perhaps he was, too.

Perhaps he disliked this arrangement as much as she did. She understood why he had needed to arrange it, but why her?

Why had she needed to be the one to give up her prospects of genuine love? Admittedly dwindling but given up none the less.

“What is your countryside residence called?” Her next attempt was met with silence for long, tedious seconds. It was so suffocating that she regretted even trying to strike up conversation.

After another moment, the duke answered, “Bluebell Manor.” Felicity couldn’t help but look at him, hoping and waiting for more.

He stared back at her before looking away once again, making everything awkward.

To her surprise, he did elaborate. “My mother moved into it when it was simply Langdon Manor, but she planted so many bluebells—to the dismay of my father, who told her she ought to do more duchess-like things rather than gardening—that they grew everywhere. We ended up calling it Bluebell Manor out of habit. My father had it legally changed for her upon one of their anniversaries.”

It was an unexpected insight to his family history.

Felicity murmured, “it sounds like he cared for her.”

The silence remained that time. Her new husband didn’t correct or deny her observation.

The ride to Bluebell Manor wasn’t as long as she thought, with Langdon not being very far from London’s outskirts at all. Felicity couldn’t help but sneak glances at the duke, her worry carving a hole in her that she didn’t think would be patched up with her own assurances.

Who was this man?

Who was the Duke of Langdon, or the man beyond the title?

He was ever so cold, and she decided early on in their journey to give up trying to get him to talk. He had offered one piece of information, and she had noticed how it hadn’t involved himself.

He told her nothing of his son, of himself, and though she knew arranged marriages were, of course, between strangers, she felt so much distance between them.

He is not even trying to get to know me, she thought. Perhaps that was his plan. To maintain his distance, reducing her to nothing more than a mother figure, a more present governess, even. Felicity knew she shouldn’t be offended, but she couldn’t help it.

Her heart ached more and more with each moment. She craved love that guided her to marriage, not this. Fixing her gaze on the passing countryside outside, she watched the sky begin to darken, and she wondered what awaited her in Bluebell Manor.

Everybody in the ton knew that the late Duchess of Langdon had mysteriously died, and although Daphne hadn’t had faith in the rumors that the duke was responsible, as some whispered he was, her nerves still grew.

There had once been a morbid story she’d found in London’s library of a man who took many wives because they kept dying. It turned out that he had been the culprit, and Felicity tried to force that tale from her mind.

But…

Lady Sophia had died in the middle of the night, and nobody had ever confirmed why or how.

Her eyes turned to the distance, trying to find Bluebell Manor as soon as she could. Was it her new home, or would it be her resting place? Felicity shut down the dramatic thought quickly.

No—no, she did not know the duke at all; would not know the first gift to buy him, or the first sentiment he might appreciate, but she didn’t think he was a killer.

There was a very subdued tenderness with how he spoke about his son that made her think he wouldn’t deprive the boy of his true mother. And surely he would not have murdered his former wife, only to find a new mother figure for Alexander once again.

No, she didn’t think he was a killer.

Even still, the fact that he had never addressed any of those rumors wasn’t comforting. He had done nothing to confirm nor deny the allegations.

He spoke coldly in general, but not when it came to his son.

“Regarding Alexander,” she began again, knowing it was futile to get him to speak at length, but she could handle short responses. “When am I to meet him, and how do you wish me to present myself?”

“I will handle the introductions,” he told her. “He is a fussy child when it comes to food, so if you do not mind, I have already requested he does not join us for dinner. You will meet him upon our arrival.”

Us, she thought. She didn’t know why but the fact that they would dine together pleased her. She was not going to be completely shut out, at least.

The thought of sitting through a dinner that would no doubt be very stilted wasn’t her idea of an enjoyable evening the day of her wedding. Still, it was something.

Her mother had told her to be patient, to give her marriage a chance, so she would.

At the very least she would try.

The somewhat closeness they had discovered in the drawing room before finalizing the agreement to marry one another was gone, and she felt worlds away.

“That is fine,” she said quietly. “And my… my restrictions. What are they?”

That got him looking at her in horror. It was the first emotion he had shown her all day. “Restrictions?”

“What I am to do and not do,” she clarified.

The duke’s mouth twisted. “I will not restrict you. The manor is yours to explore. The gardens are yours to explore.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I am not here to control you.”

“No, you are here to have a mother for your son.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Yes,” he conceded, but there was a pause to how he admitted it.

The duke’s eyes met hers for a brief moment.

She recalled how he had looked that day in Vauxhall Gardens, serious and annoyed, and how, now, although he remained serious he looked more offended.

“All that I might actually ask is that you refrain from delving into my business or pressing me about my past.”

That got her interest, and she went to ask about the stipulation, but the duke had already turned his head away in a clear dismissal. Felicity bit her lip. Her heart fell in her chest. Was this how it was always to be?

A small conversation, a spark of hope that they might discover common ground, only to be fiercely shut out if she brought up the wrong thing?

Felicity’s eyes searched through the darker evening. At least when they arrived at Bluebell Manor she could control the space she put between them rather than feel forced back by him.

They traversed one country lane after another, before the carriage finally turned onto one that led upwards slightly, toward a sprawling manor.

Heavens, Felicity thought, her eyes widening when she saw the size of the estate unfolding before her.

Beautiful iron gates fenced in a courtyard.

Beyond that, a gorgeous, old manor house lorded over the empty countryside.

Langdon village would be somewhere around, but everywhere looked so quiet, so serene.

She was so far from the bustle of London’s city—so far from her sister. From balls and pressure and eyes. There were no judgmental gazes for miles.

The magnitude of it stole her breath away so severely that Felicity still hadn’t found her voice by the time the carriage pulled up outside. A line of staff waited to greet her, and her stomach fluttered with nerves.

She should have been better prepared, but she had never felt so out of her depth.

Who was she to be a duchess?

How had the duke even decided she would be a good one?

Her hands shook. If she’d had the courage to stand up to her mother, if she had begged for as long as she could, to have rejected the duke’s proposal, then she would not have had to deal with any of this. She should have, and her ache for wishing she had done different stabbed her through.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman opened her door. The duke was there in a moment, his hand outstretched for her, even if his focus remained pointedly elsewhere.

She was resigned to her fate, and she had accepted, so she knew she needed to see it through. She had to be braver than she felt.

Feigning confidence, she slipped her hand into her husband’s and let him guide her out. Her nerves fluttered at the thought of meeting Alexander so soon, but she kept her smile faint until she was guided up to the first staff member.

She nodded her head in greeting, as the duke did, and finally, they made it down the line to the housekeeper and butler.