Page 17 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

The remainder of their first week as a married couple passed in the same way it had at the start.

Breakfast was silent as they both chased the grogginess of sleep away, and dinners were full of Felicity attempting to make conversation, while Spencer often gave her stilted answers.

He did not know, really, why she kept on trying. Her expression was ever so amused when she tried that he began to realize that it was because she knew it riled him up.

Every moment around her was an effort in not lashing out with harsher words than she would be prepared for.

The time he had caught her wrist in the hallway had not been the only time he had done such a thing, and Spencer found himself doing it whenever his wife drew near in teasing.

Every time, he felt how her heartbeat fluttered, racing beneath his fingers.

One morning at breakfast, he had poured her a cup of tea, a peace offering, after confronting her regarding Alexander, and he had moved so close that when she had turned her face to him, her breath had fanned over his neck.

He had suppressed a shiver before returning to his own side of the table, avoiding her gaze.

But the week passed, and they had both survived one another. According to Mrs. Avery, even Alexander was warming to her.

Felicity had compromised with him: she would not pull Alexander from his lessons, but she wished to take him on walks afterwards to see how his progress was coming along.

“I ask him about his progress,” Spencer insisted, indicating it was his role, one night over dinner.

“I understand, but I do not just speak about his lessons with him,” Felicity pushed.

“I speak about other things. I find out his favorite tree, his favorite color, I ask him if he would like to learn them in French, or another language. There is a difference between engaging with your son and simply having him report something.”

“And you know best?” His challenge had been a sniping comment, only come from his own defensiveness and hostility at knowing Felicity had been at Bluebell for one week and already made more progress with his son than he felt he had in seven years.

“No!” Felicity had insisted. “No, but I know how to treat a child patiently.”

That had silenced Spencer enough that he had left the dining hall. Afterwards, he had looked at the painting he’d had commissioned of his late wife and son upon Alexander’s first birthday.

How had he never noticed just how dull his wife’s eyes had looked? How had he never noticed her smile fading? What had caused it?

Spencer had been a devoted husband, only a changed, jaded man since her death and betrayal before that, but it had been clear something had already pulled the life from Sophia.

Now, he focused on his new wife as they rode toward another country estate.

“Most of the ton will be there,” she said in the carriage ride through the country lanes.

She leaned toward the window, as always, and Spencer was still trying to work out of it was to be as far away from him as possible, or a yearning to flee the carriage in favor of running through the fields.

“And it is our first public appearance since being wed. We must make a good impression.”

“I believe you already are,” Spencer told her, surprising himself with his compliment.

Felicity’s head whipped around, her eyes widening to find his attention on her dress.

Neither of them had expected his comment, so he cleared his throat, attempting to backtrack.

“I—I only mean that you are the new Duchess of Langdon. Your name has already swept through the ton in that regard, and people think highly of you. Your impression is already good.”

Felicity didn’t look away from him, and Spencer couldn’t help gazing right back at her. He felt the urge to shift, to fidget, but fought it down.

He had to remain composed, collected, controlled. But she… she was disarming him. With those intelligent, green eyes, and the way she could outsmart him in a moment, her wit quick with responses.

He felt as though being around Felicity was like standing on a glass floor—he thought he was safe, thinking he could see through into predictable footing, only to realize the cracks were already splintering the glass.

Finally, their gazes broke, and Spencer turned away from her.

He told himself that he didn’t need to notice her beautiful gown, or how charming she looked in a dress of the deepest, royal blue color that matched his waistcoat.

Their tailoring had been executed specifically to show their union, and even though Spencer knew it was only a marriage of convenience he still liked it. There was something strangely… companionable about it.

They rode on to the Marquess and Marchioness of Barrendon’s estate, the journey feeling endless in the silence that lingered. When they arrived, they immediately joined the greeting line, making their way up to their hosts.

The couple was older, with all of their children grown and married off, so they tended to remain in their country estate for most of the Season.

Felicity had informed him of all these things, of course, and Spencer had listened adequately, committing each thing she told him to memory.

As they entered, she pointed out different gentry to him.

“That is Lady Withersham,” she said. “She became widowed last year, and word has it she already went back on the hunt for a new husband barely two months into her mourning period. How scandalous. Oh, and that is Lord Bracken who is known to be a most terrible rake, but I heard from one of Daphne’s friends that he is actually quite a sweetheart once alone. ”

Spencer nodded, but all the names slid from memory the more she added to her list. Although she pointed out other people to him, he kept his eyes on her, fascinated.

He had not realized just how many people his wife knew.

Of course she was well-educated and well-liked by everyone; she had been top of Rupert’s list for him, after all.

But seeing it in action had him clamming up, feeling impressed without knowing how to vocalize it.

In the end, he settled on, “I did not know your social life was so limitless.”

Felicity laughed softly. “Oh, my sister and I were terrible, nosy ladies. My mother inspired us to watch other ladies, to learn their ways and lives in order to best present ourselves to the most likely match.”

She spoke so casually as she continued looking around the entrance hall where other guests milled around. They moved closer to their hosts, and Spencer wondered just what else the night would bring.

The Marquess of Barrendon greeted him with a firm handshake, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace,” he said cheerfully. “How lovely of you to make the journey out here. And Duchess, it is good to see you again. Married life in Bluebell Manor seems to be suiting you.”

Spencer felt a prickle of insecurity. Widows and widowers often remarried, and far sooner than he had, but there was a strike of guilt through him at the thought of replacing his late wife.

But he had a duty to fulfill, and introductions to continue, so he smiled, gesturing to his wife. “Indeed. We are very happy, Lord Barrendon, thank you.”

He glanced at Felicity, finding her own mask in place, fixed over any emotion she truly felt at his claim. Spencer’s guilt deepened.

“Well, do enjoy yourselves. I am certain there will be many people attempting to pull you into conversations today. Do stay alert.” Lord Barrendon gave Felicity a quick wink, and Spencer’s stomach tightened, as did his hold on her arm. He released it as soon as he realized how tightly he held on.

“Thank you,” he said again quickly. “Enjoy your ball, Lord Barrendon, Lady Barrendon.”

He bowed quickly before leading his wife into the ballroom. Heavens, after a week of relative peace—aside from Felicity’s incessant teasing—he had almost forgotten how positively big groups of the ton could be.

He stared down at the ballroom, finding a sea of faces already turning toward them. Gentlemen looked up first, leaning toward one another to nod at the new duchess. And Spencer was once again reminded of her popularity prior to their marriage.

But just how popular had she been?

Next to him, Felicity showed no effect from the attention. Save for a muscle in her cheek fluttering.

It was the only tell he had come to notice throughout their first week together. Why he even took it upon himself to think about worrying about noticing such things he did not know. Or, rather, he did not want to look at too closely.

“Do you miss it?” he asked, keeping his focus on the ballroom, the people who found a reason to float past them, bowing their heads in respect. “All of this. The balls, the suitors, the fuss of it all.”

Felicity didn’t answer him for a minute but then replied.

“I am uncertain. Yes and no, I suppose. Do I miss the… the predictability of it? Perhaps. The knowing of my place, as much as that hurt at times. But do I miss the way the disappointment of yet another failed Season crushed me? No, I do not miss that.” After a moment, she pulled her gaze back to him, and she sounded almost breathless.

“It is nice to be so settled, even if we are not…”

Spencer’s breath caught at the way she trailed off, and he realized how much he waited for her to continue with what she was going to say. But she did not continue, and moments later they were interrupted by a gentleman who met Spencer’s wife with a grin.

“Lord Graham,” Felicity greeted, much to Spencer’s surprise.

He realized the magnitude of what the night would actually bring—the fact that he really would face how popular his wife had been prior to their marriage. So why had she not married any of them? He kept his questions to himself.