Page 19 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“Must you remain so close?” Felicity hissed to the duke several days later when they were seated for a dinner party.

Her husband turned a narrowed gaze on her. “I am your husband, and I am seated next to you. What do you expect me to do?”

Their voices had pitched low, avoiding detection of others. Felicity glowered at him.

“It is not so much what you are doing now,” she stressed, “but the fact that unless required you cannot bear to be around me.”

The duke gave a cursory glance around them. His blue eyes turned colder. He reached for her hand, and she did not take it. Their first course had been cleared away, and there had been a problem in the kitchen, so there was a slight delay in the next course.

“Come with me,” he muttered under his breath.

“Why?” she challenged. “So you may demand more from me now, emboldened by being in public, only to ignore—”

“No,” he hissed. “It is so we may speak more privately. Heavens’ sake, Felicity.”

Her annoyance flared at the ire lacing through his voice, but the way his muscles tightened, the way his eyes raked over her face, insistent and full of demand, only sent a curl of desire through her—something she was not prepared for.

She shoved such a mortifying thing down. She did not desire her husband, nor would she.

Finally, she followed his lead. They left the dining room of their hosts, Lord and Lady Sanford.

The older man had been one of Felicity’s own suitors during her first Season and had now found himself an older lady who had been on the brink of spinsterhood, but the two seemed to be very content with one another.

The duke led her out to a terrace that branched off the main hallway. Crickets and fireflies flew through the dark, fluttering around Felicity’s hair.

Her husband tracked the movement of one of the fireflies, his expression slack and entranced, somewhat. She could not work out why he suddenly looked softer.

He reached forward, but she batted his hand away.

“I am cross with you,” she snapped.

“You had a firefly caught in your hair,” he countered. “So be it, then. Duchess, what is your grievance? We have been dancing around one another for days ever since Lord and Lady Barrendon’s ball. I know I upset you, but I have tried to approach you.”

“That is the thing,” she insisted. “You did not upset me! Not with words, at least. I tried to speak with you regarding my former Seasons, and how suitors made me feel, but you simply walked away. That is what you do! I feel comfortable in some moments to get closer and begin to open up to you, only for you to grow scared about something and then leave me behind. What are you so afraid of, Spencer?”

His Christian name snapped out of her in the heat of the moment, and Felicity gasped, startling. She pressed a gloved hand to her mouth. “I—I am sorry, I should not have overstepped, I—”

“Felicity.” He spoke her name as she had spoken his.

Except where hers had come out, sharp as a whip, his sounded soft, experimental.

His face crumpled for a moment, expression caught between confusion and something softer than she had seen before, as if he quite did not know what way to go. “Felicity…”

“I am sorry,” she said again. “I should not have taken such liberties.”

“I do not mind,” he told her, holding her gaze. Suddenly, she could not remember why she was cross, or why she had wanted to argue in the first place.

Not when he looked at her across the terrace, the light of the house behind him forming a halo of sorts. Her mouth went dry, and all words flew from her mind.

“I—” She struggled to find more words. Heavens, he intimidated her.

With that all-seeing gaze, the composure he often maintained except for the smallest, briefest moments of vulnerability.

He gazed at her openly now, all traces of his former sharpness gone.

She wondered if it had from her own face as well.

“It is just that when we are alone in the manor, I never see you, and that…” That upsets me.

Instead, she opted for a much more neutral, “it confuses me. When we are out at these events, you cannot seem to part me with me. I… I feel like I do not know where I stand with you.”

“I do not part with you for the sake of public appearances,” Spencer said, but the words came too quickly for her to fully believe them. She eyed him suspiciously. “Nothing more. At home, I can simply honor our agreement and give you peace.”

What if I do not want peace?

The question rose in her mind, but she didn’t give voice to it. It would be a dangerous line to tread.

What if I wish for you to begin bothering me more?

“Duchess?” her husband prompted.

“Please just call me Felicity,” she was quick to answer without realizing. He blinked at her, but all she could see was his features, all of them made sharper by the lights beyond, as if this very moment had been orchestrated for him to look this handsome.

Felicity brought herself up short. Handsome?

She shoved the descriptive aside. She did not need such foolish thoughts in her head. But it was another few seconds until she felt able to think of a coherent thought.

“That is very well,” she said slowly, “but you could try to make me feel less of an ornament in your life.”

With that, she turned her back on her husband, finished with their conversation. She was tired of his behavior, and his random bouts of coldness versus the occasional vulnerability and warmth he extended.

He called after her, but Felicity deigned to ignore him, returning to the dinner party.

It had been more than a week since she had seen her sister, no time at all, really, in the grand scheme of things, but it had felt like eternity when paired with what Felicity had felt throughout her time at the manor.

On top of that, the sisters had, of course, lived together, used to the easy, default presence of one another.

Now, as soon as she spotted her sister at the table—a late arrival alongside one of her suitors that Felicity immediately recognized as Lord Graham—Felicity saw how pinched Daphne’s expression was. As soon as she drew near, Felicity approached her.

Daphne’s face lit up, instantly looking beyond Felicity’s shoulder. She frowned but said nothing of the absent duke. Instead, Felicity spoke quickly over any question her sister might ask.

“Daphne!” she greeted. Daphne stood up to fling her arms around Felicity’s neck.

It may have not been the most composed of reunions, right in the middle of the dinner party, but Felicity found herself not caring. Eyes were on them, but Daphne already had her fingers around Felicity’s wrists, tugging her aside, away from the table.

Felicity frowned at her until they were finally out of earshot. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the duke returning, but Daphne commanded her attention with just one declaration.

“Lord Radcliffe seems to have turned his attention to me.”

Felicity froze. “What?”

Daphne’s expression shuttered. “It seems… it seems he grew tired of waiting for you. He is a viscount, well-established but still lower ranked. Connecting himself to our name through you would have risen him quite highly. Word has it that he is furious about your marriage to the duke.”

Felicity frowned, trying to work through the concern. “I… I do not understand. It was not as though I was ever promised to him.”

“That is what Papa has been trying to say. He is attempting to dissuade Lord Radcliffe and hopefully being turned away from us all will help.”

“And your own prospects?” Felicity felt her hope rise for her sister. “How are they?”

Daphne’s blush was pretty as she looked away as if shy.

“They are perfectly wonderful. Lord Graham and I seem to be doing very well. I am to attend a play with him later this week. Mama also introduced me to a duke’s son, Lord Dominic, who is ever so charming.

I fear I cannot choose whom I like more.

” Her girlish giggle both excited Felicity and sent bolts of jealousy through her.

Daphne nudged her. “Oh, Felicity. Do not frown, so! I am perfectly happy, and you are settled. Besides, it was not as though you were short on choices.” She gave her sister a stern, knowing look.

Felicity noticed a streak of movement from the corner of her eye. Her husband had returned to the dining table once more, his eyes immediately seeking her out. She turned away quickly, only to find Daphne’s brow pulled together.

“You are settled, are you not? You are happy with your duke?”

Your duke.

He hardly was Felicity’s duke, at least not behind closed doors. Felicity swallowed and mustered a smile. “Indeed. Yes, of course we are. And you are quite right, I did have many choices, but I am as stubborn as our father when it comes to finding what I want.”

“And have you?” Her sister looked so hopeful it hurt.

The further lie tumbled from Felicity’s lips easily. “Yes.”

I ache for everything my marriage hasn’t given me. I ache for love and romance as I have always done. I ache for the brief moments Spencer looks at me as though I matter, and I hurt for the ones where he never looks at me at all.

“I have found all I wanted,” Felicity reiterated before nodding to the table. “We ought to return, but Daphne—please stay safe and avoid Lord Radcliffe at all costs. Inform one of your other suitors just in case, yes? There is something about him that I do not trust.”

Daphne nodded, and, together, they returned to the dining hall.

Felicity took her seat next to Spencer once more, the two of them sharing an uneasy glance. Around them, the next course was finally being served, but she noticed how he barely ate.

Halfway through, after the most unbearable silence, he leaned close to her. “For what it is worth, Felicity, you are no mere ornament in my life.”

She tried to file such a thing away, tried to find the compliment in it, but only her bitterness rose. “Then why do you treat me as such?”