Page 23 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“My wife has not emerged from her chambers again,” Spencer sighed to his steward, Thomas Bennington. “It has been three days now.”

“She has not,” Thomas confirmed. “Lottie has been serving her breakfast on the music room terrace.”

“And dinner?”

“Last night she dined with Alexander before you returned home.” Thomas didn’t blanch at reporting something that displeased Spencer, even if he narrowed his gaze.

The steward clinically spoke as if he read the morning paper. That was how Spencer preferred it. He did not need the staff involving themselves in his emotional business.

“I see,” Spencer answered. “Well, try again later tonight. I will have her dine with me or not at all, if that is how she wishes to conduct herself.”

It was quite a cruel ultimatum, but he would not have her sulking in her room while he dined alone when they were supposed to be supporting one another.

Deep down, Spencer knew he only wanted to see her. He wanted her quick wit and her teasing, the gentleness of her voice when she knew she was right but wasn’t sure if she could confront him about it, only to turn sharper when they butted heads on too many opinions.

“Wait,” he told Thomas who was almost out of the breakfast hall. “Do not tell her that. In fact, I will ask her myself.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” His steward nodded once before leaving Spencer to finish his food alone.

He couldn’t help but look around the empty table.

A seat for his son, a seat for his late wife, and then Felicity who had ever so briefly occupied it.

Letting his cutlery clatter to the table’s surface, Spencer thought back to three days prior when he had argued with his wife.

“He said that dinnertime—"

Spencer had cut off whatever Felicity had been about to tell her, something Alexander had said. Now, he wished he knew what it was.

He wished he had been more patient and less reactive, but after seeing Lady Helena, and then seeing Alexander gravitate toward Felicity over a matter of weeks, whereas Spencer had been trying for years and gotten nowhere… it had all been too much.

It bothered him to see her and his son get on well.

After all, he had married her to provide such a thing.

So why had it struck him so deep in the chest to see it working well?

Jealousy, perhaps? A lack of significance that came with realizing he wasn’t good enough as Alexander’s true parent?

That Felicity extended far more patience to his child than he ever had the capacity for?

He wanted Alexander to have fun—as long as it did not hurt anybody, and proved to be good-natured. Yet a part of him whispered through his heart that he wished the fun could be with himself.

That Alexander could find a reason to trust him. Or that Spencer could be less reactive with his son and his wife.

Sighing, he pushed back from the table. It was too early to drink any of the wine left out in the drawing room, so he walked out into the grounds. The fresh air cleared his heavy thoughts for a moment.

He looked out over the rolling fields of his estate. He turned to find the window of Bluebell Manor that would be Felicity’s bedchamber.

There was no figure through the glass, nothing to suggest she watched him as he watched her. Putting his back to the house, Spencer walked toward Merriweather Woods. He had not been teasing her about renaming it; the tradition was a sentimental offering, and he wondered what she had thought of it.

Had she known it for its emotional gesture?

Had she even believed him?

Did she know the significance of renaming something on the grounds after a wife?

Spencer himself didn’t want to think too hard on such a significance. A marriage of convenience shouldn’t have involved the emotional element of that tradition.

He ought to have kept its original name. She was a convenient wife; what did it matter if something was named in her honor?

She is still the duchess, he reminded himself, even if she was not particularly acting like one at the moment.

Getting lost in the woods was one of his favorite things as a boy, so why did he scold Alexander for doing it? He had grown up and realized the potential dangers, yes, but he only ever shouted at Alexander. Did he ever truly tell him why things were wrong?

Once again, he thought of Felicity’s patience with his son.

He thought of how he lashed out at her for her easy possession of the things he didn’t have in his parenting skillset.

Guilt forced him back toward the house, forced his eyes to the windows as if he could see Sophia looking down upon him from an upstairs chamber, laughing at him. She had been his ruination, and he could not expect Felicity to pick up the pieces.

He was a combination of guilt and grief and anger and duty—always duty.

Where was the love he had once clung onto? The goodness that had resided in his heart?

His thoughts tumbled and tumbled. He was so used to shoving aside anything inconvenient or emotional that took too much time away from whatever he found himself at given moment.

Before he knew it, he was at Felicity’s closed chamber door, his hand raised to knock.

He forced himself to knock, to not be a coward.

Giving a sharp rap on the door, he waited. Felicity did not answer him, and Spencer didn’t try again.

***

The candle on Spencer’s desk in his study flickered, casting light over the document he was poring over.

He was approving the request a tenant had made, asking for more land, and he wanted to make sure the terms were correct for everyone involved.

His eyes strained. Words swam a little, and he knew he had to take a break, but he forced himself to keep on working. If he could not make his marriage work, or be the father his son needed, then he had to at least be a good duke.

But he couldn’t help leaning back into his chair just for a moment, just to settle his focus somewhere else that wasn’t the report. As he did, his eyes closed, only to snap back open at the sound of a quiet knock on the door. He arched a brow, looking toward it.

“Yes?”

Was it Felicity, come to speak with him regarding their now-four days of silence?

But when the door opened, it was a sight he hadn’t expected to see, for his son stood in the doorway, his eyes wide and curious if not a little hesitant.

“Papa, may I come in?”

Spencer straightened up and nodded. “What brings you to my study, Alexander?”

Alexander hesitated again, and Spencer feared he had sounded too strict, too challenging, as if his son interpretated it as why are you bothering me, Alexander?

Still, he walked in and closed the door behind him.

Scrambling to sit on the chair opposite the desk, Spencer watched him, wondering what was going on.

Alexander never came to his study, barely ever approached him directly.

“I hope it is all right I visit you in here.” Alexander looked around, interested, and kicked his feet back and forth. “It has suddenly gone very quiet in the house, and I do not like it. I would try to make more noise to help the silence, but that makes you cross.”

“Only when I am trying to work, or if your noise comes with a prank or to shout at your tutor,” Spencer told him, trying hard to keep his voice neutral.

He didn’t know how to be soft-spoken with his son, but he could attempt not to sound stern. Soon, those innocent brown eyes landed on his own. Spencer had to look away, for they were so like Sophia’s.

“What is wrong?” he pressed when his son didn’t answer.

“Did I do something bad the other day, Papa?” Alexander asked. “I had to go to my room, and I did not get my sweets.”

How simple a child’s mind worked, but how sad it was that he thought he had been bad by such an indication. That a lack of sweets had weighed on his mind for days, and only now had he brought it up. Spencer’s heart caved a little.

“No,” he told him quickly. “You have not done anything bad, Alexander.”

“Then has Miss Felicity?”

Spencer stilled. “No.”

“So, it is you, then.”

It was not quite an accusation, and he heard the confusion in Alexander’s voice. Spencer sighed and put away his report. “No.” He paused. “Well… sometimes… sometimes, adults can say the wrong things in the wrong moments. Or perhaps the right things in the wrong way. Do you understand?”

Alexander frowned, but nodded. “Is it like when I tell Mr. Hemming that I am right, and he is wrong, but I say it badly?”

Spencer had to wince at that, but he laughed quietly. “I believe you might not be the one in the right in those situations, Alexander.”

“You are never there to know that,” his son mumbled, at once sounding so upset and bitter, yet soft.

It was not said with the usual volume and tantrum that Alexander spoke with.

Instead, his son sounded… defeated. Something pierced through Spencer’s chest, spearing right into his heart, something that tasted like blame.

It was sharp and horrible on his tongue, but he forced himself to swallow it because it was true.

He was never there, not unless it was time to scold Alexander.

“You always think I have done something wrong,” Alexander sniffed. “And I only ever want to show you that I have not. Not always. I can be good, Papa, I promise.”

“Oh, Alexander,” Spencer said quietly. Heavens, he wanted to hug his boy, but there was so much distance, and he didn’t know how to say everything that was welling in his heart.

Words didn’t seem like enough, but he hadn’t been a physically affectionate man in many years, and especially not to Alexander.

“You are very good. And sometimes you are naughty.”

“And sometimes you shout too much. Miss Felicity told me to tell you if I think that, and I do. She said it is fine if you know it.”

“It is,” Spencer agreed tightly, but it hurt to hear it. It hurt to know his son walked around with such thoughts in his head.