Page 25 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

Felicity had spent the last three days in a terrible mood, one that she wasn’t familiar with feeling. She had never felt so down, or hopeless, and had buried herself in books so much that she had already gone through three of them.

With each one, she cried harder, avoided the husband that shouted at his son, shouted at Felicity for doing what he had brought her into the marriage to do, and she had let her heart break.

“Romance is nothing, anyway,” she whispered to herself now. “Plenty of marriages exist without it.”

And yet…

Yet she had dreamed for so long, and she wasn’t as fine with a lack of romance as much as she had thought she could be.

Something about being in Bluebell Manor had been loosening her up, letting her find comfort in relaxing, in releasing the stiffness of being the perfect ton lady her mother wanted.

But between Lord Radcliffe, the confrontation with Spencer over her previous suitors’ attention, his very veiled accusations about that attention, and the hot-and-cold way he treated her, Felicity had found her feet.

As usual, she opened her bedroom door on the fourth morning to go to the music room’s terrace, but when she was there, she found her usual table already set up and occupied.

Felicity stopped still in the center of the room. The French doors were flung open, allowing open passage onto the terrace.

Spencer had his back to her, and she watched how the morning sun caught the black strands of his hair, turning them an inky blue. Surprise swept through her as she stepped closer to him, her guard up.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, looking at him as she took the seat opposite him. The seat that overlooked Merriweather Woods and the expanse of countryside spreading out for miles.

From up there, she could see the wooden boundaries of Spencer’s land, and she marveled at just how much he owned.

His eyes flicked up to her. There was nothing hard in them as she had expected, nothing angry or annoyed, so she forced her own tone to soften.

“Good morning,” he replied. “You do realize there is a perfectly good breakfast hall downstairs.”

“I do,” she said. “But normally it has you dining in it.”

He showed a brief second of offense at her abruptness before composing himself. “Very well.” He paused, and she thought his agreement would make him leave. She couldn’t decide if she’d prefer that or not. Out here, she spoke with him on her terms, forcing him to finally come to her.

Maybe part of her had just been hoping he would seek her out in this demanding way.

Did it show impatience for her behavior, or a genuine desire to finally break the silence that had blanketed their marriage?

“How have your days been?” he asked her stiffly. Surprising her further, he pulled her teacup toward him and poured her a serving. After a moment, he dropped two sugar cubes into it. His eyes met hers, sending a spark through her that she wasn’t at all ready to feel.

He had remembered the amount she liked.

Ducking his head, he pushed the cup back to her and started on his own.

“Quiet,” she answered. “I have read a lot.”

“Anything interesting?”

“To me, yes. To you, I do highly doubt it.”

Spencer’s mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile, but it wouldn’t quite form. “I see. Do challenge me, then.”

Felicity assessed him as he poured his own tea. He stirred in one sugar cube, before hesitating and then added another. He sipped it, and grimaced.

“Heavens, you like your tea sweet.”

Despite herself, Felicity smiled.

Their favorite color, the book they read when they are at a loss for something to do, their favorite part of their home or their garden. Do they take one cube or sugar in their coffee or two, and, at that, do they prefer the strong tug of coffee in the morning, or the steep comfort of tea?

These are the things that make up a person. She recalled the list of things that she had declared to her mother she wanted to know, and as she looked now, she realized that the two of them had learned more about one another than Felicity realized.

She could not quite push that thought away, or what it had meant then as opposed to what it meant now. A person was more than all of that, she knew. They were their moods, their behaviors, how they dealt with a terrible day, or how they treated others while in a bad mood.

Those were the foundations.

“Do you prefer tea?” she found herself asking.

Spencer looked at her as if he wondered why she asked, but then he nodded. “I admit I only reach for coffee when I have spent too long working into the late, night hours.”

Felicity nodded. “Tea brings me great comfort.”

“It appears that tooth-rotting sugar does, too.”

“Was that a jest?” She laughed quietly.

“Perhaps.” He lifted a brow at her. Felicity, for a moment, could only gaze at her husband in wonder.

He was so handsome—intimidatingly so, yet his foul moods took so much good away.

But a person could not be admired only for their good parts.

Still, the way he lashed out during those moods often lingered longer than the good moments.

“You must forgive my intrusion,” he finally said, reaching for a piece of French brioche and a platter of butter. “I did not know how else to approach you. I knocked on your chamber door yesterday.”

Felicity nodded. She could have lied, claimed she had not heard it, but that would do none of them any good. “I am sorry I did not answer. I… in that moment I was rather overwhelmed and could not face you.”

Spencer buttered the topside of his brioche bun, and Felicity watched in bewilderment.

“Thank you for being honest with me, at least. I do wish I had spoken to you sooner, but perhaps if you were overwhelmed, and I was not in the best of places in my thoughts, we may have clashed again. And—and why are you looking at me as though I have sprouted wings?”

Felicity couldn’t help the giggle slipping past her lips. “It is only that you are the first person I have ever seen to not slice open the bread and butter inside.”

“There is more flavor to be had with this method,” he answered as though he was still confused, but he chuckled as he offered her a bun. “Try it.”

So Felicity did, and as the sweetness of the bun and the creamy butter slipped over her tongue in a combination that seemed to be far more intense than the way she usually did it, she nodded appreciatively. “You are right.”

“I know.” He smirked. “But… the other day I was not. In fact, I want to say very explicitly that you were the one who was right. Alexander came to speak with me, and you are right with him, too. I have not been listening to him when that is all he has craved this whole time. I have been blinded my own strictness. I know he dislikes the memory of his mother, so I have let uncertainty about how to go about speaking about her with him get in the way. I have let my own grief get in the way.”

How deep does your grief go? Felicity wondered. The late duchess was not a topic the duke ever willingly brought up, at least not in the context of her being his wife. It was always about her being Alexander’s mother, as if Spencer had separated the two people in his mind.

“He is happier because of you,” Spencer continued. “I believe the whole manor is.”

Perhaps it was because of all the romance books she had buried herself in, but Felicity dared to ask, “And what of the master of the house? Is he happier because…” Because of me.

Spencer averted his gaze. “I…”

“You are allowed to admit it, you know,” Felicity said. “I will say it first. I am happier for having this as my new life. I had not expected it to make me feel as happy as it has, despite the last few days.”

“Yes, well, perhaps we are both stubborn.”

“Perhaps that makes us perfectly matched.”

The words hung heavier than she realized they would, and she swore Spencer blushed as he looked away, returning his attention to his breakfast. But Felicity was delighted at his opening up. For once, he didn’t ignore her or confront her with harsh words and a harsher glare.

Pushing back from the table, Felicity tugged him to his feet. And then, without letting herself think twice about it, she hugged her husband. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, marveling again at how much taller than her he was.

He froze, and she went to pull back quickly, but before she could, Spencer’s arms slid around her waist. It was a hesitant hug, one that he relaxed into after a moment.

He smelled like candlewick and ink, as if he had been working late in his study. He had told her to leave that room alone during her renovations, but she had snuck a look in there, hoping to surprise him with something he did not already have.

There was a fern plant that rested on the windowsill, and he smelled faintly of that, too. She felt how he slowly eased the tension in his shoulders, as her face turned to press her cheek against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Felicity said quietly. “I know it is not easy to speak with one another like this. And if you ever want to discuss Alexander’s mother, or anything at all, please know I am here to stand at your side in support.

I promised it at the altar, and I will continue to uphold that promise.

All I ask is that you always speak to me. ”

“I cannot promise I am going to always be good at it,” he told her, but she already knew such things could be difficult.

So, she offered him a small smile and asked, “Who is ever good at marriage at first?”

He seemed eased by that. By the time they parted, Felicity felt as though the tension of the last three days had dissipated.

Her husband could have foul tempers, and she could be persistent, but they were on a terrace, sharing breakfast, and she thought it was the closest she had felt to him since meeting him.

“I think we could have some sort of way out of this,” Felicity suggested as they both sat down again.

Wordlessly, Spencer took another Brioche and cut it open, eating it her way.

She fought a smile but said nothing, finding herself eating her own his way.

There was something about it that made her heart flutter.

“I know I can be insistent. You have raised Alexander alone for so many years, and although you asked me to be a mother figure, giving up that independence and control must be difficult.”

“It is not so much about the control, but my—” He broke off, looking outward at the view.

For a moment, his eyes turned vacant, and he sighed.

“I am incredibly jealous that in only a short time you have managed to offer my son what I have never been able to. He enjoys your walks, and you make him laugh, and you show him patience I have often not afforded.”

“There is not a lot to it,” she said gently. “But at the same time, you are the duke, and he is your heir.”

“Yes, but he is my son first and foremost, and it has become clear to me that I have lost sight of that. He came to me last night, in my study, and he told me that he likes you. He said many other things, things that struck a very deep chord in me, but he has gotten through to me. I just need a way to practice being a father more than a duke.”

Felicity reached across the table and placed her hand over Spencer’s. It drew his attention back to her. “Then let me help. What is something you loved to do as a boy?”

“Horse riding,” he said. “But I also loved picnic days. When my father was in a good mood, he would take us all out for a coastal picnic, set up in a beach cove. They were some of my favorite days.”

“Then let us do that!” Felicity urged. “It is the perfect solution. You can share stories with him of your own childhood, doing the same thing, and Alexander can spend time with us both. I will be there if you struggle for conversation. I can encourage him, and support you. If I cross boundaries then… well, this is where we can practice discussing things.”

“Instead of me shouting, you mean.” He looked both embarrassed and bemused.

“Yes,” she told him boldly. “Exactly.”

“Felicity…” He paused. “I do my find myself enjoying the fact that you do not let my bad moments go without being pointed out. Everybody else is so quick to pander to me, to let me think I am always right just because I am a duke. But I am not always right. You, unlike everyone else, are quick to point that out.”

Felicity smirked and sipped her tea. “That is because I know I am right and believe I can get you to see my point of view.”

“Ah, is that right?”

“It is indeed.”

“And yet you have eaten your bread my way.”

His eyes dropped to the piece of bread pinched between her fingers. When they landed back on hers, the icy blue she had come to know melted into something much softer.

She, in turn, softened, and felt how her heart raced. Her mind strayed to those books that had occupied her last three days.

Aware of how hot her face had become, Felicity spluttered. “Yes—yes, well, it is tasty. It has nothing to do with you being right. You are being big-headed again.”

Yet she couldn’t quite tear her eyes off him in stubborn or mock annoyance. Instead, she let herself look shyly at him. She was discovering what made Spencer Dunne much more than just the Duke of Langdon.

And she found she was becoming quite smitten with the discoveries, even if he insisted on being so rigidly proper at other times.

Unmask yourself truly, Felicity thought. Show me fully what lies beneath.