Page 26 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart
“There has to be something more than this,” Spencer muttered to himself, reading the report Rupert had sent. He had already read it five times, as if expecting something more to reveal itself. “Radcliffe cannot be this clean, not with the way he cornered Felicity.”
He took out a piece of paper, intending to write back to Rupert to keep digging, that the man could not get away with anything, not when it involved his wife or his wife’s family.
However, the door to his study burst open, and Spencer was ready to shout at whoever it was to leave, but all his irritation faded away at the sound of a boyish giggle.
Alexander hurried up to his desk, Felicity in tow. Her face was flushed, a laugh lingering at the corners of her mouth, and Spencer braced himself for a terrible report. That he had snuck away from something, that Felicity had been forced to chase Alexander through the house.
But she, too, came up by the desk, and the two parted around each side of it, coming to flank Spencer.
He looked between them suspiciously. “What is going on?”
“Come on, come on!” Alexander urged, tugging on Spencer’s cuff. Not expecting the touch, Spencer jerked from his son’s grip and knocked his hand into an inkwell. He froze, as did Alexander, but the small boy hadn’t realized what he’d done. “Papa, come on!”
Spencer felt a hand on his shoulder, a delicate hand, and instead of jerking away from that too, he relaxed into the touch. It reminded him that he had promised to try to be a father before being a duke. To put love and affection before duty.
“The ink will be cleaned,” she whispered. “But your son has a surprise for you.” Her voice got louder. “Alexander, do tell your father today’s plans!”
“My plans involve letters and work,” he grumbled, hurrying to cover up the report he’d been reading that bore Radcliffe’s name.
“Tonight, perhaps,” Felicity allowed. “But for now we are—”
“Going on a picnic!” Alexander cried. “So you must hurry! The jam and the cream will go cold. Come on, Papa!”
Several days ago, he had indeed discussed a picnic with Felicity, but when nothing got mentioned, he had thought the concept forgotten.
Yet now he looked into bright eyes that lit up with joy.
Another tug on his sleeve finally got him to stand, to leave his desk, and to follow his son out of the study.
With a glance behind at Felicity, he got an approving smile.
Alexander bolted from Bluebell Manor at full speed, trusting Spencer and Felicity to follow him, and Spencer actually found himself jogging behind his son. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to laugh, to run, to truly feel free and let go. So he did.
He sped up until he was unintentionally racing Alexander. Together, they cut through the mowed grass, Spencer’s boots helping him fly easily over the terrain, while Alexander furrowed his face and pumped his arms to keep up.
Felicity’s laughter followed them, and Spencer threw a look back at her, only to be tripped by how the sun caught her hair, turning it burnt orange. Her bonnet ribbons snapped in the breeze as she hurried over to where he had fallen.
“I am fine,” he said quickly before she could ask. Heavens, his face burned. “I am most well. There—there was a stone in my path. I was not looking.”
“No, you were admiring Miss Felicity! I saw you turn to her!” Alexander’s cheerful matter-of-fact tone only made Spencer wish for the ground to open beneath him, but he laughed it off and met Felicity’s gaze. It was not quite shy, but he felt embarrassed for being observed so keenly.
“Well,” Felicity said, “perhaps next time you will see how distracted I get when I spy you working at the dinner table. Your focused face is rather handsome.” And before Spencer could truly process her words or respond, she took off running.
“Come on, Alexander! Let us find the best spot for a picnic.”
Further behind, the maids carried the basket, but he didn’t want to trouble them all the way into the woods. Delaying his return to his family, Spencer jogged over to the maids to take the blanket and basket, nodding his thanks.
The brief break gave him a chance to recompose himself, trying not to think too hard about the fact that Felicity looked at him secretly as much as he looked at her.
He realized how he had thought of his son and Felicity as his family. The word had jolted through him in his study when Alexander had come to speak with him. He had cringed away from the word; certain it was not meant for men like him.
But Sophia was a ghost in his past, and she had fallen out of love with him long before that fateful night, and Alexander deserved the blaze of fireworks that Felicity was turning out to be. He deserved a mother and father who would dote on him.
He deserved a mother who did not sneak out to spend her hours meeting men, as Sophia had done, leaving Alexander crying and waiting for her to come home the following morning. Often, she had not.
Spencer’s darker thoughts cleared by the time he made it to the clearing where Felicity and Alexander were. Immediately, Felicity looked at the basket and moved to take it.
“Here,” she said, “how about I set everything up while you spend a moment alone with Alexander? He was telling me how good he is at spotting wildflowers and knowing their properties. Apparently it is the one thing he has been teaching Mr. Hemming, rather than the other way around.”
There was a mischievous look in her eyes at the easy way she had orchestrated for him and Alexander to bond. Spencer looked at Alexander, who gazed back at him hopefully.
It was a hesitant sort of hope. The hope of a boy who had grown used to be turned down with everything he suggested he and Spencer do together.
So he nodded now. “All right,” he said, and then, after a moment, he murmured, “thank you.”
Spencer held his breath as he let his hand brush hers for a moment longer than necessary when he handed over the basket and blanket.
In turn, he let his fingertips ghost over her waist as he passed.
He didn’t know what possessed him to initiate the contact, but he felt a pull toward her. He found he didn’t want to ignore it.
Felicity’s soft intake of breath had him stifling his smile as he walked over to Alexander.
“Well, then, what is this I hear about wildflowers and your proficiency for knowing about them?”
“I bet I can guess more wildflowers than you!” Alexander declared. “I already found a small bunch of them. Come on, let me show you!”
Amused, Spencer followed Alexander and watched as he dove toward the underbrush of another clearing nearby.
It wasn’t too far that he couldn’t see Felicity, but it still afforded them a moment of privacy. Alexander held a bunch of flowers in his fist, displaying them proudly.
“This one here is called a Ragged Robin,” he told Spencer, pointing at the pink, star-shaped wildflower.
“Butterflies are often attracted to this one. Oh! And then this is my favorite one, so I am glad I have found it now.” He reached down to pick up a green-colored one.
“This is a Green Gla-d-jolis.” Alexander frowned at himself, shaking his head, annoyed. “I cannot say it properly.”
“Gladiolus,” Spencer said, gently correcting his pronunciation. Alexander’s head hung as if waiting to be told off for the incorrect way, but Spencer clapped his shoulder and assured him, “I think you did a wonderful job. It is a big word.”
Alexander’s smile was enough to make Spencer ache. The Green Gladiolus reminded him of the exact shade of a certain lady’s eyes, so he reached out to take a bunch of them for himself, letting Alexander keep his own.
In turn, Spencer turned around to find another type of wildflower. Bluebells hung off their stalks, pretty and drooping, and he nodded at Alexander.
“Do you know anything about these?”
Alexander thought long and hard, looking at the flowers. “Yes! They are what Grandfather named our home after. But my mama did not like them.”
Spencer paused. “She did not?”
“No,” Alexander told him. “I found a letter of hers that she wrote once. It was tucked away in the music room, so…” He stilled, looking sheepish. “I did snoop a little bit. But she was telling her friend how she did not like all the bluebells everywhere. I think they are pretty, though.”
“I did not know that,” Spencer muttered. Somehow, it felt important to know that his late wife had hated the very thing that his countryside residence was known for, had hated a piece of his parents’ love that Spencer treasured. “And Felicity… do you know her opinion of them?”
“She loves them,” Alexander chattered on, stooping to grab more fistfuls of flowers. Spencer had half an idea what his son was doing, and smiled. “She tells me how pretty they are.”
He liked how that felt—the rush of warmth at the contrast between Sophia hating the flowers, and Felicity loving them. It really shouldn’t matter who did and who didn’t, for they were just flowers, but it felt significant.
“You should bring her back some bluebells,” Alexander told him. “She will like it, I think.”
“Oh, she will, will she?” Spencer looked sideways at his son who took very little notice of him even as he continued to chatter away.
His hands were muddy with soil, but Spencer couldn’t find it in himself to care at all.
Mud was mud; it would wash off. He didn’t need to scold his son for getting dirty.
“She will. I am ever so hungry, Papa.”
“Then let us go back and see what sandwiches have been prepared for us.”
Together, they traipsed back to the clearing where Felicity had laid out the contents of the picnic basket in a triangular formation.
Three plastic goblets waited for their drinks to be poured, and plates were set out. She had placed wrapped parcels around the blanket, while a bowl of fruit was covered with a cloth next to a raspberry cake.