Page 28 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“What was that report you had when Alexander and I pulled you out for the picnic?” Felicity asked over dinner that same evening.

“Hmm?” Spencer asked, startling at her question. It seemed they had both been getting lost in their own thoughts ever since they had kissed. Felicity still couldn’t stop seeing it in her head, her lips recalling the feeling of his, the way his hand had cupped her cheek firmly.

It had grounded her in a way nothing else ever had.

It had been reminiscent of every romance book she had ever read—every book she had thought she would never find herself in.

Yet… the way Spencer had been with her ever since their make-up on the terrace, he had changed. It was as if that cold silence between them had only brought her closer to him.

“The work you said you were doing,” Felicity said. “Alexander spilled ink on one letter—”

“Heavens, I forgot about that.”

“I asked Mr. Haversham to have a maid clean it up. I hope that is all right. I should have asked who you allow in there.”

“Not many people.” She could hear how begrudging it was, but in the end he said, “Thank you.”

Pleased with herself, she continued her dinner. “So… the report.”

“It was nothing,” he told her, but the answer was too quick, his gaze not meeting hers. “Nothing important for you to worry about. Just… business.”

“I am good with business, and you looked troubled by it. Perhaps I can—”

“I would rather you did not,” he said firmly, but not unkindly. Her husband winced, as if he was aware he sounded short with her, but Felicity was learning to read his tones and not to take offense.

He was not angry, and definitely not with her, but perhaps she had pushed a little too hard when he had refused. So she nodded, conceding.

“I am going into London tomorrow to visit Daphne,” Felicity said after a few beats of silence. “I wanted to invite her here, but it does not seem right to do so without consulting you sooner.”

“It is your home, too.”

The sentiment surprised her, spoken low and simply. His eyes bore into hers, and she found herself lost in them for a brief moment. Blushing, she looked away.

“Once, you may not have been quite so forthcoming.”

“Once,” he agreed with a wry smile. “But since then I have found myself quite enjoying the life that has graced my home. I have been enjoying you, and your sister is part of that for you. I do not want to keep you from seeing her, if you want to show her the manor. Nevertheless, if you are traveling into London I will accompany you, and we can be back by dinnertime. I—I promised Alexander we would all finally dine together. I will sort my business while I am out, so my evening is freed up for our plans.”

Felicity tried not to nod too eagerly, but in truth, she was enjoying this family life they were unexpectedly building.

There was a small whisper of hope in her heart that dared to think this was more than just a convenient marriage.

This could be more… overall. That perhaps her dream of romance was not entirely over.

Meeting Spencer’s gaze, she found none of their earlier stiffness, though she hadn’t quite realized when he’d begun to soften toward her. When he had started looking at her so intensely rather than treating her as if she was simply decoration in his manor… and in his son’s life.

Now she felt truly part of his world.

And that bloomed far more than just warmth in her chest. It bloomed a word she did not think she could yet say, but it was one she had read in enough books to know how it began.

Love.

***

After the short travel back to London, Felicity and Spencer parted ways when he directed their carriage to pull up outside her former home. When he had helped Felicity out, they had lingered before one another for a moment, wondering how to bid farewell even for a few, short hours.

In the end, Felicity had ducked her head in goodbye, giggling. After a moment, Spencer had brushed his hand over the small of her back, leaning in to kiss her temple. Even as she was let into the Merriweather townhouse, she still felt his lips on her skin.

Before she could linger on it for too long, Daphne came hurrying down the hallway to her.

Arms were thrown around Felicity, and Daphne embraced her so tightly it was hard to believe Felicity had gone without her sister’s presence for so long.

“I was wondering when you would visit me!” Daphne cried, laughing happily. “Come, come, I have prepared tea for us in the library. I hope you do not mind. I did not want to put you in the drawing room like a mere visitor.”

“The library has always been perfect,” Felicity promised. She tucked her arm into Daphne’s as she walked back through the hallways of her former home, her childhood home, letting the memories of her debutante days, and every year before that, wash over her.

All the days she had daydreamed of her perfect match, and now…

Well, it was not quite perfect, but it was making her happy.

“I ought to have warned you that Mother and Father are out visiting the Duke and Duchess of Greenville, Lord Dominic’s parents.” Daphne led her into the library, and the familiar comfort of it immediately eased Felicity’s energy over the kiss from the day before at the picnic.

“Heavens, I have missed it here,” she murmured, eyeing the blue walls and towering shelves.

“Yes, but you must love His Grace’s home most,” Daphne gushed. Together, they sat down, and Felicity eagerly took note of the macarons—all pink and red—and the tea that had been prepared for them. “I have heard beautiful things about Bluebell Manor.”

“You know it is called that?”

“Most people do. The late duke and duchess were very in love. The bluebells were quite important to them.”

Felicity thought of Spencer bringing back a bunch of bluebells for her at the picnic, and her face flushed. Daphne caught onto it, of course she did. Nibbling on a macaron, Daphne watched her curiously.

“Heavens, Felicity!” She laughed. “Do I have to ask for every small detail, or will you indulge me with whatever is making you as pink as this dessert?”

Felicity couldn’t help her own laugh. She smoothed out her pale, yellow dress, a gown that had made Spencer pause and smile when he saw her, but he had not complimented her since his one in French.

“I…” Felicity didn’t know where to begin. “Things have been far better than they were when you and I last spoke. There were several days where we argued and then did not speak—”

“At all?” Daphne gasped.

“Not at all, no,” Felicity admitted. “I avoided him, for he is a stubborn, persistent know-it-all who struggles to admit when he is wrong because he has been so indulged in his own independence for so long, surrounded by others who will not correct him.”

“Now, do try insulting your husband without that fond smile on your face,” her sister teased. Felicity only rolled her eyes, but she did feel fonder about Spencer’s moods now. “I can see how you feel about him.”

Felicity didn’t know how to admit to that, nor how to label her feelings yet, but she quietly confessed, “we have kissed.”

“You have?” Daphne cried, clapping her hands together.

“Oh, Felicity, this is wonderful news! See, you kept insisting there would be no love, no romance, that you agreed to your marriage due to advantageous reasons and pleasing our parents, but look at you! You are positively glowing, sister. He is making you happy, I can see it. This life you have… it is making you happier than I think you believe.”

“It was merely a kiss,” she mumbled, taking great note in the raspberry macaron and then slowly chewed it to busy her mouth…

lest she confess anything else. Yet the words came anyway.

“I admit that I wake up each morning looking forward to seeing him over breakfast. And—well, one must admit he is ever so handsome. Intensely so. He looks at me with this… this gaze that makes me feel as though he sees every inch of me. Even the parts I do not want to admit. He does not confess a lot about his own feelings but—”

“But you are in love with one another,” Daphne finished, interrupting. “It is clear as day to see it. I have even heard Lord Wexley speaking about it.”

“Spencer’s friend?”

“Indeed. I am friends with his sisters, and even they have discussed wanting a marriage like yours. Georgina has been teasing her suitors alongside Amelia, tricking them, but after hearing of you and His Grace, they are now changing their minds. Georgina even confessed she wishes to find somebody who looks at her the way Lord Wexley describes Spencer looking at you. Oh, it is ever so romantic! Do tell me you see it, Felicity, this romance that is already building.”

“I…” She trailed off, unable to formulate her thoughts well enough. “There is a lot between us, still. I am still too pushy at times, and he is still stubborn and moody. Not to mention I still do not know the full extent of what happened with his late wife. He does not speak of her.”

“Grief can be a wound that not even time, or a new love, can heal so soon,” Daphne told her gently. “Do not pry, but make sure he knows he has an open space to speak about her.”

“I have done so,” Felicity said quickly. “It is a personal matter, so I will not press harder, but I do wish I knew for certain.”

“Do you feel safe with him?”

Felicity thought about his hand on her back, his fierceness against Lord Radcliffe, the way he had held her when she collided into him that night running from Lord Radcliffe.

She considered how, even when they were on their picnic, he had stomped aside nettles for her to walk through freely, and when she had gone to pick berries, he had redirected her hand to non-poisonous ones.

“Yes,” Felicity admitted. “More than anything.”

“Then you must listen to me. I believe the two of you are rather in love. More than either of you will admit, but that does only make you rather suited to one another, does it not?” Daphne giggled into her teacup as she sipped.