Page 37 of Matters of a Duke’s Heart

“As happy as I am to see you, I am not quite happy of the reason.”

Felicity gazed out from where she was buried in her pillow at her sister’s concerned face.

Bundled in her bedsheets was not the proudest place to fall apart, but she had let herself weep there before her marriage to Spencer; it only seemed apt that she let herself break there during it, too.

“I think we ought to just focus on being back together,” Felicity said, but she couldn’t keep the pain out of her voice.

“Mama is not focusing on that.”

“Mama loves us but cannot ever help focusing on the eyes of the ton.” Her mutter came miserably as she swirled her finger in circles on the pillow. “It is all anyone seems to care about.”

“Felicity,” Daphne murmured, reaching to place her hand on Felicity’s.

“You know Mama is already doing damage control. She is stated that if His Grace does not turn up to the ball tonight then we can claim he is ailed with a minor illness. She is insisting you return in the morning to Bluebell Manor.”

Felicity buried her face in the pillow, wanting everything to go away. She had missed her sister, but she was tired of problems and fixing and answering and doing what was expected versus what she wanted to do.

“I will not return,” she said.

“You cannot stay away from your husband,” Daphne reminded her delicately.

“Then I shall stay in the townhouse.”

“Felicity—”

“No, Daphne,” she groaned. “I am tired. I am hurt, and I want to cry until I am empty, and then I want to sleep. And if Mama is indeed ordering me to attend this infernal ball, then I need my strength.” She flinched as her sister winced. “I am sorry. I do not mean to sound so terrible.”

“Do not worry,” she said quickly, standing up from where she had perched on the end of Felicity’s bed. “I will leave you to rest and will come back to wake you to prepare. Just do not throw a cushion at me.”

“That was one time! And I had experienced my first glass of wine too eagerly.”

Daphne gave a soft laugh, and soon Felicity was left to cry alone in her room, back where she had started her marriage to Spencer.

Her heart was breaking into a thousand pieces, thinking of how anything he could have told her before would have been better than the proprietary insistence. With the way she felt, she didn’t care who saw, or who judged.

She cared about how much he had hurt her, and how greatly she wanted to part from him to collect her thoughts in her own time.

She had not slept all night, too restless, and the humiliation had burned her right through, grounding her with a reality she didn’t want to face: Spencer did not love her, and she was foolish to think he might.

Her anger flared all over again as she buried her face deeper into the pillow. She did love him. Love was a beautiful and terrifying word for her, a page that existed in books only.

But that was what she felt for him—and what he did not feel for her.

Exhausted by the crash of her heartbreak and departure from Bluebell, the guilt of not bidding Alexander goodbye, Felicity cried until she fell into a heavy sleep.

***

“I did not want to attend tonight, Mama,” Felicity muttered under her breath as she descended into the ballroom.

Eyes slid over her, and she was so acutely aware of how guests immediately started speaking with one another as they looked at her, all of them likely questioning where her husband was.

“And I did not want to have to explain why my daughter, the Duchess of Langdon, could not even show up at her parents’ own ball,” her mother smoothly replied, her smile broad and unwavering.

She caught wind of some questions about the duke’s whereabouts and raised her voice.

“Ah, His Grace is ever so ailed. A terrible headache. Indeed, it must be from working so tirelessly!”

Felicity stayed silent, her chin held high and simply looked at the back of the room. Her mother was still answering questions that were not directly asked to her face, and Felicity could only hope the night was short.

But as she was about to beg her mother to stop, Felicity caught sight of familiar blond hair pulled into that same, slicked-back style.

Lord Radcliffe.

Her heart thudded when she saw that he trailed Daphne out onto the balcony, who Felicity knew had gone in search of Lord Wexley. Felicity had been so excited by the prospect that she had urged her sister to go out to the balcony to find him, certain he had gone there.

And yet…

Lord Radcliffe followed her.

“Excuse me,” she muttered and pulled away from her mother.

But as she weaved her way through the crowd, she stopped short when she saw dark hair curling into a stiff collar, and broad, proud shoulders.

When Felicity blinked, more people had moved in the way and Felicity could not spare a moment to linger and look again.

Everybody would be so confused at her mother’s claims if it was him, but Felicity’s heart broke too much to think of seeing her husband now.

She hurried back in the direction of the balcony, but before she could make her way there, she saw him again. Spencer.

This time, he looked at her, their eyes meeting through the crowd.

No, she thought. Please, not right now. I cannot handle seeing you right now.

But he was making his way through the crowd. Sure enough, confused murmurs rippled through the guests. Felicity could scarcely care about them, not when her husband’s eyes locked onto hers, icier than usual.

This felt more like the man who she had married initially: more reserved, intimidating, but as soon as he was close enough, his voice was softer than she expected.

“I must speak with you, Felicity,” he urged.

“Not here,” she answered. “Do not do this here, Spencer, please.” Already, people were peering in their direction.

“I will not leave without you talking to me.”

“Then you are as ignorant as ever and have completely misunderstood my pain,” she snapped. The harshness came out without her entirely meaning it to. “I am sorry, it is just—I left for space. You demanding my attention now is not giving me that.”

“Felicity, you cannot just walk out of our home. You cannot—you cannot walk out on me.” In the following silence, she swore she heard on Alexander.

“I cannot, and do not want to, speak with you right now, Spencer,” she muttered. “I am sorry. I just—I cannot.”

“Felicity—”

“Do not cause a scene,” she whispered, and he jerked back. “It was you who told me to think about how all of this will look to the ton.”

“I said the wrong thing,” he admitted quietly. “You have to know that. Please just speak with me. Let us go to the drawing room, I am certain we can slip away.”

But Felicity was already shaking her head. She moved backwards, spinning around with whoever was at her back and took their place, if only to further lose herself behind more bodies, more dresses and men who were tall enough to provide her cover as she avoided Spencer.

“Felicity!” he called out, but she pretended not to hear him. Her main focus had to remain on her sister and Lord Radcliffe. There was no way she could stomach the thought of him cornering her sister alone.

His threats at the dreaded Farriers’ ball were enough to unsettle her, and unless Lord Wexley was truly out there, then Daphne could very well be left to defend herself.

Felicity hastened her pace, knowing Spencer would have been lost to the ground due to how popular her mother was and her love for endless guest lists. As soon as she burst out onto the balcony, she stopped short.

“Let her go!” Felicity shouted, finding Lord Radcliffe pressing her sister into the curve of the rail, one hand clenched around Daphne’s small arm. Her sister’s face was white, her eyes wide and fearful as she looked toward Felicity.

“He—he came at me! I did not… I did not want—” Her gasps were ragged, and she tugged, but Lord Radcliffe held onto her fast. Hurried footsteps sounded from the garden, perhaps Lord Wexley, but Felicity wasted no time.

She bolted for Lord Radcliffe, fear propelling her.

She had sworn her sister would be protected against him.

Pushing against the viscount, Felicity grunted, finding herself knocked aside, but she surged back up, trying to tug on Daphne to release Lord Radcliffe’s grip. His eyes were unfocused, and there was a terrible broadness to his grin that bordered on lunacy.

“I told you I would have her as my bride, Duchess,” he spat.

“Let her go, Lord Radcliffe,” Felicity demanded, trying to shove her way between them, but she was too weak, and Lord Radcliffe too strong. Her sister whimpered, turning her face away.

She shoved all her force against Lord Radcliffe’s wrist, trying to jolt him hard enough to dislodge his steel grip, but he gripped her with his other arm, shoving her back so hard she stumbled. Her ankle twisted hard as she staggered into the railing, and she lost her balance.

Before Felicity could truly process that she had tipped over the railing completely, she was falling.

As she fell, her head knocked against something that immediately had her seeing stars, and the last thing she saw was Spencer’s face contorted as he cried out her name moments before she blacked out.

***

Darkness swirled through Felicity, dragging her down into a heavy, weighted depth she could not pull herself out of.

Voices swam in and out of focus, slipping away as quickly as they appeared, and she couldn’t discern any of them. She heard shouts, and thuds, and cries, and orders, but they all blurred together until silence enveloped her.

And then Spencer’s voice broke through that storm of unconsciousness. Felicity tried to use it as a tether. Some part of her knew that his voice could bring her back from any edge, but her heart knew to still beat in a way that hurt, for that voice had spoken too many painful things.

“I have warred with myself all day,” she swore she heard him speak.

She still floated on that raft of heartbreak and darkness, moving through the currents that calmly swept her back and forth, in and out of awareness.

“Alexander misses you and it has been less than a day. Heavens, I miss you. The thing is that when you have lived in Bluebell Manor, and suddenly you are gone, the hallways ring with silence. In that silence I have found myself… thinking. Thinking hard and extensively. You are right, of course. I was a cowardly fool…”

His words trailed off, and she tried to cling onto them.

Sometimes they rang familiar. Felicity vaguely recalled calling her husband a fool, but she couldn’t hold onto her consciousness long enough to open her eyes, to speak.

Her head hurt, spinning with pain. She felt as though that was all she was pieced together by: hurt.

“I want you to know that I came here tonight to tell you that I love you.”

The confession came with terrible clarity, and before Felicity could claw her way through the dark sea of unconsciousness to answer I love you too, she was dragged even deeper down.

There, she was in a dream where she stood in the hallway, peering into the music room.

Lady Helena sat at the pianoforte, a pretty, youthful smile on her face as she played.

“I have always wanted somebody around who could play music better than I could.” Felicity’s eyes lifted to Spencer.

“The house can get so quiet. Sophia—she never had the patience for it, but she would always sit in here and read sheet music. In truth, that was why I asked you to stay away from the music room during your renovations. But I no longer care, for I can see it is time to let my past go. I have gripped it too tightly, and I have let it stop me from loving you with my entire being.”

Felicity let out a broken noise, listening as Spencer spoke such beautiful things to Lady Helena.

I wanted to hear all of these things, she thought. A terrible, jagged pain lanced through her chest. I wanted that to be me.

But as she watched, Lady Helena’s face morphed into the one of Lady Sophia’s, the two of them overlapping, looking so different from Felicity. He wanted women like them, and she still didn’t know if she believed that he had ended his courtship with Lady Helena as long ago as he had claimed.

She had no reason not to trust him, but not reason to believe it, either. Why else would he have not told her?

Lingering in the hallway, somehow knowing in this space she was married to Spencer while he confessed his heart’s desires to Lady Helena, Felicity broke all over again.

Was this not how Sophia made you feel when she sought the love of other men?

Her voice wasn’t working, and she could only helplessly stand and watch as the two of them moved closer, their heads bent toward one another.

“I love you, Spencer,” Lady Helena whispered, so casual, so intimate.

“I love you, and I have always known you were my perfect duchess. You were never just a name on a list. I gravitated toward you for a reason. I sought you for a reason. The day I met you, I never knew how you would turn my life upside completely, but I do not ever want it to be the way it once was. It was a miserable, lonely existence. You bring joy to my laugh, my wife. My love.”

In her dream, Felicity crumpled while Helena giggled at the confession, and Felicity knew. As soon as she woke up she had to find a way to leave Spencer for good. She could not stay in a marriage where his heart belonged to another.