Page 26 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
Peering into the empty study, Felicity noticed a book on the duke’s desk, but she was unsure of what it was. It looked velvet-bound—perhaps a journal?
Footsteps behind her made Felicity hurry away, not knowing if her husband returned or not, but she did not linger to find out.
Instead, she walked onward to the library but paused at the sound of voices further down the hallway.
“Very good, Alexander.”
Felicity listened for a moment, her path to the library, and the rose garden beyond, forgotten for a moment.
“Now, can you tell me your numbers again? One to ten, please.”
Alexander’s small voice filtered through, and Felicity smiled. She thought to walk away, but her feet did not move. She had barely seen Alexander since that first day of her arrival. The small boy had eaten breakfast with her and the duke one day, but never again, and never joined them for dinner.
Instead, he ate with his governess ahead of their own mealtime.
When Felicity had asked why, the duke had dismissed her with a wave.
“I do not want to overwhelm him,” he had told her. “I do not want to force the two of you into a mother-son relationship byforcing you to share the same spaces. When you are both ready, you may approach one another.”
It was an unexpected kindness she had not thought would be extended to either of them. After all, he had married her to be a mother figure for Alexander, yet so far the duke had been content to let Felicity explore the manor, renovate, and generally languish in her new surroundings.
She had already written to Daphne, promising her sister a visit should the duke allow it, but not yet. She had not disclosed how she feared the duke seemed to want very little to do with her.
Her sister still held hope for them. Felicity had gently put that hope away, and now focused on the fact that they could grow civil enough. Even a conversation longer than several minutes would do.
She felt ready to try to bond with Alexander.
“He is your stepson,” the duke had clarified when Felicity had asked what to call the young boy. “You may call him whatever you see fit.”
Felicity was not yet ready, really, to call herself the boy’s stepmother.
Still, she knew that if she was to make any progress with her husband, then she wanted to ensure she was doing what he had proposed to her for.
“I cannot do it!” A shout startled her, so different from the quiet voice she had heard moments ago.
“Alexander, simply try again!” The voice that spoke to Alexander wasn’t recognizable, and Felicity lingered with a frown, listening in, just out of sight. “You did one to ten so well! It is only another five numbers.”
“Yes, but they are confusing, and you are saying I am stupid! You think I am stupid, Papa will think I am stupid, and you are going to make me present my lessons to him. I hate them. I hate you! You are the stupid one, you are—”
“Alexander!” His name tore from Felicity’s throat with urgency and concern as she rushed into the room. A quick assessment showed that it had been turned into a school room, with the tutor shrunken in his chair before Alexander whose hands were balled into small fists.
“What?” he shouted, turning to face her, and then he blinked, wide-eyed. “It is—you—you are—”
“It does not matter who I am right now,” she softened her voice but kept her words firm. “You have shouted at your poor tutor, Alexander. You must apologize when you speak so harshly to somebody! It is not nice to yell or say that someone is stupid.”
“But he is!” Alexander insisted.
In front of him, the tutor, old, with a pale face at the berating, only lifted his hands in weak surrender. “Alexander, I was only trying to—”
“Stop it!” the small boy shouted, pulling back from the tutor. “I do not want these stupid lessons.”
“Alexander,” Felicity tried again, moving closer. She quickly hurried over, dropping to a crouch before him. He looked shocked enough at her approach that he said nothing. Taking a chance, Felicity gathered his hands in her own. “When I was younger, I was taught French as well. It is a beautiful language once you become familiar with it, but it is also frustrating. Some words sound similar to our own language, while others do not, so it is terribly hard to become acquainted with it. Does that sound familiar?”
His face screwed up in annoyance, Alexander nodded. In that moment, Felicity realized: Alexander was not just a boy who threw tantrums. He had not known patience or consideration for all he had gone through, for all he was trying to do and be.
Her heart softened as she beheld his anger, the tears that welled in his eyes. He looked at her with so much desperation, as if he wanted her to help him understand.
“Let me teach you a phrase to say to your tutor, Mr….” She glanced at the old man who looked at her questioningly.
