Page 46 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
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 duringher renovations, but she had snuck a look in there, hoping to surprise him with something he did not already have.
