Page 49 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
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.
Sitting in the center of it all, Spencer thought Felicity looked like a woodland fairy. Some petals had fallen from the flowering tree above, delicately into her hair. Spencer’s breath caught, and he moved forward as if drawn by an invisible force toward his wife.
“Here,” he said roughly. Her eyes alighted on him. He offered the bunch of bluebells. “I have heard you like these.”
She shined with so much radiance that Spencer cleared his throat and looked away as she took the flowers, and he pretended to be very interested in the stacks of sandwiches that were wrapped in cloth. Alexander barreled into the clearing, offering his own bouquet.
“For you, Miss Felicity! Papa was very interested in your favorite wildflowers. I think he likes you! Miss Nightingale says that ladies receive flowers from men who like them.”
“I think you ought to look at what your sandwich has on it,” Spencer muttered, but a smile tugged at his mouth. How could he be grumpy with his son when Alexander sounded so happy? When, so innocently, he was doing what Spencer was not brave enough to do, which was make any sort of advances.
You are cowardly when it comes to matters of the heart, he chided himself. But how could he not be when his heart had been broken by his late wife and he became shunned from society? Still, Sophia was far from his thoughts as he gazed back at Felicity.
She watched him curiously. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and his eyes fell upon it. For a second, the woodland around them stilled.
No birds tweeted, the rushing of a nearby creek ceased, and all Spencer was aware of was the fluttering of Felicity’s hair around her face, the soft blush on her cheeks, and how her smile had started to be the very thing he hoped to see when he looked at her.
“We… we ought to begin eating,” Spencer spoke up, breaking the moment.
“Indeed.” Felicity’s voice was higher than normal, and he found that she seemed not to know what to do with herself. Her lack of composure made him smirk, and he did not feel as unsettled.
As they unwrapped their food, Alexander launched into an unprompted discussion about French, and how much he was learning, and how Felicity was helping him far greater than Mr. Hemming.
