Page 54 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
Among them were a few from the writer known only as A Lady, and Felicity smiled, thinking of how often she had come here to bury her nose in one of those. How different her life was now.
“They are very well,” she answered. “We are making incredible progress.”
“You ought to bring him around to visit,” Daphne suggested. “It would be nice to see you with your family.”
Felicity paused at the word. “I am not certain Spencer sees us as that.”
“Nonsense,” Daphne giggled. “You are his son’s mother figure as well as the duke’s wife. You are all getting on well, and you are in love. Is that not a family?”
“I…” Felicity turned back to her sister. Suddenly, she felt rather warm, and the smile could not be fought from her mouth. “I suppose it might be, but I am hesitant to ask Spencer. I think it will be a sensitive topic. After all, Alexander is Lady Sophia’s true son.”
“Ask him about her,” Daphne gently pushed. “I think you will find that many of your worries could be put to rest. Especially from what I have heard about Lady Sophia’s behavior during their marriage, I do not think your husband will have many qualms about you being Alexander’s mother.”
“Oh, we are not quite there yet.”
“Of course, but there is good hope to keep.”
Her sister’s eyes flashed with the light Felicity could not always hold for herself, and she rushed to embrace her. Felicity hugged Daphne fiercely.
“I have missed you,” she whispered, feeling her younger sister hug her back just as strongly.
“I have missed you, too,” Daphne answered, her voice thick. “Do not leave our visits so long in between next time, or I shall come to pound down the doors of Bluebell Manor.”
“Please do,” Felicity laughed as they parted. “Spencer has made it clear you would be welcome. I will host a dinner party for us all. Perhaps even Lord Wexley can come, too.” At that, Daphne’s head tilted to one side, and Felicity suddenly had the thought that the two of them could be rather well-matched.
“He is rather handsome,” Felicity pointed out, only to hear her sister’s cries of protest. In the next moment, she dashed through the library doors, into the garden, and her sister chased her. They were too old for such silliness, but Felicity felt better in the last few days than she had in weeks, perhaps months.
Tearing across the garden, she realized why Spencer rode his horse at a breakneck speed when he delved into foul moods, and she understood why Alexander ran when he was upset or irritated.
It emptied one’s mind: just the wind snapping at her face, the cries of her pursuer, and the freedom of knowing that she was faster.
The two of them were grass-stained and laughing, uncaring of how unladylike it all was, by the time Spencer returned to collect Felicity in his carriage. He only lifted a brow in silent question, and then muttered, “I will not ask.”
But a smile played on his lips when he helped Felicity into their carriage to return home.
Chapter 18
“Are you certain you cannot simply return to your townhouse? It would make these meetings much easier.”
Spencer flicked his stare up to Rupert who stood over his desk with a displeased grimace.
“I like the countryside house just fine,” Spencer answered without missing a beat. “Besides, Felicity prefers it here.”
“Oh, she does, does she?”
Rupert’s smirk appeared with a curl that Spencer didn’t trust. “Look at you, being selfless for your wife who you absolutely do not have any feelings for .”
Spencer just sighed. The truth was he had seen it only the day before: how Felicity had come to the door of the Merriweather townhouse with grass stains on her skirt and leaves in her hair from where she and her sister had apparently chased one another through the Merriweather gardens.
Once, he may have berated her for being so unladylike, yet there had been a look of such sheer elation on her face that he had found his heart pounding harder.
There was something about Felicity that had the power to freeze him entirely. She tore down every inch of composure he claimed to have, and he was not as affected by it as he thought he would be—or thought he should be.
“Bluebell Manor is fine,” he said eventually. “You could do with the break while you travel, anyway. You work too hard.”
Rupert dropped into his seat so hard the legs scraped against the wood. “Heavens, what has marriage done to you? I like it.”
Spencer said nothing and only delivered a scowl. “Are you here to gossip or to give me more information? The report was scant. I do not trust that the things you mentioned are the only things that have come up about Radcliffe.”
