Page 6 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
“You know,” Rupert spoke up, “I could begin the list now. I hear there will be music played after the fireworks. It will be a most romantic setting for you to get ahead and ask a lady to dance. It has been some time since you took to the dancefloor.”
“And it will remain that way,” Spencer countered. “I need a wife, that is all. It can be a formal arrangement without any frills attached.”
“Truly, Spencer? You are allowed to have fun when it comes to matters of the heart.”
“My heart is not important,” he said, his voice tight. I learned that lesson the hard way. “I just need names, Wexley.”
“Of course,” his friend finally conceded. “Lady Cardale is hosting a ball next week. I will have a list prepared for you in time to give it to you that night, if you choose to attend. If not, I will bring it to you the following morning.”
“Thank you,” he said. “You will be attending?”
Rupert nodded. “As you search for your duchess, I must search for a countess. My mother has already recommended me several ladies, so I will ask them to dance. Although, if news spreads of you looking for a wife, I hardly think any other men will have a chance.” He laughed lightheartedly, meaning well, but Spencer grimaced.
His stomach already clenched at the thought of the fluttering fans and battling eyelashes, the great effort of complimenting him, the ways women faked a swoon to be caught or noticed. Hopefully, the rumors would not spread too fast or too strongly.
“I will consider attending,” he muttered eventually.
“Good.” Rupert smiled widely at him, clapping his shoulder. “Now, if you will excuse me, I see Beatrice being spoken to byLord Wetherby, and I heard he recently has become a marquess. I do not want to risk her waving him away.”
Rupert quickly hurried over to his eldest sister, momentarily leaving Spencer standing on the fringes of the Orchestra, alone.
He looked out at the crowd, wondering who might find their way onto Rupert’s list. He swore his eyes caught on a lady whose hair turned copper beneath the lights of the Orchestra, as she danced, but when he looked closer, she was gone.
Chapter 3
“You appear rather distracted, my dear.”
Felicity tore her gaze from the dazzling ballroom as she stood on a terrace, overlooking the dancefloor.
Her mother was at her side, not quite leaning on the railing as Felicity was, and Felicity immediately corrected her stance, surprised her mother had not already scolded her for it.
“I am simply observing,” Felicity answered with a s smile she did not think was convincing at all.
“For yourself or for Daphne?” Her mother’s knowing brow said she knew her eldest daughter well.
Felicity swallowed and turned her focus back to the ballroom.
The terrace level within the Cardale ballroom was mostly empty, a few lone suitors scouring the floor to see who entered.
Mostly it was for patrons who did not want to get involved with the courtship games below, and for older matrons who had already married off their children, leaving them to gossip about everybody else’s matches.
“Daphne is fine,” Felicity’s mother said when Felicity didn’t answer. Her eyes found her sister, dressed in a blue ballgown that twinkled beneath the chandelier. The sleeves framed her willowy arms as she spun, extending her hand outward in a graceful manner that would no doubt impress many suitors who looked on. And plenty did. “Felicity.”
“Sorry, Mama. I just—I cannot help but be protective of her. I see how they look at her.”
“She is the jewel of the ball,” Felicity’s mother agreed. “But you are, too. A crown is made up of many jewels. Take your place down there. Frankly, I am upset you have not.”
Part of Felicity couldn’t admit the truth: that she didn’t know how many more fake smiles she had in her, how much more polite, feigned interest she had left to give at the same, old boring conversation that every suitor made.
She exhaled, turning her back on the ballroom for a moment. “My place down there consists of dancing with men who simply want to tell me how many vineyards they own, or what new business deal they just secured, or how vast their name is.”
“That is all very good,” her mother told her, frowning. “These are qualities you want to hear about.”
“I understand the importance of them, yes, but… do they truly have nothing else to speak about? What of—I do not know. 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. These are the things that would help me decide to spend my life with them.”
Her mother gave her a withering look as if she pitied her for her thoughts, even as a pinched softness creased her forehead. “Felicity…” She took hold of her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Your head is filled with beautiful ideals, and truly I adore that you put stock in all of these things. But those must come after everything else. You must focus on securing your future. You may know a man’s favorite author aligns with yours, and it will be terribly romantic—until you find out he has next to nothing in the coffers, and you are destitute. What good is a romantic day in the library if there is no security that the library will remain?
Felicity’s heart ached. She understood her mother’s advice, but every man faded into one. The same faceless suitor, the same inane, boring reel of impressive financial pursuits, and they all boasted. Heavens, perhaps if some had a sense of humility about them then it would be endurable but no.
