Page 8 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
“The Duke of Langdon?” Daphne gasped, and Felicity, too distracted by the whispers, had scarcely noticed her sister rejoining them. Daphne’s cheeks were flushed from dancing. Her ringlets bounced as she leaned in. “The ever-reclusive Duke of Langdon?”
Their mother’s slow grin made Felicity worry. “The one and only. And you, my darling Felicity, are going to be one of the first ladies he will see. At least I will make every move necessary to ensure such a thing. I know you wish to marry for love, but as I reminded you upstairs you must marry well.”
“Mama—”
“I will ensure you have a most wonderful, comfortable marriage, Felicity,” she assured her as if Felicity was already engaged. The ballroom suddenly felt very far away, and Felicity felt too small in the face of it all. She could hear her heartbeat fluttering too fast in her wrists, her neck, her chest. Her blood roared in her ears.
She barely heard Daphne when her sister next spoke. “But Mama, there are reasons why he has not been around in society for so long. I may have not debuted yet, but I recall the gossip from…” Daphne frowned. “Seven years ago, perhaps six? I am not sure, but His Grace had a wife previously.”
Felicity thought she might faint. She did not recall the Duke of Langdon, but her thoughts went immediately to a man old enough to have been wed already some years ago.
In her mind, white hair streaked from a receded hairline, his skin lined and old, his voice rough with strict tones and chiding as he hunted for another young wife to continue his dukedom.
Her stomach dropped. No, she thought. No, this cannot be happening. My mama cannot be excited to marry me off to an old man.
“Mama,” she tried again, only to find her voice was too quiet, too weak.
Daphne chattered on and on. “Lady Tessa’s older cousin knew of the late Duchess of Langdon. Lady Sophia, I believe her name was. In fact, only last week at the gardens was she gossiping about it! We were wondering if there will be a similar scandal.”
“There was no scandal,” their mother snapped, her tone something Felicity rarely heard, especially toward Daphne. “What you recall is mere gossip!”
“Everybody believes gossip when it is convenient to provide entertainment,” Daphne pointed out in a pout. “Is he really thebest choice for Felicity? What if… what if the gossip is true? She did die rather mysteriously Mama.”
“Keep your voice down, Daphne.” Their mother’s voice turned softer, urging, as she looked toward Felicity next. As if noticing how pale her face must have gone, Felicity’s mother smoothed her hands over both her cheeks, cupping her face. “Felicity, do not listen to such gossip. I am certain His Grace is most pleasant and charming. His former wife had an accident, is all. He is not a dangerous man. What he is is a most eligible man, one who will make a good husband, I am certain. You could be a duchess.” Her eyes sparkled at such a suggestion, but dread only pooled stronger in Felicity’s stomach as she forced herself to nod, forced herself to go along with it all.
Her fingers clenched behind her back, snagging on the ribbon that draped over the back of her dress. It grounded her for a moment as she needed.
“Imagine,” her mother murmured. “My Felicity, the Duchess of Langdon.”
“A most impressive title,” she responded but her voice was too far away. It was barely above a whisper, but her mother didn’t notice, too busy muttering about finding Felicity’s father to see if they could ask for a meeting with the duke—or that maybe they would get lucky and be approached first.
In her mother’s absence, Felicity only swayed, looking to Daphne for support.
You are the eldest, she thought. If you pursue the duke as your mother says then Daphne will be spared. Daphne will not have to find out if the rumors are true. If the circumstances of the late duchess’s death are truly tragic and mysterious.
Before Daphne could say anything, they were both approached by suitors.
Felicity, with no option but to accept, knowing she must keep her options open, nodded and slipped her hand into the next one offered. Distantly, she was aware of Lord Radcliffe watching, his eyes narrowed in anger.
No doubt he would intervene as he had at the last ball when she danced with another, but for now, he watched, and Felicity avoided his gaze.
“... and you must have heard I am distantly related to a Russian monarch,” her suitor was saying, but his words faded in and out as Felicity danced dutifully. This was her life, wasn’t it?
Resigned to doing what others told her, pretending that accepting the suitors her mother approved of was the best forher. Resigned to agreeing to whatever her parents wanted rather than finally stand up for herself.
It was how she would always be.
After one suitor, another was ready to pull her in, and then another, and Felicity knew she could not keep up her injured ankle rouse, especially not when Lord Radcliffe finally cut in.
But Felicity barely heard his snark comment, barely heard anything over the roaring in her ears.
My Felicity, the Duchess of Langdon.
The ballroom shrunk and shrunk until Felicity could no longer breathe properly.
Chapter 4
“Enter,” Spencer called out when a knock sounded on his study door. He glanced up from the ledgers he had been poring over for the past hour, pointedly trying to ignore the list that lingered on the corner of his desk.
