Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

T he morning of the Duke's visit dawned bright and clear, a stark contrast to the tempest of anxiety roiling within Lydia's chest. She stood before her mirror, fussing with her hair for what felt like the hundredth time, willing her trembling hands to steady.

"It will be fine," she whispered to her reflection, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Everything will be fine."

A soft whine from the corner of the room drew her attention. Mug lay curled in his basket, his dark eyes fixed on her with an uncanny intensity. The little dog had been unusually restless all morning, as if he could sense the importance of the day ahead.

"Oh, Mug," Lydia sighed, crossing to scratch behind his ears. "What am I going to do with you? You must be on your best behavior today, do you understand?"

Mug's only response was to burrow deeper into his blankets, letting out another plaintive whine.

A sharp rap at the door made Lydia jump. "Lydia!" her mother's voice called, sharp with impatience. "Are you ready yet? The Duke will be here any moment!"

"Coming, Mother!" Lydia called back, casting one last glance at her reflection. She smoothed down her gown - her finest, a pale blue silk that brought out the green in her eyes - and took a deep breath. "Well," she murmured to Mug, "here goes nothing."

As she descended the stairs, Lydia found her parents waiting in the foyer, their faces tight with barely concealed anxiety. Her father's cravat seemed to be choking him, while her mother's fingers twisted nervously in the folds of her skirt.

"There you are," Viscountess Prudence said, her eyes raking over Lydia's appearance with a critical gaze. "I suppose you'll do. Now, listen carefully, Lydia. The Duke of Fyre is a man of great importance and even greater wealth. This match could secure the future of our entire family. You must do everything in your power to please him, do you understand?"

Lydia nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. "Yes, Mother. I understand."

"Good," her father added, his voice gruff. "And for heaven's sake, make sure that mongrel of yours is kept out of sight. The last thing we need is for him to offend His Grace."

Before Lydia could respond, the sound of carriage wheels on gravel reached their ears. Her mother let out a small gasp. "He's here! Quickly, Lydia, go make sure that dog is secured in your room. We can't risk him getting loose."

Lydia hurried back upstairs, her heart pounding in her chest. She found Mug pacing restlessly by the door, his ears pricked forward at the commotion below.

"Now, Mug," she said firmly, scooping him up into her arms. "You must stay here and be a good boy. No barking, no fuss. Can you do that for me?"

Mug wriggled in her grasp, letting out a series of agitated yips. Lydia struggled to keep hold of him, growing increasingly frustrated as the little dog refused to calm down.

"Mug, please," she pleaded, aware of the voices drifting up from below. "We don't have time for this. You must stay here!"

But Mug was having none of it. With a sudden burst of strength, he wriggled free from Lydia's arms and darted out the open door. Lydia let out a strangled cry, hitching up her skirts to give chase.

"Mug!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down as she pursued the dog down the hallway. "Come back here this instant!"

But it was too late. Mug had already reached the top of the stairs, and with a series of excited yaps, he bounded down towards the foyer.

Lydia's heart sank as she heard her mother's shrill exclamation of dismay, followed by a deep, rumbling voice that could only belong to the Duke of Fyre.

Taking a deep breath, Lydia descended the stairs. Maybe if she was fortunate, the ground would open up and swallow her whole at the bottom. As she rounded the corner into the foyer, she was greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Mug was dancing around the feet of a tall, imposing figure dressed in black, barking as if his life depended on it. Lydia's parents stood frozen in horror, their faces pale with shock and dismay.

And there, in the center of it all, stood the very stranger she had seen in the park the other day. Lydia felt the blood draining from her cheeks as the realization hit her. It was him! The handsome stranger from the park, the one who had been accosted by the very same dog that was barking at him now, was the elusive Duke of Fyre himself. Elias Blacknight cut an impressive figure, his broad shoulders filling out his perfectly tailored coat, his raven hair falling in careless waves about his face. But it was his eyes that captured Lydia's attention - those piercing blue orbs that seemed to see right through her.

For a moment, their gazes locked, and Lydia felt a jolt of electricity pass between them. She saw the Duke's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of what could only be surprise passing across his face before it settled back into its customary scowl. Lydia felt her cheeks grow warm under his intense scrutiny, and she silently cursed her fair complexion that no doubt betrayed her flustered state.

"Your Grace," Lydia said, dropping into a hasty curtsy. "I do apologize for my dog's behavior. He's not usually so... excitable."

The Duke's eyebrow arched slightly, but to Lydia's immense relief, he made no mention of their previous encounter in the park. "Indeed," he said, his voice as smooth and rich as aged brandy. "Perhaps you should consider a firmer hand in his training, Lady Lydia."

Lydia felt her cheeks flush even deeper at the barely veiled rebuke. "Yes, Your Grace. Of course."

Her father stepped forward, his face a mask of forced joviality. "Your Grace, welcome to our home. We are honored by your presence. Might I introduce my wife, Viscountess Prudence, and of course, our daughter, Lydia."

The Duke inclined his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the family with an air of cool assessment. When his eyes landed on Lydia once more, she felt her breath catch in her throat. There was something in that gaze that made her heart race, though she could not quite place it.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Elias said, his tone giving nothing away. "Shall we proceed to the drawing room? I believe we have much to discuss."

As they made their way into the house, Lydia scooped up Mug, who had finally ceased his barking and now seemed content to glare balefully at the Duke from the safety of her arms. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had ruined everything before it had even begun.

The drawing room seemed to shrink in the Duke's presence, his imposing figure dominating the space. Lydia perched on the edge of a delicate settee, her back ramrod straight, while her parents settled into chairs across from their guest. An uncomfortable silence descended, broken only by the ticking of the mantel clock.

"Well," Viscount Silas began, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet room, "we are most grateful for your interest in our Lydia, Your Grace. She is a fine girl, accomplished in all the ways a lady should be."

The Duke's gaze flicked to Lydia, who fought the urge to squirm under his scrutiny. She felt as though he could see right through her, past the carefully constructed facade of the perfect lady to the , uncertain woman beneath. "Is she indeed?" he murmured, his tone giving no indication of his thoughts.

Viscountess Prudence jumped in, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush. "Oh yes, Your Grace. Lydia is an excellent pianist, and her needlework is beyond compare. She's also quite well-read for a young lady of her age."

Lydia felt her face grow hot at her mother's effusive praise. She knew it for what it was - a desperate attempt to paint her in the best possible light, to secure this match at any cost. She risked a glance at the Duke, only to find him watching her with an inscrutable expression. Was that amusement glinting in those stormy blue eyes?

The Duke, however, seemed unimpressed by her mother's litany of accomplishments. "I care little for such trivial pursuits," he said dismissively. "What I require is a woman of sense and capability, one who can manage a household and present a proper face to society when necessary."

"Of course, Your Grace," Viscount Silas rushed to agree. "Lydia is more than equal to such tasks, I assure you."

Lydia, feeling she ought to speak for herself, cleared her throat softly. "I have assisted my mother in managing our household for several years now, Your Grace. I am confident in my abilities to oversee the running of an estate."

The Duke's piercing gaze met hers, and Lydia felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something in those eyes - a coldness, yes, but also a hint of... approval? She couldn't be sure, but the intensity of his stare made her pulse quicken.

"We shall see," was all he said in response, but Lydia thought she detected a note of intrigue in his voice.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of stilted conversation and uncomfortable silences. The Duke sat ramrod straight in his chair, his posture radiating an aura of barely contained impatience. Lydia's father stumbled over his words, clearly intimidated by the nobleman's presence, while her mother fluttered about, offering tea and cakes with trembling hands.

Lydia herself felt as though she were walking on eggshells, acutely aware of the Duke's piercing gaze whenever it fell upon her. She tried to make light conversation, commenting on the weather and inquiring about his journey, but his responses were terse and cold, offering no encouragement for further discussion.

Where they sat in the parlor now, Lydia's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the teapot handle as she poured the next cup. The china clinked softly, the sound seeming to echo in the suddenly too-quiet room. She focused on the task at hand, watching the amber liquid swirl into the cup, careful not to spill a drop.

"Milk, Father?" she asked, proud of how steady her voice remained.

"Just a splash, thank you," her father replied coolly. It was the second time the Duke had visited their home - and it was clear that her parents were more than satisfied with the prospect of him as her husband, though Lydia was still quite frightened of him.

As Lydia reached for the milk jug, she caught a glimpse of the Duke in her peripheral vision. He still stood by the fireplace, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the Persian rug. She didn't dare look up, but she could feel his gaze on her, as palpable as a physical touch.

Gathering her courage, Lydia ventured a comment. "I hope your journey wasn't too taxing, Your Grace. The roads can be quite treacherous this time of year."

The Duke's response was as chilly as the winter wind. "It was staisfactory ."

Lydia's smile faltered, her cheeks flushed, and she busied herself with stirring her father's tea, the spoon clinking against the china a touch too forcefully. She held her breath, half-expecting to hear the Duke's deep voice point out some flaw in her technique.

Just then, her father's voice boomed across the room. "I say, did you hear about the baker who went broke? He ran out of dough!"

A collective groan rippled through the parlor. Lydia couldn't help but giggle at the sheer awfulness of the joke, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle the sound. As her laughter subsided, she glanced up, only to find the Duke watching her with an odd expression. His brow was furrowed, but there was something in his eyes – a flicker of... curiosity? – that made Lydia's heart skip a nervous beat.

She quickly turned back to her duties, lifting the next cup with hands that trembled only slightly. As she poured, a sudden gust of wind from the open window sent the curtains billowing. The movement startled her, and a few drops of tea splashed onto the saucer.

"Oh!" Lydia exclaimed, mortified. She quickly reached for a napkin to dab at the spill.

"Clumsy girl," she heard her mother mutter under her breath.

Lydia's cheeks burned with embarrassment. She chanced a glance at the Duke, certain she would find disapproval etched on his stern features. To her surprise, he was watching her with that same intensity she had noticed earlier. She could not quite make out what it was she noticed in his gaze, but she was certain that it was not disapproval.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. Then the Duke blinked, and the connection was broken.

Lydia released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She straightened her shoulders and continued her task.

Later, as they moved to the dining room for dinner, Lydia felt her anxiety mounting. She was overly aware of every movement, every word spoken, terrified of making another misstep. The Duke's presence seemed to fill the room, casting a pall of tension.

"So, Your Grace," Lydia's father ventured as the first course was served. "I understand you have extensive holdings in the north. How do you find the climate there compared to London?"

The Duke's response was curt. "Colder. Wetter. But infinitely more tolerable than the cloying atmosphere of town."

An awkward silence fell over the table. Lydia, desperate to salvage the conversation, spoke up. "I've always thought the north sounded terribly romantic. All those windswept moors and ancient castles. It must be quite beautiful in its own way."

The Duke's eyes flicked to her, his gaze intense. Lydia felt her cheeks grow warm under his scrutiny, but she held his gaze, refusing to be cowed. "Beauty, Lady Lydia," he said, his voice low and rich, "is often a mask for danger. The moors you find so romantic have swallowed many an unwary traveler."

Lydia felt a chill run down her spine at his words. Was it a warning? A threat? Or perhaps... a challenge? She couldn't be sure, but she found herself unable to look away from those piercing blue eyes for the remainder of the meal.

As the last plates were cleared away, Lydia's mother spoke up, her voice overly bright. "Perhaps we should retire to the drawing room for coffee? Lydia, my dear, why don't you show His Grace the way?"

Recognizing the dismissal for what it was, Lydia rose, forcing a smile. "Of course. Your Grace, if you'll follow me?"

As they made their way down the hallway, Lydia was acutely aware of the Duke's presence behind her. His footsteps were nearly silent on the plush carpet, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could sense his gaze on her back. It took all her willpower not to turn and look at him, to try and decipher the mystery that was Elias Blacknight.

Just as they reached the drawing room door, the Duke spoke, his voice low and intense. "Lady Lydia," he said, causing her to turn and face him. "Before we proceed any further, there is something you must know."

Lydia's heart leapt into her throat. Was he about to call off the engagement? Had her behavior, or Mug's, offended him so greatly? She looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. From this distance, she could see flecks of silver in those midnight blue eyes, could detect the faint scent of sandalwood and leather that clung to him.

"Yes, Your Grace?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The Duke's face was impassive as he continued, but Lydia thought she detected a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. "I have a son. He is ten years old, and he is the sole reason I am seeking a wife. I require a mother for my child, nothing more. If you find this arrangement unsatisfactory, now is the time to speak up."

Lydia felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. Of all the things she had expected him to say, this was not it. A son? A child who needed a mother? She searched the Duke's face, trying to understand the emotions that flickered behind his carefully controlled expression.

"I... I see," she said, struggling to gather her thoughts. "May I ask what happened to the boy's mother?"

A shadow passed over the Duke's face, and for a moment, Lydia saw a glimpse of the pain he usually kept so well hidden. "She is gone," he said, his voice rough with some unnamed emotion. "That is all you need to know."

Lydia nodded, her mind whirling. A motherless child, a cold and distant father... her heart ached for the boy she had never met. And yet, a small part of her couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. Surely, if she could be a good mother to the Duke's son, he would come to appreciate her. Perhaps even...

No, she told herself firmly. She couldn't allow herself to entertain such foolish fantasies. This was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. And yet, as she looked up at the Duke, she couldn't help but wonder if there might be more to this enigmatic man than met the eye.

"I understand, Your Grace," she said, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "And I accept. I have helped raise my younger sisters, so I have some experience with children. I would be honored to be a mother to your son."

For a second, the Duke's brows lifted and a begrudging look of respect flickered across his features, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. For a moment, Lydia thought she saw his gaze drop to her lips, but surely that was just her imagination.

"Very well," he said, his tone clipped but somehow softer than before. "I shall have my solicitor draw up the marriage contract. We will wed in a fortnight's time."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode towards the front door, leaving Lydia staring after him in shock. She hurried to follow, her mind still reeling from their conversation.

"Your Grace!" she called, catching up to him at the door. "Won't you stay for tea?"

The Duke paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned to look at her, Lydia coldly. "I think not, Lady Lydia," he said, his voice low. "I have pressing business to attend to. Good evening."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Lydia standing alone in the foyer, her head spinning with all that had transpired. She pressed a hand to her cheek, feeling the warmth that lingered there

As she made her way back to the drawing room, where her parents no doubt waited with bated breath, Lydia couldn't shake the feeling that she had just agreed to something far more complicated than a simple marriage of convenience.

The Duke of Fyre was a mystery, a man shrouded in rumors and darkness. And now, she was to be his wife, the mother to his child. It was a daunting prospect, to say the least.

But as Lydia thought of the motherless boy waiting at Fyre Manor, she felt a surge of determination. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever secrets the Duke might be hiding, she would face them with courage and grace. For the sake of the child, if nothing else.