Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

L ydia stood at her bedroom window, watching the empty driveway with a thin frown between her brows, her lips pursed. Two days. Just two days until her wedding, and the Duke of Fyre had yet to pay her a single visit since their initial meeting. She clenched her fists, willing herself to remain calm. A lady never lost her composure, after all.

One would think, she thought irritably, that the man would want to get to know the woman who was to be the mother of his child.

A sharp knock at the door startled her from her brooding. "Lydia," her mother's voice called, "are you decent? We must go over the final preparations."

Lydia sighed, smoothing down her skirts. "Come in, Mother."

Viscountess Prudence swept into the room, a whirlwind of purpose and barely contained anxiety. "There you are, child. Sit down, we have much to discuss."

As Lydia perched on the edge of her bed, her mother began to pace, ticking off items on her fingers. "Now, the flowers have been ordered, the cake is being prepared, and your gown is nearly finished. Have you practiced your vows? Remember, clear enunciation is key."

"Yes, Mother," Lydia replied dutifully. "I've practiced them every night."

Prudence nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, we must discuss your duties as a duchess. You'll be expected to host dinners, attend balls, and manage a large household. It's a great responsibility, Lydia. I do hope you're prepared for it."

Lydia straightened her spine, lifting her chin. "I am, Mother. I've been preparing for this my entire life."

Prudence flashed a thin smile before pursing her lips once more. "Yes, well. See that you don't disappoint. The Duke is a powerful man, and this match is crucial for our family's future."

Lydia felt a twinge of resentment at her mother's words. Had anything she'd ever done been good enough? But she pushed the feeling aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"Mother," she began hesitantly, "the Duke... he hasn't called on me since our first meeting. Is that... normal?"

Prudence waved a dismissive hand. "Men of his station are very busy, Lydia. I'm sure he has many important matters to attend to. You mustn't bother him with trifles."

Lydia nodded, though the knot of anxiety in her stomach only tightened. How was she supposed to be a good wife to a man she barely knew?

As if sensing her daughter's unease, Prudence's expression softened slightly. "Lydia, my dear, I know this isn't the romantic match you might have dreamed of. But love... love isn't always necessary in a marriage. Respect, duty, these are far more important."

She paused, seeming to choose her next words carefully. "You may never feel love for the Duke, but you will love your children. That can be enough, if you allow it ."

Lydia swallowed hard, fighting back the sudden prick of tears. "Yes, Mother. I understand."

Prudence nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now, there is one more matter we must discuss. Your... wedding night."

Lydia felt her face flame. "Oh! I... that is..."

"Come now, Lydia," Prudence chided. "You're to be a married woman. We must speak of these things."

Viscountess Prudence perched on the edge of Lydia's bed, her face a mask of discomfort. "So yes... ah... your wifely duties."

Lydia's eyes widened. "Wifely duties?"

"Yes, well..." Prudence coughed delicately. "You see, when a man and a woman love each other very much..."

"Or in this case, are contractually obligated," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing, Mother. Please continue."

Prudence soldiered on. "Well, you see, it's rather like... like the bees and the flowers."

Lydia frowned. "Are you suggesting the Duke will sting me?"

"Good heavens, no!" Prudence gasped, fanning herself vigorously. "I simply mean... well, the bee... that is to say, the Duke... will... pollinate..."

At that moment, a bee buzzed in through the open window. Prudence shrieked, leaping to her feet and swatting wildly at the air. In her haste, she knocked over a vase of flowers, sending water and petals cascading across the floor.

"Oh dear," Lydia sighed, reaching for a towel. As she bent to mop up the mess, the bee settled on her nose. She went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

"Don't move!" Prudence hissed, inching towards the door. "I'll fetch your father. He'll know what to do."

"Mother, it's just a bee," Lydia said, trying not to move her lips too much.

"Precisely!" Prudence nodded vigorously. "And now you see why it's so important to discuss these matters before your wedding night!"

With that, she fled the room, leaving Lydia alone with her new striped friend.

"Well," Lydia addressed the bee, "I don't suppose you could explain what on earth she was talking about?"

The bee, unsurprisingly, did not respond. It did, however, fly off her nose and out the window, apparently deciding that the Viscountess's impromptu biology lesson was not to its liking either.

Lydia flopped back on her bed, more confused than ever. If this was what marriage entailed, perhaps spinsterhood wasn't such a terrible fate after all.

She understood the basic mechanics of how children were made, of course, but the reality of it - of lying with a virtual stranger - was suddenly, terrifyingly real.

What had she gotten herself into? How could she possibly be a good wife, a good duchess, when she knew next to nothing about the man she was to marry?

A soft knock at the door roused her from her spiraling thoughts. "Lydia?" Marian's voice called softly. "May we come in?"

"Of course," Lydia replied, hastily composing herself.

Her three sisters filed into the room, their faces etched with concern. Jane was carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits, while Diana clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers.

"We thought you might need some cheering up," Diana said, offering the flowers with a shy smile.

Lydia felt a rush of affection for her sisters. "Thank you," she said softly, taking the flowers and inhaling their sweet scent. "You're right, I could use a distraction."

As they settled around the room, pouring tea and passing biscuits, Lydia felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Here, surrounded by the familiar chatter of her sisters, she could almost forget the daunting future that awaited her.

"So," Jane said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you ready to become the fearsome Duchess of Fyre?"

Lydia laughed, the sound surprising even herself. "Fearsome? Hardly. I'm more likely to trip over my own feet and embarrass myself in front of the entire ton."

"Nonsense," Marian said firmly. "You'll be magnificent, Lydia. You always are."

"But what if I'm not?" Lydia whispered, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at her for days. "What if I can't live up to the Duke's expectations? What if I fail?"

Her sisters exchanged glances, and it was Diana who spoke up. "Lydia," she said gently, "do you remember when you taught me to ride? I was so afraid, certain I'd fall and make a fool of myself. But you told me something I've never forgotten."

Lydia smiled faintly. "What was that?"

"You said, 'The only true failure is not trying at all.' And you were right. Even when I fell - and I fell a lot - you never let me give up. You won't fail, Lydia, because you'll never stop trying. That's who you are."

Tears pricked at Lydia's eyes, and she reached out to squeeze Diana's hand. "Thank you," she whispered. "I needed to hear that."

As the afternoon wore on, Lydia's spirits lifted. Her sisters regaled her with stories and jokes, reminding her of happier times and filling the room with laughter. For a few precious hours, she was able to set aside her worries and simply enjoy the company of those she loved most.

But as the light began to fade and her sisters prepared to leave, the weight of her impending future settled back onto Lydia's shoulders. She walked to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky.

"Lydia?" Marian's voice was soft behind her. "What are you thinking?"

Lydia turned, offering her sister a small smile. "I was just... remembering. All those hours spent practicing the pianoforte, perfecting my French, learning to embroider. I used to resent Mother for pushing me so hard. But now..."

"Now you're grateful," Marian finished for her. "Because it's prepared you for this."

Lydia nodded. "Exactly. I may not know the Duke, may not love him, but I can be the perfect wife and duchess. I can make Mother proud, prove to everyone that I'm worthy of this position."

Marian studied her face for a long moment. "And what about your own happiness, Lydia? Doesn't that matter?"

The question caught Lydia off guard. She'd been so focused on duty, on living up to expectations, that she'd scarcely considered her own desires. "I... I suppose I hope that happiness will come in time," she said slowly. "That in doing my duty, in being the best duchess I can be, I'll find fulfillment."

Marian didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Just... don't lose yourself in the process, Lydia. Promise me that."

"I promise," Lydia said, embracing her sister tightly.

As her sisters left, Lydia moved to her writing desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. If the Duke wouldn't come to her, then she would go to him - through letters, at least. She would write to him every day until the wedding, sharing her thoughts, her hopes for their future together. Perhaps, if she could not win his love, she might at least earn his respect.

"Dear Duke," she began, her hand steady and her resolve firm. "I hope this letter finds you well. As our wedding day approaches, I find myself thinking of the life we will build together..."

The words flowed easily, filling page after page. Lydia wrote of her hopes for their future, her commitment to being a good wife and duchess. She spoke of her accomplishments, her desire to be a worthy partner to him. And though she did not mention love - for how could she love a man she barely knew? - she infused every word with sincerity and determination.

As she sealed the letter, ready to be sent first thing in the morning, Lydia allowed herself a small smile. This was not the future she’d expected. But would face it head-on, with all the grace and determination she could muster. After all, she had made a vow to be the perfect lady, the perfect wife. And Lydia Brandon always kept her promises.

The next day dawned bright and clear, but Lydia's spirits remained clouded with anxiety. As she went through the motions of her daily routine - breakfast with her family, a final fitting for her wedding gown, a meeting with the florist - she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her since her mother's talk.

"Lydia," Prudence called as she passed the drawing room, "come here a moment. We need to go over the seating arrangements for the wedding breakfast one last time."

Suppressing a sigh, Lydia entered the room. Her mother sat at a small writing desk, surrounded by papers and diagrams. "Yes, Mother?"

Prudence looked up, her keen eyes taking in every detail of Lydia's appearance. "Stand up straight, child. A duchess must always have perfect posture. Now, about these seating arrangements..."

For the next hour, Lydia stood dutifully by her mother's side, offering suggestions and nodding agreement as Prudence rearranged the names of guests over and over. It was tedious work, but Lydia knew better than to complain. A lady always maintained her composure, no matter how trying the circumstances.

As they finished, Prudence set down her pen with a satisfied nod. "There. That should prevent any social faux pas. Now, Lydia, let's review your duties one last time."

Lydia straightened her shoulders, reciting from memory: "As Duchess of Fyre, I am to manage the household staff, oversee the estate accounts, host social gatherings, support my husband in his business and political endeavors, and present a dignified and gracious face to society at all times."

"Very good," Prudence said, a hint of approval in her voice. "And your primary duty?"

"To provide an heir for the Fyre lineage," Lydia replied, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.

Prudence nodded. "Exactly. Remember, Lydia, everything else is secondary to that. The continuation of the family line is of utmost importance."

Lydia swallowed hard, her mother's words from the previous day echoing in her mind. Love wasn't necessary in a marriage. Duty, respect, these were what mattered. But as she stood there, on the eve of her wedding, Lydia couldn't help but long for something more.

"Mother," she said hesitantly, "what if... what if the Duke and I never come to care for each other? What if it's always just... duty?"

Prudence's expression softened slightly, a rare occurrence. "Oh, my dear. I know it seems daunting now, but you'll see. Once you have children, once you build a life together, a different kind of love will grow. It may not be the passionate romance of novels, but it can be deep and lasting all the same."

Lydia nodded, not entirely convinced but unwilling to argue. As she turned to leave, Prudence called out once more.

"Lydia. Remember everything I've taught you. You've been prepared for this your entire life. Don't let us down."

The words, meant to be encouraging, felt like a weight on Lydia's shoulders. She had always strived to meet her mother's exacting standards, had pushed herself to excel in every area of a lady's education. But this - marriage to a virtual stranger, the weight of an entire duchy on her shoulders - this was beyond anything she had ever faced before.

As she retreated to her room, Lydia's mind whirled with all she had learned, all she still didn't know. The mechanics of producing an heir, vaguely explained through metaphors of flowers and bees, seemed both terrifying and oddly anticlimactic. Was that truly all there was to it?