Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

E lias sat at his massive mahogany desk, staring unseeing at the papers before him. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on the estate accounts. His mind kept wandering to his new wife.

Lydia. Even her name was distracting. He'd caught himself writing it in the margins of his correspondence twice already this morning, like some lovesick schoolboy. Irritated with himself, he scratched out the offending letters with perhaps more force than necessary.

It had been three days since their wedding, and Elias found himself increasingly aware of her presence in his home. Little things kept drawing his attention – the sound of her footsteps in the corridor, the faint scent of lavender that lingered in rooms she'd occupied, the way the servants seemed to stand straighter when she passed by.

And then there was the way she looked at him, those green eyes full of questions he didn't dare answer. The memory of their encounter outside her chambers still haunted him. The softness of her skin, the slight catch in her breath when he'd moved closer, the way her lips had parted...

Elias shook his head sharply, forcing his attention back to the ledger. This wouldn't do at all. He was the Duke of Fyre, not some romantic hero from one of those ridiculous novels his sister was always reading. He had responsibilities, duties, a reputation to maintain.

A sharp knock at his study door interrupted Elias's brooding. Without waiting for a response, Nicholas Grant strode in, looking entirely too cheerful for so early in the morning.

"Well," Nicholas said, dropping into the chair across from Elias's desk with his usual lack of ceremony. "How's married life treating you, old friend?"

Elias scowled at the interruption. "Don't you have your own estate to manage?"

"Oh, certainly," Nicholas agreed amiably. "But I couldn't resist checking in on you. Especially after hearing some rather interesting rumors about changes at Fyre Manor."

"Changes?" Elias's voice held a warning note.

"Apparently, your new duchess is quite... spirited. She and your son seem to be playing in the gardens. Playing, Elias. When was the last time Peter did anything of the sort?"

Elias's jaw tightened. "The boy needs discipline and education, not frivolous entertainments."

"The boy needs to be a boy," Nicholas countered. "Even you must see that."

"What I see," Elias said coldly, "is that my wife appears determined to upend the routine I've carefully established."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "And is that necessarily a bad thing? This house hasn't exactly been overflowing with joy these past years."

"Joy is hardly the point," Elias muttered, though something in his chest tightened uncomfortably. "There are expectations to maintain, standards to uphold."

"Ah yes, the mighty standards of the Duke of Fyre," Nicholas said dryly. "Heaven forbid anyone actually smile within these hallowed walls."

"If you've come merely to mock me?—"

"Not mock, my friend. Observe. With great interest, I might add. You're... different since she arrived."

Elias frowned. "Different how?"

"Less rigid, perhaps. More alive. I've even caught you almost smiling once or twice."

"Nonsense," Elias dismissed, though he found himself unable to meet his friend's knowing gaze.

"Is it? Tell me, what do you think of her?"

The question caught Elias off guard. What did he think of Lydia? She was... unsettling. Unpredictable. Everything he hadn't wanted in a duchess. And yet...

"She's... adequate," he said finally. "She seems to get along well with Peter, at least."

Nicholas snorted. "Adequate? That's all you have to say about the woman who's managed to bring more life to this mausoleum in three days than it's seen in years?"

"She's also stubborn, impulsive, and entirely too informal," Elias added irritably. "That ridiculous dog of hers had my butler in fits yesterday, racing through the halls with Peter's cravat in its mouth."

"Ah yes, the infamous Mug," Nicholas grinned. "I heard about that. The staff says Peter actually laughed."

Something in Elias's chest twisted at that. When was the last time he'd heard his son laugh?

"The point is," Nicholas continued more seriously, "she's making changes. Good changes, from what I can see. Would it kill you to unbend a little? To let some light into this tomb you call a home?"

"I didn't marry her to make changes," Elias said stiffly. "I married her to provide Peter with a mother figure and to manage the household."

"And is she not doing both? Just perhaps not exactly as you expected?"

"Were you here to scold me, or are you here for business?" Elias bit out and Nicholas sighed. "I brought you some documents. I shall take my leave soon… but be careful to not ruin more than your own happiness with this bitterness, my dear friend."

Before Elias could respond, Nicholas left. He may have gotten quite stuck in a daze – but then laughter drifted in through the window – bright, joyous laughter that made him start. Elias frowned. Laughter was not a common sound at Fyre Manor – he preferred a quiet, orderly household. Another peal of merriment rang out, followed by what sounded suspiciously like barking.

With an irritated sigh, Elias rose from his desk and strode to the window. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks.

There, in the carefully manicured garden, was his son – his perfectly proper, always dignified son – rolling in the grass with that ridiculous dog. Peter's golden curls were wild, his fine clothes smeared with dirt, and his face... his face was transformed by pure joy.

Lydia stood nearby, her own hair escaping its pins as she acted out what appeared to be a sword fight with an invisible opponent. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she called out encouragement to Peter.

"Quick, Sir Peter! The dragon approaches! Defend your loyal knight, Sir Mug!"

Peter's laughter – when was the last time Elias had heard his son truly laugh? – rang out again as he jumped to his feet. "Fear not, fair lady! Sir Mug and I shall protect you!"

The little dog barked enthusiastically, running circles around them both while Lydia pretended to swoon in distress. Even Miss Nancy, whom Elias had always considered a paragon of proper behavior, was smiling as she watched from a nearby bench.

Elias felt something strange stir in his chest as he watched them play. Peter looked so... young. So carefree. So unlike the solemn little adult he usually pretended to be. And Lydia...

His breath caught as she spun in a circle, her skirts swirling around her legs, her face lifted to the sun. She was beautiful – wildly, vibrantly beautiful in a way that made his fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

But then his eyes fell on Peter's dirt-stained clothing, and propriety reasserted itself. This wouldn't do at all. They had standards to maintain. What if someone were to visit and see the heir to the dukedom behaving like a common street urchin?

Before he could think better of it, Elias found himself striding out to the garden. As he approached, Peter spotted him first. The boy's laughter died immediately as he scrambled to his feet, attempting to brush the grass from his clothes.

"Father! I... we were just..."

"Slaying dragons, apparently," Elias said dryly, noting how his son's shoulders hunched at his tone.

Lydia turned to face him, and Elias felt his breath catch again at the sight of her. Her hair was coming down in wild curls around her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes... her eyes were challenging him to say something disapproving.

"Your Grace," she said, dropping into an elegant curtsy that somehow managed to seem both perfectly proper and slightly mocking. "Would you care to join our adventure? We could use another knight in our quest."

For a moment – just a moment – Elias was tempted. He remembered playing such games as a child, before his father had beaten all such frivolity out of him. He could almost feel the sun on his face, the grass under his feet, the simple joy of pretending...

But no. He was the Duke of Fyre. He had responsibilities, expectations to uphold.

"I think not," he said stiffly. "Peter, you should change before dinner. Your clothing is quite unsuitable."

The light dimmed in Peter's eyes, and he nodded sullenly. "Yes, Father."

"Oh, but we haven't finished our quest!" Lydia protested. "Surely the young knight can't abandon his post in the middle of battle? What would become of the kingdom?"

Elias found himself caught between amusement and annoyance at her obvious manipulation. "The kingdom, madam, will survive without Sir Peter's protection for one afternoon. The proper appearance of the future Duke of Fyre, however, is not negotiable."

"And what of his happiness?" Lydia asked quietly, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him want to look away. "Is that negotiable?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. Elias opened his mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but the words died in his throat as he caught sight of Peter's face. His son was watching the exchange with a wide-eyed look that made something in Elias's chest ache.

"Perhaps..." he found himself saying, much to his own surprise, "perhaps Sir Peter might be permitted to finish his current quest before changing. Provided it doesn't take too long."

The smile that blazed across Peter's face was like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Really, Father? You mean it?"

Elias nodded stiffly, telling himself he wasn't affected by his son's obvious joy. "Fifteen minutes," he said firmly. "No more."

"Thank you, Father!" Peter exclaimed, then caught himself and attempted to assume a more dignified expression. "I mean... thank you, Your Grace."

Lydia's eyes were dancing with triumph as she turned back to Peter. "Well then, Sir Peter, shall we vanquish this dragon once and for all?"

As the "battle" resumed, Elias found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear himself away from the scene before him. Peter's laughter rang out again, pure and uninhibited, and Elias felt that strange ache in his chest intensify.

He should return to his study, to his accounts and his responsibilities. But somehow, he couldn't quite make himself leave. Instead, he found himself sinking onto the bench beside Miss Nancy, who was watching the proceedings with poorly concealed amusement.

"She's good for him," the governess said quietly, not looking at Elias. "I haven't seen him this happy in years."

Elias grunted noncommittally, but he couldn't deny the truth of her words. Something had changed in Peter over the past few days. He seemed... lighter somehow. More like the child he should be, rather than the miniature adult Elias had tried to mold him into.

And it was all because of Lydia. His wife, who had swept into their lives like a summer storm, disrupting everything in her path. She was nothing like what he'd expected – not the meek, proper duchess he'd thought he wanted. Instead, she was... vibrant. Challenging. Alive in a way that made him feel oddly awakened himself.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lydia glanced over at him. Their eyes met across the garden, and Elias felt that now-familiar jolt of awareness. She smiled – a real smile, warm and inviting – and for a moment, he almost smiled back.

Then he caught himself, remembering who he was, what was expected of him. Rising abruptly, he nodded to Miss Nancy. "Fifteen minutes," he reminded her. "Then Peter must change for dinner."

As he strode back to his study, Elias could still hear the sounds of laughter and play behind him. His fingers itched to loosen his cravat, to run through the grass, to join in their game. But such things were not for the Duke of Fyre.

Still, as he settled back at his desk, he found himself positioning his chair so he could see the garden from where he sat. Just to ensure they didn't exceed their allotted time, he told himself. Not because he enjoyed watching his son's face light up with joy, or the way Lydia's skirts swirled as she danced around the garden, or the way the sunlight caught the auburn highlights in her dark hair...

Elias forced his attention back to his ledgers, but the numbers seemed to swim before his eyes. In the garden, Peter was demonstrating his swordsmanship with a stick, while Lydia applauded enthusiastically. That ridiculous dog – Mug, he reminded himself – pranced around them both, adding his barks to the general chaos.

It was noisy, undignified, and completely contrary to everything Elias had tried to establish in his household. And yet... and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to put a stop to it.

Perhaps, he thought grudgingly, a little noise wasn't such a terrible thing after all. But only for fifteen minutes. And only because it seemed to make Peter so happy.

It had nothing at all to do with the way Lydia's eyes sparkled when she smiled, or how her laughter seemed to warm something cold and lonely inside him. Nothing at all.