Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

E lias descended the grand staircase with measured steps, his mind preoccupied with estate matters. The afternoon post had brought concerning news about one of his northern properties, and he was already composing a strongly-worded letter in his head when the sound of approaching voices caught his attention.

"And then the pirate king said..." Peter's excited voice drifted in from the garden entrance, followed by a peal of childish laughter that made Elias pause mid-step. The sound was so foreign in these halls that for a moment, he didn't recognize it as coming from his own son.

"Oh, but what did the first mate say to that?" Lydia's voice responded, warm with amusement. "Surely Mug had something to add to the conversation?"

As if on cue, an enthusiastic bark echoed through the entrance hall, followed by the distinctive sound of muddy paws on marble floors. Elias's jaw tightened. Mrs. Winters would have fits about the mess.

"First Mate Mug says we should check the treasure map again," Peter declared with authority, though his voice began to fade as he apparently caught sight of his father's approaching figure.

Elias rounded the corner just as they were entering through the garden door. The scene before him was one of complete disorder: Peter's usually immaculate clothing was covered in grass stains and what appeared to be mud, his golden curls were wild and untamed, and that infernal dog was prancing about with what looked suspiciously like one of the gardener's gloves in its mouth.

But it was the look on Peter's face that struck Elias the hardest – the way his son's bright smile instantly vanished, replaced by that too-familiar mask of anxious formality. The transformation was like watching a candle being snuffed out.

"Father," Peter said, his voice small as he attempted to brush some of the grass from his jacket. "I was just... that is, we were..."

"Exploring the high seas," Lydia finished for him, placing a protective hand on Peter's shoulder. Despite her own disheveled appearance – her hair falling from its pins, her hem distinctly muddy – she met Elias's stern gaze with remarkable composure. "Though I believe we've successfully avoided any sea monsters today."

"Sea monsters," Elias repeated flatly, noting how Peter seemed to shrink further into himself with each passing second. The sight made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. When had his presence become something his son dreaded?

Mug chose that moment to drop the sodden glove at Elias's feet, apparently offering it as some sort of peace offering. The dog's tail wagged hopefully as he looked up at the Duke with what could only be described as canine optimism.

"Your Grace," Miss Nancy's voice came from behind the group, slightly breathless as she finally caught up. "I tried to suggest a more... sedate activity, but?—"

"But I insisted," Lydia interrupted smoothly. "The weather was simply too perfect to waste indoors. The responsibility is entirely mine."

Elias found his gaze drawn to his wife despite himself. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and a leaf had somehow become tangled in her dark curls. She looked utterly unlike a proper duchess – and yet, something about the way she stood there, chin lifted defiantly as she shielded his son from censure, made his heart beat faster.

Which only served to irritate him further.

"I would have thought," he said coldly, "that as Duchess of Fyre, you would show more concern for the proper appearance of your stepson. He looks like a?—"

"Like a boy who has been enjoying his childhood," Lydia cut in, her green eyes flashing. "Which is exactly what he is, Your Grace, despite your best efforts to make him forget it."

The silence that followed her words was deafening. Peter's eyes darted between his father and stepmother, his small hands twisting anxiously in his ruined jacket.

"Miss Nancy," Elias said finally, his voice clipped. "Please escort my son to his chambers to change before dinner."

"Yes, Your Grace," the governess said quickly, clearly relieved to be removing Peter from the brewing storm. "Come along, Master Peter."= Let's get you cleaned up before dinner."

Peter cast one last worried glance between his father and stepmother before allowing himself to be led away. Mug, showing surprising wisdom for such a scruffy creature, followed them up the stairs.

Once they were alone, Lydia turned the full force of her indignation on Elias. "How dare you suggest I'm a bad influence? All I've done is show that boy a moment of joy – something that seems to be in remarkably short supply in this mausoleum you call a home!"

"Watch your tone," Elias warned, taking a step closer. "You forget yourself, madam."

"No, Your Grace, you forget that Peter is a child!" Lydia shot back, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. "A child who needs time to play, to laugh, to simply be young. Why does that frighten you so much?"

"It does not frighten me," Elias growled, closing the distance between them even further. "I simply understand, better than you ever could, the weight of responsibility that comes with our position in society."

"He's ten years old!" Lydia exclaimed, standing her ground despite the way her pulse quickened at his nearness. "The weight of responsibility will come soon enough. For now, all I'm asking is one hour a day – one single hour where he can set aside his lessons and simply play."

Elias found himself caught by the passion in her eyes, the slight flush of her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She was magnificent in her anger, he realized with a jolt. Like a goddess of justice, defending the right of children to be children.

"One hour?" he repeated, his voice rougher than he'd intended.

"Yes," Lydia said firmly. "One hour each day where he doesn't have to be the future Duke of Fyre. Where he can just be Peter." Her expression softened slightly as she added, "Surely you remember what it was like to be young? To want to run and play and imagine?"

The question struck uncomfortably close to home. Elias did remember – remembered all too well the harsh lessons his own father had used to drive such childish impulses from him. He'd sworn to be different with Peter, hadn't he? And yet...

"Please," Lydia said softly, and something in her tone made him look down at her. Her eyes were wide and earnest, her lips slightly parted as she gazed up at him. "Just one hour. That's all I ask."

Elias became acutely aware of how close they were standing. If he leaned down just slightly, he could capture those tempting lips with his own, could taste the passion that made her eyes spark so brilliantly...

He took a hasty step backward, alarmed by the direction of his thoughts. "Very well," he said gruffly. "One hour per day. But he must complete all his other lessons first, and his clothing must be protected during these... activities."

The smile that blazed across Lydia's face was like sunrise breaking over the horizon. "Thank you, Elias," she said warmly, using his given name for the first time since their wedding night.

The sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver down his spine. Without another word, he turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing in the vast hall. He needed distance – from her smile, from her warmth, from the dangerous way she made him want things he had no business wanting.

Behind him, he heard a small sound of triumph, and he could picture her celebration perfectly – the way her eyes would be dancing, the slight bounce she probably couldn't quite suppress. Despite himself, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

One hour per day. What harm could it do? And if it meant seeing Peter smile more often – seeing Lydia smile more often – well, that was merely an incidental benefit. Nothing more.

Elias walked quickly through the corridors of Fyre Manor, his thoughts in turmoil. The memory of Lydia's defiant eyes and flushed cheeks haunted him, along with that maddening scent of lavender that seemed to linger wherever she went.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the voices drifting from the small sitting room near Peter's chambers. But his son's quiet words made him pause mid-stride.

"Miss Nancy?" Peter's voice was hesitant, thoughtful. "What... what is it supposed to feel like? Having a mother, I mean."

Elias found himself frozen in place, just out of sight of the partially open door. He knew he should walk away, that eavesdropping was beneath his dignity, but something kept him rooted to the spot.

"Well," Nancy's voice was gentle, carefully considering her response. "I suppose it's different for everyone. Why do you ask?"

There was a pause, and Elias could picture his son fidgeting with his sleeve buttons as he often did when nervous. "It's just... Lydia is different from what I expected. When Father said he was bringing home a new duchess, I thought..."

"What did you think, dear?"

"I thought she'd be like the mean stepmothers we read about in those books… And that she'd just yell and fight all the time.'" Peter's voice took on a higher pitch, mimicking the society matrons who occasionally graced their halls. "But Lydia... she plays with me. She listens when I talk about my drawings. And she doesn't mind when Mug gets mud on her dress."

Nancy chuckled softly. "No, she certainly doesn't seem to mind a bit of mess, does she?"

"Today when we were playing pirates," Peter continued, his voice growing animated, "she helped me make up a whole story about treasure maps and sea monsters. And when I said I didn't know how to sword fight, she used a stick to teach me! Can you imagine? A duchess, playing with sticks!"

The pure joy in his son's voice made Elias's chest ache. When was the last time he'd heard Peter speak with such enthusiasm?

"And... and when Father came home," Peter's voice dropped lower, "she didn't let me get in trouble. She stood up for me. Like... like a real mother would. Wouldn't she?"

There was a long pause before Nancy responded. "Yes, dear. That's exactly what a real mother would do."

"I wish..." Peter started, then stopped himself.

"What do you wish, Master Peter?"

"I wish Father could come play with us . Playing and laughing and just... being happy. Lydia makes it seem so easy. But whenever Father appears, everything has to be proper and perfect and... and I don't want to disappoint him."

Elias felt as though someone had struck him in the chest. He leaned against the wall, his son's words echoing in his mind.

"Oh, I just know the Duke loves you very much," Nancy said softly. "He just... shows it differently."

"I know," Peter sighed. "But sometimes I wish he could show it more like Lydia does. She hugs me and smiles at me and doesn't mind if my cravat is crooked. And when she looks at me, I don't feel like... like I'm doing everything wrong."

Unable to listen anymore, Elias turned and walked silently away, his son's words haunting his steps. When he finally reached his study, Elias closed the door firmly behind him and dropped into his chair. He could still smell the faint trace of lavender that clung to her, could still see the fire in her eyes as she defended his son's right to play.

His son. Something did not sit quite right with him when he thought of the way the boy looked at him–at times it seemed also as though he were scared, hesitant. At times, their relationship resembled the tumultuous one he'd had with his own father and now…

It was Lydia, of course, who brought on these ridiculous feelings. He'd never before been bothered by the fact that he had to put duty first.

With an irritated grunt, he pushed away from his desk. Perhaps a ride would clear his head. Anything to escape the maddening presence of his new wife and the equally maddening effect she seemed to have on him.

As he strode towards the stables, he caught sight of Peter emerging from his room in fresh clothes, his hair neatly combed once more. But there was something different about the boy's bearing – a lightness that hadn't been there before, a hint of that earlier joy that hadn't been completely suppressed.

And perhaps, Elias admitted to himself, that made the grass stains and the noise and the disruption to his perfectly ordered household worth it after all.

Not that he would ever tell Lydia that, of course. She was quite satisfied enough with her victory – no need to encourage further disruptions to his carefully maintained dignity.

Though a small voice in the back of his mind suggested that perhaps a little disruption wasn't such a terrible thing after all.