Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

I t was strange, Lydia thought as she sat at her desk in the morning room, reviewing household accounts. Her head snapped up when a familiar scratching at the door caught her attention.

"Come in, Mug," she called, smiling as the little dog trotted in, followed by a slightly disheveled Peter. "And good morning to you too, darling. You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep," Peter admitted, dropping into a nearby chair. "I was thinking about the story you were telling me yesterday, about the knight and the dragon. Does the knight really manage to befriend the dragon in the end?"

"Well," Lydia said, setting aside her ledgers, "that rather depends on whether the knight is clever enough to realize that not all dragons need to be slain. Sometimes the fiercest creatures simply need to be understood."

Peter's brow furrowed in thought. "Like how everyone was afraid of Mug at first because he barked so much, but really he just wanted to make friends?"

"Exactly like that," Lydia agreed, watching as the dog in question curled up contentedly at Peter's feet. "Speaking of friends, I noticed you've been spending quite a bit of time with young Thomas from the village. The gardener's son?"

A flush crept up Peter's neck. "He's been teaching me about the different plants in the kitchen garden. Did you know that some flowers are actually edible? And that certain herbs can help when you're feeling ill?"

"Is that so?" Lydia said, hiding a smile at his enthusiasm. "Perhaps we should ask Mrs. Winters if we might start a small herb garden of our own. Something you could tend to during your free hour?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Could we really? Father wouldn't mind?"

"I don't see why he would object to his son learning about useful plants," Lydia said carefully. "Especially since such knowledge could be valuable for managing the estate one day."

"You're very clever," Peter observed, giving her a knowing look. "You always know just how to explain things so Father won't disapprove."

Lydia felt her cheeks warm. "I simply try to see all sides of a situation. Now, shall we go down to breakfast? I believe Cook mentioned something about raspberry preserves this morning."

As they made their way to the breakfast room, Peter chattered hesitantly about his plans for the herb garden. Lydia could not help but smile as he spoke, her eyes finding his. He was eager and caring – and with his father gone, it seemed, the boy was far more open. For the first time, he spoke without being spoken to and though his voice was still soft and hesitant, she could see a twinkle in his eye that she had not noticed before.

"Your Grace," Mrs. Winters approached as they finished their meal. "The new linens have arrived from London. Would you like to inspect them?"

"Yes, thank you," Lydia said, rising from the table. "Peter, why don't you go start your lessons? I'll join you later for our history discussion."

But Peter had already jumped up, eyes bright with interest. "Could I help? I promise I won't get in the way. I just want to see how everything works."

Lydia exchanged glances with Mrs. Winters, who gave a small nod. "Very well," she agreed. "A future duke should understand all aspects of household management, shouldn't he?"

They spent the next hour examining fine linens and discussing thread counts, with Peter asking surprisingly astute questions about cost and durability. Mrs. Winters, initially hesitant about having a child involved in such matters, gradually warmed to his genuine interest.

"You have quite an eye for quality, Master Peter," she praised when he correctly identified the finest set of sheets. "Your father will be pleased to know you're taking an interest in household matters."

Peter beamed at the compliment, then turned to Lydia with a slightly mischievous grin. "Does this count as a lesson? Since I'm learning important things about managing the estate?"

"Nice try," Lydia laughed, ruffling his hair. "But I believe Miss Nancy is still expecting you for mathematics this morning."

Later, after lessons were complete and their daily hour of play had been spent building an elaborate fort in the library (with strict rules about treating the books with respect), Lydia found herself sitting with Peter in the garden while he sketched the flowerbeds.

"Lydia?" he asked, not looking up from his drawing. "Are you happy here? At Fyre Manor, I mean?"

The question caught her off guard. "Of course I am. Why do you ask?"

Peter shrugged, adding careful details to a rose. "It's just... it can be quite gloomy sometimes. And Father can be... well, Father. But you've made everything brighter somehow. Not just the rooms, but... everything."

Lydia felt her throat tighten with emotion. "Oh, darling. You've made everything brighter for me too, you know."

"Really?" He looked up at her then, hope shining in his eyes.

"Really," she assured him. "You and your father and even this grand old house – you've all become very dear to me."

"Even Father?" Peter asked innocently, though there was a knowing gleam in his eye that made him look remarkably like his father.

"Yes, even your father," Lydia admitted, feeling her cheeks warm. "When he's not being unnecessarily stern about Mug's gardening habits."

Peter giggled, then grew serious. "I'm glad you came here," he said softly. "Even if it was just because Father needed a duchess."

"Oh, Peter," Lydia pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his curls. "I'm glad I came too. So very glad."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Peter drawing while Lydia worked on her embroidery. Mug chased butterflies through the garden, occasionally bringing them interesting leaves or sticks he'd discovered.

"Do you think Father misses us?" Peter asked suddenly. "Even a little?"

"Of course," Lydia said automatically, though a thin frown appeared between her brows. In all truth, she had not thought much of her husband since he's been gone – much less of whether he missed them.

She was certain that he did not miss her – or notice her absence from him – in the slightest.

But surely, she told herself, he had to miss his son?

"I know he misses you," she insisted now, though Peter looked at her quite doubtfully. She leaned forward and tapped her index finger against his nose. "He must miss you! After all, I would!"

"I don't think he does," Peter said simply. "But I'd miss you if you were gone."

Lydia didn't know quite how to respond to that, so she simply hugged Peter closer and turned her face to the warm summer sun. Together, they watched Mug chase another butterfly, their laughter echoing through the gardens of Fyre Manor.

The house, she realized, no longer felt like a strange place she was trying to fit into. Somewhere along the way, it had become home. Her eyes found Peter again – his face scrunched up in thought, and her heart ached for the boy.

"Peter," she said softly, her voice gently. "What do you say we play another game?"

Just like that, his face lit up and Lydia flashed him a true smile. At least one person at Fyre Manor wanted her there, she could not help but think – a rather melancholic thought, but one that faded when Peter's face broke open into a smile.