Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

" A nd then the pirate queen discovered that the treasure wasn't gold at all," Lydia said, watching Peter's face light up with anticipation, "but something far more precious..."

"What was it?" Peter leaned forward in his seat by the library window, completely absorbed in the tale. Even Mug had stopped chasing dust motes to listen, his head tilted to one side.

"Books!" Lydia declared dramatically. "An entire library of ancient knowledge, preserved in a magical cave beneath the waves."

Peter's eyes widened. "Like Father's library?"

"Similar, though perhaps with fewer treatises on proper estate management," Lydia teased, reaching out to ruffle his curls. The afternoon sun streamed through the newly lightened curtains, catching the golden highlights in Peter's hair and making him look, for a moment, like a fairy-tale prince.

Their quiet moment was interrupted by the sudden sound of hooves on gravel. Peter jumped up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair, rushing to the window. "Lydia! There are riders coming up the drive! Do you think...?"

Lydia joined him at the window, her heart doing a peculiar flutter as she recognized the tall figure leading the group. "Yes, darling. Your father's home."

Peter's face lit up with joy, though Lydia noticed how quickly he tried to school his features into something more dignified. "Should we go down to greet him? Or would that be too... improper?"

The hesitation in his voice made Lydia's heart ache. "I think," she said carefully, "that any father would be delighted to be greeted by his son after a long journey."

But before they could reach the door, Mrs. Winters came hurrying in, her face pinched with worry. "Your Grace... perhaps you and Master Peter might wish to wait in your chambers? His Grace seems... somewhat out of sorts."

Lydia was about to protest when she heard it - Elias's voice, deeper and harsher than usual, demanding Mrs. Winters's presence in the morning room. Peter's face fell, and he took an instinctive step closer to Lydia.

"It's alright," she assured him, though her own stomach was twisting with apprehension. "Why don't you go up to the schoolroom and work on that surprise drawing you were planning? I'm sure your father will want to see it once he's settled."

Peter nodded, his earlier excitement dimmed but not entirely extinguished. "Will you come find me? After...?"

"Of course, darling." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then watched as he and Mug headed up the stairs, the little dog staying closer to his young master than usual, as if sensing his anxiety.

Lydia took a deep breath, smoothing down her skirts and squaring her shoulders. She had known this confrontation was coming from the moment she'd decided to make changes to the manor. Best to face it head-on.

She had barely reached her chambers when she heard his footsteps - those measured, commanding steps she'd found herself missing over the past fortnight. But there was nothing measured about the way he burst into her sitting room, his face dark with fury.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded without preamble.

Lydia turned, lifting her chin as she met his stormy gaze. Despite everything, her traitorous heart still skipped at the sight of him - travel-worn and magnificent in his anger, his blue eyes fierce as a winter storm.

"Welcome home, Your Grace. I trust your journey was productive?"

"Don't change the subject. What gives you the right to make changes to my home without my permission?"

"Your home?" Lydia felt her own temper rising to match his. "I was under the impression that as Duchess of Fyre, this was my home as well. Unless I misunderstood the role I was meant to play here?"

"The role you were meant to play?" His voice could have frozen flame. "You were meant to care for Peter, not turn my house upside down and hang—" He broke off, and Lydia saw something flash across his face - not just anger, but pain.

"I am caring for Peter!" She took a step forward, her frustration finally boiling over. "Do you have any idea what it's like for him in this... this tomb you call a home? Where he's afraid to laugh too loudly or play too enthusiastically? Where he has to check his every impulse against what he thinks you might approve of?"

"He has everything he needs?—"

"He needs to be a child!" Lydia cut him off, her voice rising. "He needs sunlight and laughter and the freedom to make mistakes without feeling like he's disappointed his father at every turn. Yes, I made changes to the house - because this house needed changing! Because your son needed it!"

"You had no right?—"

"I had every right! What else am I supposed to do here? You've given me nothing - no guidance, no real position, just one order: take care of Peter. Well, I am taking care of him!"

"Is that not enough?" Elias's voice had dropped dangerously low.

"No!" Lydia's fists clenched at her sides as years of proper behavior finally gave way to raw honesty. "It's not enough! Peter has a governess - a very good one, I might add. What he needs is a mother, a family who loves him, friends who make him laugh. But I'm not allowed to be any of those things, am I? I'm just supposed to... to what? Watch him from a distance like some sort of guardian spirit?"

She was breathing hard now, her carefully constructed composure shattered. "Do you have any idea what it's like? Trying to navigate this impossible position you've put me in? Trying to be everything to everyone while also being nothing to anyone?"

The silence that followed her outburst was deafening. Lydia waited for his thunderous response, for the ducal rage that would surely follow such impertinence. But when she finally dared to look at him, she found his attention fixed not on her face, but on her hands.

She followed his gaze, surprised to find her fingers clenched so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Before she could process what was happening, Elias had crossed the room in two long strides and captured her hands in his.

"Stop that," he ordered, his voice rough with some emotion she couldn't quite identify.

Lydia's breath caught at the contact. His hands were warm, strong, surprisingly gentle as they enveloped hers. But her anger hadn't fully dissipated. "Stop ordering me about as if I were one of your servants! I am your wife, and I?—"

"Please."

That single word, spoken so softly she almost missed it, stopped her cold. It sounded foreign on his tongue, as if he had to drag it up from some deep, unused place within himself. Lydia felt her fingers relax almost involuntarily, shocked by the naked emotion in that simple syllable.

For a long moment, they stood frozen - his large hands cradling her smaller ones, her pulse racing at the unprecedented contact. Elias seemed equally stunned by his own actions, his thumbs moving in small, unconscious circles across her knuckles as if to soothe away any potential harm.

"If you wish to make changes," he said finally, his voice low and carefully controlled, "you need only inform me first."

"Inform you?" she shot back, her voice suddenly as cold as his own. "And when do you suppose I do that since you lack the will to see me at all?"

"I am busy," he countered, but Lydia shook her head.

"It seems to me, Your Grace," she challenged now, "that you are uncomfortable in your own house. And here I thought you a courageous man."

To her surprise, Elias refused to let himself react. When he answered, he kept his voice carefully measured. "We will... we will take breakfast together each morning. You can tell me your plans then."

Lydia nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She was acutely aware of every point of contact between them - the slight calluses on his fingers, the warmth of his palms, the gentle but firm way he held her as if she might shatter or flee at any moment.

Suddenly seeming to realize he was still holding her hands, Elias released them and stepped back. The loss of his touch left Lydia feeling strangely bereft, though she would rather die than admit it.

He turned to leave but paused at the door. "The other changes..." he said without looking at her, "they're... acceptable. Just have the portrait removed."

Then he was gone, leaving Lydia standing in the middle of her sitting room feeling as though a storm had just passed through. She sank into a nearby chair, her legs suddenly unsteady beneath her.

A soft knock drew her attention to the door, where Peter stood hesitating on the threshold. "Lydia? Is everything alright? I heard raised voices..."

"Come here, darling," she said, opening her arms. Peter rushed into them, burying his face in her shoulder as Mug pressed against their legs.

"Father's very angry, isn't he?" Peter's voice was small against her neck.

Lydia stroked his curls, considering her answer carefully. "He's... adjusting," she said finally. "Change isn't easy for any of us, but especially not for your father, I think."

Peter pulled back slightly, his face serious. "But you're not leaving, are you? Even though he's angry?"

"Oh, my darling boy." Lydia hugged him close again. "No, I'm not leaving. It takes more than a little ducal thunder to frighten me away."

"Good," Peter said firmly. "Because I drew something for Father, and I want you to help me give it to him at dinner."

Lydia smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Then we'd better make sure you're properly dressed for the occasion, hadn't we?"

As she helped Peter prepare for dinner, Lydia's hands still tingled with the memory of Elias's touch. That moment of connection had revealed something - a crack in his carefully maintained facade, a glimpse of the man beneath the ducal mask.

There were depths to Elias Blacknight that she was only beginning to understand. That quiet "please" had told her more than hours of conversation might have - about his capacity for gentleness, about the vulnerability he kept so carefully hidden, about the man he might be if he ever allowed himself to truly feel.

"Lydia?" Peter's voice broke through her thoughts. "Do you think Father might smile tonight? Just a little?"

She thought of Elias's final words, the way his voice had softened when he spoke of the changes being acceptable. "You know what, darling? He just might."

She was still not certain that he would – though for the first time since she'd moved into Fyre Manor, she found herself hoping at least, in the possibility.

Dinner that evening was a curiously tense affair. Lydia sat at her usual place, vividly aware of Elias's presence at the head of the table. He seemed equally conscious of her, though he maintained a studied focus on his plate that might have fooled anyone who hadn't noticed the way his eyes flickered toward her when he thought she wasn't looking.

Peter, bless his heart, did his best to fill the silence with cheerful chatter about his lessons and the new herb garden plans. Lydia noticed how carefully he watched his father's reactions, hope warring with anxiety in his young face.

"And Miss Nancy says my Latin is improving," Peter ventured, sneaking another glance at Elias. "Would you like to hear some, Father?"

Elias looked up from his plate, and Lydia held her breath, silently willing him to recognize the olive branch their son was extending.

"Perhaps... perhaps after dinner," Elias said, his voice gentler than she'd expected. "In the library?"

Peter's face lit up with such joy that Lydia felt her heart squeeze. "Yes, please! And... and maybe I could show you my new drawings too?"

Something shifted in Elias's expression - a softening around his eyes, a slight easing of the tension in his jaw. "I would like that," he said quietly.

Lydia busied herself with her soup, pretending not to notice the way Peter was practically bouncing in his chair with excitement. Or the way Elias's gaze kept returning to her face, as if trying to solve some particularly vexing puzzle.

After dinner, true to his word, Elias accompanied them to the library. Peter proudly displayed his latest artwork, including several detailed sketches of the gardens and one particularly charming portrait of Mug attempting to chase butterflies.

"Your technique has improved considerably," Elias observed, studying the drawings with genuine interest. "The perspective in this garden scene is particularly well-executed."

Peter beamed at the praise, then hesitated before pulling out one final drawing. "I... I made this one especially for you, Father. While you were away."

Lydia watched as Elias carefully unfolded the paper. It was a family portrait - not a formal, stuffy piece, but a scene from one of their afternoon adventures. Peter had captured himself and Lydia in the garden, playing their pirate games, while Elias stood in the background, watching with what might have been the ghost of a smile.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity. Peter's fingers twisted anxiously in his jacket, and Lydia found herself holding her breath.

Finally, Elias spoke, his voice rougher than usual. "You've captured the light beautifully," he said softly. "The way it falls across the garden... it's exactly right."

"Really?" Peter's whole face transformed with joy. "I worked especially hard on that part. Lydia helped me understand how to show the shadows properly."

Elias's eyes met Lydia's over their son's head, and she felt that same jolt of awareness she'd experienced in her sitting room earlier. There was something in his gaze - gratitude, perhaps, or understanding - that made her chest feel suddenly too tight.

"Perhaps," Elias said slowly, still holding her gaze, "we might have this framed? It would look well in my study, I think."

Peter launched himself at his father, forgetting propriety in his excitement. For a moment, Elias stiffened, clearly startled by the embrace. Then, slowly, carefully, his arms came up to wrap around his son.

Lydia turned away, feeling like an intruder on this precious moment. But before she could slip quietly from the room, Elias's voice stopped her.

"Stay," he said quietly. "Please."

That word again - so simple, yet coming from him, it felt like a gift. Or perhaps a promise.

Later, after Peter had been sent to bed (but not before extracting a promise from his father to join them for breakfast the next morning), Lydia found herself alone with Elias in the library. The silence between them felt different now - charged with something she wasn't quite ready to name.

"The changes you've made," Elias said finally, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace. "They're good for him. For the house." A muscle jumped in his jaw and a frown appeared between his brows. "I suppose I should thank you," he said, his voice cold again.

Lydia's heart did that strange flutter again. "It's quite alright," she said softly. "Though I am sorry about the portrait. I should have asked first."

Elias shook his head. "No, I… It is fine, keep it. Where it is. Peter should know his mother's face, even if..." He trailed off, the stoic mask back again.

Without thinking, Lydia moved closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "Even if the memories are difficult?"

He nodded, still not looking at her. "I suppose. I was trying to protect the boy. I see now that it may not have gone over in that manner."

"Oh, Elias." The words slipped out before she could stop them, filled with a tenderness that surprised them both.

He turned to her then, his eyes dark with some emotion she couldn't quite read. For a moment, she thought he might say more, might finally let her see behind the walls he'd built so carefully around his heart.

But the clock struck nine, breaking the spell. Elias stepped back, though something in his expression had shifted, softened.

"Goodnight, Lydia," he said, her name like a caress on his lips.

"Goodnight... Elias."

As she made her way to her chambers, Lydia found herself smiling. Perhaps change wasn't always so terrifying after all. Even for the mighty Duke of Fyre.