Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

T he morning of their departure dawned clear and crisp, though Peter's face was anything but sunny as he watched the footmen load the last of the luggage onto the carriage. Mug sat beside him on the front steps, his usual exuberance dampened by the solemn atmosphere.

"Now then," Lydia said brightly, adjusting Peter's cravat one last time. "You'll remember to tend to the herbs exactly as Thomas showed you?"

"Yes," Peter nodded, his lower lip trembling slightly despite his best efforts. "And I'll document their growth in my notebook, just like we discussed."

"That's my clever boy." Lydia pulled him close, not caring who might see the display of affection. "I'll miss you terribly, you know."

"Even though you'll be at a grand ball?" Peter's voice was muffled against her shoulder.

"Especially then. Who will help me judge which dances are most pirate-worthy?" She felt him smile against her neck and hugged him tighter. "Be good for Miss Nancy, and remember – I want a full report on those herbs when we return."

"I will." Peter pulled back slightly, his eyes suspiciously bright. "And you'll remember about the chocolates? The orange ones?"

"How could I forget? I've only been reminded four times since breakfast," Lydia teased gently, tapping his nose.

Peter turned to his father then, straightening his shoulders in an obvious attempt to appear more dignified. "Have a safe journey, Father."

Elias stood stiffly, clearly uncomfortable with goodbyes. "Yes, well. Mind your studies. And do try to keep that..." he glanced at Mug, who wagged his tail hopefully, "...that dog out of Mrs. Winters's flowerbeds."

"Yes, Father." Peter hesitated, then suddenly threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around his father's waist.

Elias froze, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. But just as Peter began to pull away, those arms came up to return the embrace, however briefly.

"We'll return in three days," Elias said gruffly, his hand lingering for a moment on Peter's curls before he stepped back.

Lydia pretended not to notice the way both father and son blinked rather rapidly as they separated. She bent to give Peter one last hug, whispering, "I love you, darling," in his ear before allowing Elias to hand her into the carriage.

As they pulled away, she kept waving until Peter's small figure disappeared from view. Only then did she sink back against the cushions with a small sigh.

"He'll be fine," Elias said, though she noticed he was still staring out the window in the direction of the manor.

"Of course he will. He's very brave." Lydia dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Though I don't know why you're so certain, since you're clearly not looking at me while my eyes are leaking so ridiculously. "

A startled sound that might have been a chuckle escaped Elias's lips. "I was merely... admiring the scenery."

"Hmm. And I suppose that's also why you kept your head turned just so when Peter hugged you? To better appreciate the architectural features of the manor?"

Elias's head snapped around, a retort clearly forming on his lips. But whatever he saw in her face – gentle teasing rather than mockery – seemed to give him pause.

"He's becoming quite... demonstrative... lately," he said finally.

"He's becoming quite loved lately," Lydia corrected softly. "And learning that it's safe to show it."

A dark frown appeared on Elias's face before he turned back to the window. But Lydia noticed that he didn't disagree.

They rode in companionable silence for a while, the rhythmic sway of the carriage almost soothing. Lydia found her thoughts drifting to the upcoming ball, to Peter's hopes for siblings, to the way Elias's arms had come up to hold his son...

"You're humming," Elias observed, breaking into her reverie.

"Oh!" Lydia felt her cheeks warm. "I'm sorry. It's just... I'm rather excited about the ball. It's been so long since I've danced."

"Ah yes. Your promised dance with Nicholas."

Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound slightly strained?

"Among others, I hope," she said lightly. "Unless you plan to keep me hidden in a corner all evening?"

"Certainly not. You're the Duchess of Fyre. You may dance with whomever you please."

"Anyone?" Lydia asked innocently. "Even my husband?"

Elias's jaw tightened. "I don't dance."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Won't," he said firmly. "It's beneath my dignity."

Lydia bit back a smile. "Of course. How foolish of me to suggest the mighty Duke of Fyre might engage in something so frivolous as dancing with his wife."

Elias shot her a suspicious look, clearly trying to determine if she was mocking him. Lydia kept her expression perfectly innocent.

"You're doing it again," he said after a moment.

"Doing what?"

"That... thing. Where you make me sound ridiculous without actually saying anything improper."

Now Lydia did smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Your Grace. I would never suggest that a duke might actually enjoy himself at a ball. How scandalous that would be!"

Another of those almost-chuckles escaped him. "You're a very dangerous woman, Lydia Brandon."

"Blacknight," she corrected automatically. "I'm Lydia Blacknight now."

Something shifted in Elias's eyes at her words. For a moment, the air in the carriage seemed to grow thicker, charged with an awareness that made Lydia's pulse quicken.

Then a wheel hit a rough patch in the road, jolting them both. The moment passed, but Lydia could have sworn she saw a faint flush on Elias's cheeks as he turned back to the window.

"Tell me about Peter's herbs," he said abruptly. "He seems quite invested in the project."

Lydia let him change the subject, launching into an enthusiastic description of Peter's plans for the garden. She noticed how intently Elias listened, asking careful questions about their son's progress.

Their son. The thought made her heart flutter strangely.

"He's quite clever about it," she said, watching Elias's profile. "Did you know he's been researching which herbs might be profitable for the estate? He has all sorts of ideas about supplying the local apothecary."

"Does he?" Elias's voice was carefully neutral, but Lydia saw the pride that flickered in his eyes.

"Mmm. He wants to prove it's a worthwhile venture. Very practical, very... ducal of him, wouldn't you say?"

Elias's lips twitched. "You're doing it again."

"Simply making an observation, Your Grace. Though it occurs to me that a father-son business venture might be an excellent way to combine education with... what was it you said? Proper dignity?"

"You're incorrigible."

"So I've been told. Usually by my mother, typically while holding a ruined bonnet or a scandalized cat. Or worse, Mug."

This time the sound that escaped Elias was definitely a laugh, however quickly suppressed. Lydia felt absurdly proud of herself.

The carriage hit another bump, causing Lydia to grab the side for balance. Without thinking, Elias reached out to steady her, his large hand warm on her arm.

"These roads are abysmal," he muttered, though he didn't immediately remove his hand. "We should have taken the other route."

"And miss the lovely view of the countryside? Never." Lydia smiled, keenly aware of his touch. "Though I must say, your concern for my welfare is touching, Your Grace."

Elias withdrew his hand as if burned, but Lydia caught the faint color in his cheeks. "It would hardly do for the Duchess of Fyre to arrive at her first society event with bruises from poor road maintenance."

"Of course not. What would people say?" She affected her best impression of a scandalized dowager. "'Did you hear about the new Duchess of Fyre? Covered in bruises! I heard she's been wrestling bears in that gothic mansion of theirs.'"

"Bears?" Elias's eyebrow rose. "Surely dragons would be more appropriate, given the circumstances."

Lydia's heart gave a little leap at his playing along. "Oh, but dragons are so last season. Besides, Peter has them all thoroughly charmed with his stories. We had to move on to bears for entertainment."

"Is that what you and Peter do all day? Plan mythological menageries?"

"Only on Tuesdays. Mondays are for pirate adventures, Wednesdays for knight's quests, Thursdays for?—"

"I begin to understand why Mrs. Winters looks so harried lately," Elias interrupted, though Lydia could have sworn she saw his lips twitch.

"Mrs. Winters," Lydia said with dignity, "is secretly delighted by all the excitement. Just yesterday I caught her teaching Mug to fetch her sewing basket."

"Did she succeed?"

"Well, he did fetch something. Though it might have been one of Cook's chickens. The details are still rather unclear, and everyone involved has sworn themselves to secrecy."

This time Elias didn't quite manage to suppress his smile. "You've turned my entire household upside down, haven't you?"

"Not entirely," Lydia said thoughtfully. "The attic is still perfectly respectable. Though give Peter time – he has plans for a proper pirate's lookout up there."

"Absolutely not."

"That's exactly what my mother said about the tree house. She was quite adamant until Papa pointed out that it would keep us from climbing the actual trees." Lydia paused. "In retrospect, he might have regretted that strategy when Jane decided the tree house needed a pulley we could slide down ."

"Do I want to know what happened?"

"Let's just say that Mother's prized rosebushes were never quite the same, and Jane still can't look at a clothesline without wincing."

Elias shook his head, but his eyes were warm with amusement. "I suppose I should be grateful Peter's adventures are somewhat more... contained."

"For now," Lydia agreed cheerfully. "Though he did mention something about building a moat around the herb garden..."

"Lydia."

"Only a small one! And think how educational it would be – he'd learn about water management, castle defenses..."

"We are not building a moat."

"No, of course not." Lydia waited a beat. "A drawbridge would be much more practical."

Elias turned to her then, clearly intending to deliver a stern rebuke, but something in her expression made him pause. Their eyes met, and suddenly the air in the carriage felt charged with awareness.

"You're quite impossible, you know," he said softly.

"So I've been told." Lydia's voice came out equally quiet. "Though I prefer to think of it as... creatively optimistic."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Would you prefer 'determinedly whimsical'? Or perhaps 'strategically chaotic'?"

"I would prefer," Elias said, his voice dropping lower, "not to find my household in complete disarray every time I return from business."

"Ah, but think how dull life would be otherwise." Lydia leaned forward slightly, caught in the intensity of his gaze. "All that proper dignity, with no bears or dragons or pirate ships to liven things up?"

"I managed quite well before you arrived."

"Did you?" Lydia asked softly. "Were you happy, Your Grace? Was Peter?"

The question hung between them, heavy with implication. For a moment, Lydia thought she'd gone too far. But then Elias's expression softened almost imperceptibly.

"Perhaps," he admitted, so quietly she almost missed it, "things were a bit... austere."

"Just a bit," Lydia agreed gently. "Though I must say, you've adapted remarkably well to the chaos. Why, just yesterday you walked right past Mug's new tunnel system in the rose garden without a single scowl."

"That was a tunnel system? I thought we'd been invaded by particularly ambitious rabbits."

"Close! Pirates, actually. Peter's been teaching him to dig for buried treasure. Though perhaps we should redirect his enthusiasm to less... floral areas."

Their laughter mingled in the small space, and Lydia felt something shift between them – a warming, a softening of those careful barriers they'd maintained. For just a moment, they were simply a husband and wife sharing amusement over their son's adventures.

As they neared London, Lydia found herself studying her husband's profile. The stern Duke of Fyre was still there, but so was the man who had held his son, who almost laughed at her jokes, who listened so carefully to stories about Peter's adventures.

"You're staring," Elias said without turning from the window.

"Simply admiring the scenery," Lydia replied innocently.

This time his laugh, though soft, was unmistakable. Lydia felt it warm her all the way through, like sunshine after rain.

Perhaps, she thought as their carriage rolled into London, this ball would be interesting in more ways than one. After all, if she could make the Beast of Fyre laugh, who knew what other miracles might be possible?

She was still smiling at the thought when they arrived at their London townhouse. Elias helped her down from the carriage, his hand lingering on hers perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

"Welcome to London," he said softly, and Lydia felt that warmth spread through her again.

Yes, this would be an interesting visit indeed.