Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

W hen the sun rose a few mornings later, Lydia stood at her bedroom window, watching the flurry of motion outside, her fingers absently touching her lips. The memory of that moonlit kiss still haunted her, a lingering sensation that seemed to burn hotter every time she thought of it. Even now, days later, she could feel the ghost of his touch, the way his hands had trembled slightly as they held her.

She shook her head quickly. There was no time to ponder about kisses and her husband. Tonight… she swallowed nervously. Tonight her parents were coming to dinner.

Lydia could not help but sigh deeply at the thought. It wasn't that she didn't love her family, but…

"Your Grace," It was a young Mayfair footman who appeared at her door and she turned quickly. It had to be important if the man came all the way to her bedchamber.

"His Grace requests your presence in the drawing room," the young man said simply before disappearing once again.

Lydia breathed deeply, then turned around and slowly made her way downstairs.

Elias was seated in the parlor and he rose when she appeared, a hesitant smile appearing on his face.

Lydia lifted her chin, despite the slight trembling of her hands at the sight of him.

"Sit," he encouraged gruffly, his eyes remaining on her as she slowly took a seat across from him. Elias sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair - disheveling it ever so slightly.

"I was just wondering," he said now, though she was rather certain that he was avoiding her gaze, "if you were ready for tonight's dinner with your parents."

"No." The word left her mouth before she could think more about it and she slammed her hand over it, an attempt to take the word back.

"I apologize," she said quickly. "I just… I merely… I… I suppose, I will be ready," she finished lamely and he leaned forward slightly, a smile playing around his lips.

"Lydia," he spoke in that deep voice that sent shivers down her spine. "I understand that your relationship with your family is complicated. That is why I asked - not out of politeness, but because it matters."

Lydia laned back slightly in her chair at this. "I am not quite used to having my feelings matter," she admitted, almost in a whisper and Elias looked at her sympathetically.

"I want you to try to stand up to them tonight," he counseled gently. "You need not fight. But at least… own your voice."

"I suppose I can try," she muttered - though in truth she knew it would not happen. The conversation came to a sudden halt and she looked at her teacup intently.

"Well, I have work to do," Elias said now, rising to his feet. "I shall see you this evening. Wear… wear midnight blue."

A smile played around his lips. "It suits you," he said before walking out calmly and Lydia huffed.

She was quite certain that he gained some type of satisfaction out of being maddeningly frustrating. With pursed lips, she put her teacup down before making her way up to her bedchamber again.

It was mere hours later when Sarah entered her chamber and soon, Lydia found herself dressed in a plain gown - a deep blue one, though not exactly midnight blue - and her hair pinned up in a simple style.

"My parents should be arriving soon," she muttered as Sarah pinned the last curl. She sighed, and closed her eyes.

"You look lovely, Your Grace," Sarah said now and with a soft smile, Lydia rose to her feet. "Thank you, Sarah," she muttered. "And now we wait."

Sarah curtsied quickly before rushing out and Lydia turned to the window - watching as the carriage drew nearer, nerves tightening into a taut ball in her stomach.

She made her way downstairs slowly - even from the hallway she could hear the door opening and her mother's voice traveling through the townhouse.

"Hmm. It seems somewhat dreary. Unadorned, even . There is nothing personal, I see."

"Father," Lydia greeted, attempting to keep her voice light. "Mother. Welcome."

"Hmm," her mother answered, peering past her. "And where exactly is our son-in-law?"

Lydia searched for an answer desperately. Elias must have gotten distractedly busy with work, she knew - but there was no way her parents would easily accept that answer.

"I am right here," her husband's deep voice boomed through the foyer just as she opened her mouth. "Forgive me, my lord. My lady. I was quite busy with work."

Within seconds, her mother's hardened look cracked and she nodded quickly at Elias.

"Oh, it is not a problem, Your Grace," she swooned. "We are simply delighted to have dinner with you."

Elias kept quiet, simply putting a hand beneath her elbow and leading her to the dining room.

Soon, plates were laid down in front of the four and Elias turned his gaze to Lydia.

"The appetiser looks lovely."

At this, Prudence lifted a not-so-subtle brow. "Oh, Lydia dear… did you plan this?"

Lydia glanced at her husband before nodding at her mother. "I did, mother," she said simply.

Prudence grimaced as she brought her fork to her lips. "And what is in the Cro?te?"

Lydia took a deep breath. "Poultry, mother."

"I'd have preferred liver," she said and Elias looked at his wife pointedly. Lydia, however, kept her head down - finishing the rest of her appetizer in silence.

Prudence, of course, had something to say about every dish. The salmon was too bland, while the roast beef was too rich and the mint sauce not quite as refreshing as it should have been. The vegetable medley lacked flavor and the fruit tart was far too sweet.

"It seems, my lady," Elias spoke at last, his voice cold, "that you have a bit of a problem with my cook."

"Oh, no," Prudence said quickly. "It is just that Lydia was never fond of learning much. I am merely trying to show her that she needs to keep a finger on the pulse of the staff at all times. You'll forgive her, of course. It will take some time for her."

Elias's eyes narrowed at this. "I find everything quite tasteful," he said now. "But if you are uncertain about the capabilities of my wife or my staff, perhaps we should attempt this dinner once we are back in the country."

"It will be… a privilege," Silas said now, glancing at his wife with raised brows. Prudence nodded slowly.

"It will be an honor to visit again," she said. "And I am sure your sisters will be happy for the opportunity."

Lydia nodded, still half-dazed as she glanced at her husband. "Perhaps in time," he said now, "You will notice that you can be proud of your daughter."

With that, he pushed his chair out and stood - making it quite clear to all that the dinner was over.

Though she was not quite eager to have her parents come for dinner once they returned home, Lydia was relieved about returning to the country. Where she stood at the window the next day as she waited for things to get ready, her heart raced as she thought of the visit to London and the feelings it had awakened in her.

"Your Grace?" Sarah's voice cut through Lydia's thoughts, gentle but firm. Lydia turned to see the maid standing in the doorway, holding a gown over her arm. The midnight blue silk caught the light, reminding Lydia of another dress, another night. "The last of your gowns are packed. Though perhaps you'd like to keep out the midnight blue silk for…"

"No," Lydia cut her off, a little too quickly, a little too sharply. She took a breath, steadying herself. "No, I think... I think simpler attire will suffice for the journey."

Sarah paused for a moment, her eyebrows raised, no doubt questioning the sudden shift in Lydia's preferences. The maid had been with her long enough to recognize when something was amiss, and lately, everything about Lydia had been slightly off-kilter. "As you wish, Your Grace." Sarah's tone was carefully neutral, but Lydia caught the concerned glance she threw in her direction.

Lydia turned back to the window, watching as another trunk was loaded onto the carriage. "I suppose everything else is ready for departure?"

"Nearly so, Your Grace. The kitchen staff is preparing a basket for the journey, and the last of the correspondence has been sorted." Sarah hesitated, then added with careful deliberation, "His Grace asked me to inform you that the carriage will be ready within the hour."

The mention of the carriage made Lydia's heart beat a little faster. The prospect of several hours confined together in the carriage should have been dreadful, but instead, it filled her with a strange sense of hope. Perhaps Elias would finally speak with her, finally acknowledge what had happened between them. After all, they couldn't continue to ignore it, could they? The tension between them had grown so thick it was almost tangible, like storm clouds gathering before rain.

She made her way downstairs, her steps brisk despite her inner turmoil. The morning light streamed through the townhouse windows, creating patterns on the polished floor. She had grown fond of this house over their stay in London, but now its familiar corners seemed to hold too many memories.

When she reached the drawing room, she found Elias deep in conversation with his secretary. Papers and ledgers were spread out across the table, and Elias was absorbed in the details, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked tired, she noticed, with subtle shadows under his eyes that suggested he'd been sleeping as poorly as she had.

"I'll need to review these contracts during the journey," he was saying, not even glancing up as Lydia entered. His voice was clipped, professional. "Ensure they're properly organized."

"Of course, Your Grace." The secretary's voice was respectful, though Lydia could hear the faint hint of nervousness in it. Everyone in the household had noticed the strange tension between their master and mistress. "And the letters from Lord Pembroke regarding the railway venture?"

"Those as well. In fact, bring everything from this morning's post. The journey should provide adequate time to address it all." Elias shuffled through some papers, his movements precise and controlled. Too controlled, Lydia thought.

She felt her heart deflate at the sight of him—completely absorbed in work, ignoring her entirely. Just like he had been for days now. She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that he might be waiting for her, that the distance he'd put between them was a temporary hesitation. But this... this was worse than she'd feared.

She took a breath and steadied herself, drawing on years of social training. "Sarah," she called, her voice calm but firm, "please fetch my embroidery and that novel Lady Hartley recommended. If His Grace intends to work, I may as well make productive use of the time as well."

She saw Elias's shoulders stiffen slightly at her words, though he didn't turn around. His pen paused for just a moment before continuing its scratch across the paper. He had heard her, and that was enough. Let him bury himself in business. Let him hide behind it. She was more than capable of maintaining her own composure.

The departure itself was a blur of last-minute instructions and farewells to the townhouse staff. Lydia found herself seated in the carriage before she had time to second-guess her decision to join Elias rather than taking her own carriage. The leather seats were warm from the morning sun, and the familiar smell of polished wood and leather surrounded her.

The first hour of their journey passed in tense, pointed silence, broken only by the soft scratch of Elias's pen and the occasional rustle of papers. Outside, London gradually gave way to countryside, but Lydia barely noticed the changing landscape. Her eyes lingered on the page of her book, but she couldn't focus on the words. She couldn't do anything but think of Elias, sitting across from her, so close yet somehow unreachable.

She imagined his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her waist, the way he had whispered her name, the rawness in his voice when he'd told her that one kiss had made him want things he shouldn't. But that was the problem, wasn't it? He shouldn't want her. He was the Duke of Fyre, after all, and she was just his wife in a marriage of convenience. A practical arrangement that had become anything but practical.

The carriage swayed gently as it traversed a particularly bumpy stretch of road. Lydia gripped her book tighter, trying to focus on the words, but they swam before her eyes. A lock of hair had come loose from her careful morning arrangement, and she could feel it brushing against her neck, a maddening distraction.

"You've been staring at the same page for twenty minutes," Elias said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. There was something in his tone—amusement? Frustration? She couldn't quite tell.

Lydia jumped, her cheeks flushing. She hadn't realized he'd been watching her. "I'm simply... savoring the prose."

"Indeed?" Elias's voice was dry, skeptical. He set down his pen, giving her his full attention for the first time that day. "And what, pray tell, is this fascinating book about?"

Lydia glanced at the cover, as if it might provide her with the answer. The gilt letters seemed to mock her. "It's... about proper behavior. For ladies."

Elias's brow lifted, and something flickered in his eyes—a dangerous sort of amusement. "Is it indeed? And does it mention anything about proper behavior for duchesses who kiss their husbands in gardens?"

Lydia's breath caught in her throat. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she could feel the temperature in the carriage rise. Outside, clouds drifted across the sun, casting shifting shadows through the carriage windows. "I'm sure I wouldn't know. I haven't reached that chapter yet."

"Hmm." His voice dropped to something more intimate as his gaze met hers, and she could see the muscle working in his jaw. "Do let me know when you do. I find myself quite interested in the proper protocol for such situations."

Lydia didn't trust herself to speak. She could only manage a soft laugh, a nervous, self-conscious sound that she hated. The air between them thickened as she looked at him, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything more. Not now. Not after everything. Her fingers twisted in her lap, gripping the fabric of her dress.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. A bird called somewhere outside, and the steady rhythm of hooves on the road seemed to mock the racing of her heart. The morning light caught the silver at Elias's temples, and Lydia found herself remembering how soft his hair had felt under her fingers that night in the garden.

"Perhaps if you hadn't been so busy avoiding me, we might have discussed it already," Lydia muttered, her frustration bubbling over before she could stop herself. The words hung in the air between them, impossible to take back.

Elias's pen stilled. He turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. A muscle twitched in his cheek. "I have not been avoiding you."

"No?" Lydia's tone was sharp, her patience thinning. All the frustration of the past few days seemed to crystallize in this moment. "Then what would you call spending an entire day suddenly 'remembering urgent business' whenever I enter a room? Or taking your meals in your study? Or…"

"That's enough." His voice was tight, controlled.

"Is it? Because I rather think we haven't said enough. Not nearly enough." She could hear the tremor in her own voice, betraying her calm facade.

He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck visibly tightening. "I call it maintaining proper dignity while I..." He trailed off suddenly, the tension in his body palpable as he seemed to search for words.

"While you what?" Lydia demanded, her voice rising despite her efforts to keep it steady. "While you pretend nothing happened? While you convince yourself that one kiss means nothing? While you…"

"Lydia. It cannot. You need to understand. I had… an emotional moment, I was swept away. I do not want to give you a false impression of what… I don't…" He sighed deeply. "I don't want to hurt you," he said at last, his voice soft.

Lydia's breath caught in her throat. "Oh." The single syllable seemed inadequate for the storm of emotions his words had unleashed.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the steady rhythm of the carriage wheels. The atmosphere shifted, charged with unspoken emotion. Elias ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it slightly in a way that made Lydia's fingers itch to smooth it back into place. A shaft of sunlight caught his signet ring, sending brief flashes of light across the carriage's interior.

"This isn't..." he started, his voice low and rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles white with tension. "This is supposed to be a marriage of convenience. Simple. Uncomplicated. And then you had to go and..."

"And what?" Lydia whispered, her voice a breath. She leaned forward slightly, drawn despite herself.

"And make me dream of a life… I had given up on long ago," he finished, his voice thick with frustration, regret, and something else Lydia couldn't name. Something that made her heart race and her breath catch.

Before she could respond, the carriage hit a particularly bad rut, sending her lurching forward. Elias's hands shot out to steady her, pulling her closer to him. His grip was firm on her shoulders, and for a moment, their faces were just inches apart. The air between them crackled with awareness, their breaths mingling, and Lydia could feel her heart race in her chest. His cologne filled her senses, that familiar scent that had haunted her dreams for days.

"We should..." Lydia's voice faltered, embarrassingly breathless. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the fabric of her dress, burning like brands against her skin.

"Yes," Elias agreed, though he didn't immediately release her. His hands lingered, his eyes dark with something that made her pulse race. "We should."

Their hands fell away from each other, and silence descended once more as the carriage continued its journey through the darkening countryside. Neither spoke again, each lost in their own thoughts, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them like a heavy curtain. Outside, the afternoon sun began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the rolling hills, while inside the carriage, two people sat in silence, each acutely aware of the other's presence and the growing impossibility of maintaining their careful charade of indifference.