Duke of Fyre (Braving the Elements #1)

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

I t was some hours later that Lydia watched Elias as he lingered near the door, his silhouette tense against the golden hues of the dying day. She had sensed his turmoil all afternoon—his avoidance, the way his gaze slid from hers as though the mere act of meeting her eyes would summon the secrets he clearly didn't want to share. Now, as he crossed the threshold back into the chamber where she lay, his movements seemed heavy, as though he carried the weight of an entire history on his shoulders.

He stopped just short of the armchair opposite her bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. Lydia set down the book she'd been pretending to read, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "Elias," she said, her voice even but not unkind. "What's troubling you?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with the kind of vulnerability she had rarely heard from him.

"There's something I've kept from you," he said. "About Barbara. About why…I am as I am. "

Barbara. The name lingered in the space between them, sharp and unyielding. Lydia felt her heart quicken, though she kept her face composed. She could still vividly remember his reaction at the portrait, and his first wife was ever-present in Peter… But hearing him say her name aloud, in this tone, was something else entirely.

"I'm listening," she said softly, her hands tightening slightly in her lap.

Elias let out a long, shuddering breath, his gaze still fixed downward. "It's not easy to talk about. I've carried it for so long, and I've always thought that if I just…if I buried it deep enough, it wouldn't matter. But it does."

Lydia said nothing, waiting. She had learned that silence was often the most effective way to coax Elias from his walls.

He finally looked at her, his eyes dark and haunted. "Barbara and I…we were never truly married, not in the sense that matters. My father arranged it. He wanted an alliance with her family, and I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I went along with it. At the time, I thought it was my duty. That's what I was raised to believe."

Lydia nodded slightly, encouraging him to go on.

"But Barbara…she loved someone else," Elias said, his voice thick with something between anger and regret. "I didn't know it at first. She was always so…distant. We barely spoke after the wedding. I thought giving her space was the right thing to do. That it would make things easier for her, for both of us."

The lines between his brows deepened, and he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Then Peter was born," he continued, his tone heavy with the weight of the name. "And everything changed. She went through a terrible labor—something I still blame myself for. Not even a week after, I found a note. She wrote that she hated me. That all of this—the marriage, Peter—was my fault. She said she'd done her duty, and now she was leaving."

Lydia's breath caught. She could feel the ache in Elias's words, the way they scraped against old wounds he'd never allowed to heal.

"I let her go," he said after a long pause, his voice a threadbare whisper. "I thought it was what she wanted. What would make her happy. I didn't go after her. I didn't stop her."

He straightened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. "But she didn't make it far. They found her on the side of the road a few days later. Dead."

Lydia pressed a hand to her chest, her heart twisting at the pain etched into every word. "Oh, Elias…"

His eyes met hers, filled with a storm of guilt and grief. "It was my fault," he said, the words a quiet admission. "I should have stopped her. Should have done something. But I didn't. And Peter—he lost his mother because of me."

The room fell into a thick silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. Lydia felt her own emotions rising—a thick sorrow for Elias and the unbearable weight of his suffering.

"I couldn't stand the thought of it happening again," he said, his voice shaking now. "What if you hated me after? What if I—" He broke off, closing his eyes tightly. "What if I lost you too?"

Lydia crossed the room without thinking, kneeling before him and placing her hands over his. "Elias," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. "Listen to me. What happened to Barbara…it wasn't your fault."

His eyes opened, and she saw the doubt etched deep within them.

"She made her choices," Lydia continued, her tone resolute. "You did what you thought was best. You can't carry this forever."

Elias shook his head. "But what if it happens again? What if?—"

"It won't," Lydia interrupted gently. "Because I'm not Barbara. And you're not the same man you were then."

He stared at her, searching her face as though trying to believe her words. Lydia squeezed his hands, her resolve unwavering.

"I thought that being the perfect wife—doing everything right—was the only way to be happy," she said. "But I've realized that none of it matters if I don't have you. If I don't have this family we've built."

Elias's gaze softened, the storm in his eyes giving way to something warmer, something fragile. "Lydia…"

"I love you, Elias," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "More than I've ever loved anyone. And I'm not going anywhere."

The silence that followed Lydia's confession seemed to stretch endlessly. Elias's arms remained firmly around her, his breath uneven against her temple. She let him hold her as long as he needed, her cheek resting against the warmth of his chest. She could feel the wild beat of his heart, and it matched her own.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hands still cupping her shoulders as though afraid she might vanish if he let her go entirely. His dark eyes searched hers, and for the first time, she saw vulnerability laid bare in their depths.

"I don't deserve you," he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lydia shook her head. "Elias, stop."

He didn't. "I don't. After everything—Barbara, Peter, the way I've shut you out so often—I don't deserve any of this."

"Yes, you do," she said firmly, her fingers tightening on his forearms. "Do you know why?"

He remained silent, his gaze dropping to the floor as though unwilling to face whatever kindness she might offer.

"You deserve it because you're here, Elias," she said, her voice unwavering. "You didn't have to tell me any of this. You could have kept it locked away, let it fester. But you didn't. You trusted me enough to share it, and that matters more than you know."

He exhaled sharply, as though her words had loosened something tangled in his chest. "I just… I can't stop thinking about what I've done. What I didn't do."

Lydia reached up, placing her palm against his cheek. "You were a boy when you married her. You were doing what you thought was right, the same way she thought leaving was right. But you've grown, Elias. You're not that boy anymore."

Elias turned his face into her hand, his eyes closing briefly. "But I still made mistakes. I thought keeping my distance from her would help her, but it only drove her away. And Peter—he's suffered for it. He lost his mother before he could even know her."

"And yet, you've been there for him," Lydia countered. "You've been his father, his protector. Don't you see that? You're so afraid of failing him that you can't see all the ways you've succeeded."

Her words struck something deep in him, and she saw it in the flicker of his eyes. But Elias shook his head, unwilling to let himself believe it entirely.

"I swore I'd never repeat my father's mistakes," he said quietly, almost to himself. "But some days, I wonder if I'm just as blind as he was."

The mention of the old Duke of Fyre made Lydia's stomach tighten. She had heard, though it was in mere whispers, some of the stories about the man Elias had called father. According to the servants he was not only cold, but downright cruel–unable to love, to care.

"You're nothing like him," Lydia said, her voice soft but firm. "You care, Elias. You care so much it's tearing you apart. And that alone makes you different."

Elias let out a bitter laugh. "Caring doesn't mean I'll make the right choices."

"No, but it means you'll try," Lydia replied. "And that's more than he ever did."

The room fell quiet again, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire Elias had lit earlier. Lydia's fingers brushed against his, a small gesture that felt monumental in the stillness.

After a long moment, Elias broke the silence. "I never told anyone the full story about Barbara. Not even Peter."

Lydia's brow furrowed. "Why?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "Because I didn't want him to hate me. He already struggles with her absence—I couldn't bear the thought of him blaming me for it."

Lydia hesitated before speaking, her voice gentle. "Do you think he doesn't wonder? Children are more perceptive than we give them credit for. He might not know the details, but he knows there's a weight you're carrying."

Elias exhaled, his shoulders slumping. "And what would I even tell him? That his mother hated me? That she would have rather died than stayed?"

"No," Lydia said softly. "You tell him the truth. That you loved her in the only way you knew how, and that you've spent every day since trying to do right by him."

Elias's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like a man teetering on the edge of a precipice. "What if it's not enough?"

"It will be," Lydia said simply. "Because it has to be."

The resolve in her voice seemed to steady him, though she could see the doubts still lingering at the edges. But he didn't argue further. Instead, he leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his dark hair.

"I'm afraid," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "Of so many things. Of losing you. Of being the reason you might hate me one day."

"You won't lose me," Lydia said, her heart aching at the rawness of his confession. "And I could never hate you, Elias. Not for this. Not for anything."

He looked at her then, something in his expression shifting. It was as though her words had reached a place within him he hadn't realized was there, a place that had long been closed off.

"You're certain?" he asked, his voice almost desperate.

"Yes," Lydia said, her voice steady and unyielding. "I'm certain."

Elias stared at her for a long moment before leaning forward, his hands cradling her face as though she were the most precious thing in the world. "I don't deserve you," he said again, though this time his tone was filled with something closer to wonder than despair.

"You do," Lydia whispered, her own hands covering his. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Their lips met in a kiss that was both tender and fervent, a silent promise between them. When they finally pulled apart, Elias rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in the quiet space.

"I love you," he said, the words rough but certain.

"I love you too," Lydia replied, her voice trembling with emotion.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as they sat together, the world outside the chamber fading into irrelevance. For the first time in what felt like forever, Elias allowed himself to breathe—to truly breathe—and Lydia stayed by his side, her presence a balm to the wounds he had carried for so long.