Page 33 of Duke of Fyre

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."

---