Page 44 of Duke of Fyre

"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, hishand 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.

CHAPTER 18

Mayfair bustled with mid-morning activity as their carriage drew to a stop before a handsome brick façade. Lydia peered out the window, taking in the well-maintained window boxes and gleaming brass fixtures that marked their temporary residence.

"The house has been opened and prepared for our arrival," Elias said as he helped her down, his hand warm and steady against hers. "Though I'm afraid it won't be quite as... lively as Fyre Manor has become."

Lydia smiled at his dry tone. "No enthusiastic dogs or impromptu pirate battles? However shall we manage?"

"I'm certain you'll find some way to introduce chaos," he replied, though she caught the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth. "You seem to have quite a talent for it."

Lydia's eyes widened slightly as she walked through the door and took in the place. It was… something. Everything was perfectly arranged, perfectly proper, and perfectly... lifeless. Rather like Fyre Manor had been before she'd arrived, she realized with a start.

The building itself seemed quite… well, sad.

"Your chambers are upstairs, first door on the right," Elias said, already moving toward what she assumed was his study. "I have some business to attend to, but perhaps…"

Her heart raced as she listened to him, only to come to a slow, dull plod when another man appeared to cut off his words .

"Your Grace," the butler interrupted with a small bow. "Lord Stone's card was delivered this morning. He asks if Your Grace and Her Grace might join him for dinner this evening at his club."

Elias frowned. "Impossible. We have the Hartley's ball tonight."

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