Page 55 of Duke of Fyre

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

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 carefullyneutral, 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, hisbrow 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.

---