Page 27 of Duke of Fyre

"Perhaps..." he found himself saying, much to his own surprise, "perhaps Sir Peter might be permitted to finish his current quest before changing. Provided it doesn't take too long."

The smile that blazed across Peter's face was like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Really, Father? You mean it?"

Elias nodded stiffly, telling himself he wasn't affected by his son's obvious joy. "Fifteen minutes," he said firmly. "No more."

"Thank you, Father!" Peter exclaimed, then caught himself and attempted to assume a more dignified expression. "I mean... thank you, Your Grace."

Lydia's eyes were dancing with triumph as she turned back to Peter. "Well then, Sir Peter, shall we vanquish this dragon once and for all?"

As the "battle" resumed, Elias found himself rooted to the spot, unable to tear himself away from the scene before him. Peter's laughter rang out again, pure and uninhibited, and Elias felt that strange ache in his chest intensify.

He should return to his study, to his accounts and his responsibilities. But somehow, he couldn't quite make himself leave. Instead, he found himself sinking onto the bench beside Miss Nancy, who was watching the proceedings with poorly concealed amusement.

"She's good for him," the governess said quietly, not looking at Elias. "I haven't seen him this happy in years."

Elias grunted noncommittally, but he couldn't deny the truth of her words. Something had changed in Peter over the past few days. He seemed... lighter somehow. More like the child he should be, rather than the miniature adult Elias had tried to mold him into.

And it was all because of Lydia. His wife, who had swept into their lives like a summer storm, disrupting everything in her path. She was nothing like what he'd expected – not the meek, proper duchess he'd thought he wanted. Instead, she was... vibrant. Challenging. Alive in a way that made him feel oddly awakened himself.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lydia glanced over at him. Their eyes met across the garden, and Elias felt that now-familiar jolt of awareness. She smiled – a real smile, warm and inviting – and for a moment, he almost smiled back.

Then he caught himself, remembering who he was, what was expected of him. Rising abruptly, he nodded to Miss Nancy. "Fifteen minutes," he reminded her. "Then Peter must change for dinner."

As he strode back to his study, Elias could still hear the sounds of laughter and play behind him. His fingers itched to loosen his cravat, to run through the grass, to join in their game. But such things were not for the Duke of Fyre.

Still, as he settled back at his desk, he found himself positioning his chair so he could see the garden from where he sat. Just to ensure they didn't exceed their allotted time, he told himself. Not because he enjoyed watching his son's face light up with joy, or the way Lydia's skirts swirled as she danced around the garden, or the way the sunlight caught the auburn highlights in her dark hair...

Elias forced his attention back to his ledgers, but the numbers seemed to swim before his eyes. In the garden, Peter was demonstrating his swordsmanship with a stick, while Lydia applauded enthusiastically. That ridiculous dog – Mug, he reminded himself – pranced around them both, adding his barks to the general chaos.

It was noisy, undignified, and completely contrary to everything Elias had tried to establish in his household. And yet... and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to put a stop to it.

Perhaps, he thought grudgingly, a little noise wasn't such a terrible thing after all. But only for fifteen minutes. And only because it seemed to make Peter so happy.

It had nothing at all to do with the way Lydia's eyes sparkled when she smiled, or how her laughter seemed to warm something cold and lonely inside him. Nothing at all.

CHAPTER 11

Elias descended the grand staircase with measured steps, his mind preoccupied with estate matters. The afternoon post had brought concerning news about one of his northern properties, and he was already composing a strongly-worded letter in his head when the sound of approaching voices caught his attention.

"And then the pirate king said..." Peter's excited voice drifted in from the garden entrance, followed by a peal of childish laughter that made Elias pause mid-step. The sound was so foreign in these halls that for a moment, he didn't recognize it as coming from his own son.

"Oh, but what did the first mate say to that?" Lydia's voice responded, warm with amusement. "Surely Mug had something to add to the conversation?"

As if on cue, an enthusiastic bark echoed through the entrance hall, followed by the distinctive sound of muddy paws on marblefloors. Elias's jaw tightened. Mrs. Winters would have fits about the mess.

"First Mate Mug says we should check the treasure map again," Peter declared with authority, though his voice began to fade as he apparently caught sight of his father's approaching figure.

Elias rounded the corner just as they were entering through the garden door. The scene before him was one of complete disorder: Peter's usually immaculate clothing was covered in grass stains and what appeared to be mud, his golden curls were wild and untamed, and that infernal dog was prancing about with what looked suspiciously like one of the gardener's gloves in its mouth.

But it was the look on Peter's face that struck Elias the hardest – the way his son's bright smile instantly vanished, replaced by that too-familiar mask of anxious formality. The transformation was like watching a candle being snuffed out.

"Father," Peter said, his voice small as he attempted to brush some of the grass from his jacket. "I was just... that is, we were..."

"Exploring the high seas," Lydia finished for him, placing a protective hand on Peter's shoulder. Despite her own disheveled appearance – her hair falling from its pins, her hem distinctly muddy – she met Elias's stern gaze with remarkable composure. "Though I believe we've successfully avoided any sea monsters today."

"Sea monsters," Elias repeated flatly, noting how Peter seemed to shrink further into himself with each passing second. The sight made something twist uncomfortably in his chest. When had his presence become something his son dreaded?

Mug chose that moment to drop the sodden glove at Elias's feet, apparently offering it as some sort of peace offering. The dog's tail wagged hopefully as he looked up at the Duke with what could only be described as canine optimism.

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