Page 29 of Duke of Fyre

"Well," Nancy's voice was gentle, carefully considering her response. "I suppose it's different for everyone. Why do you ask?"

There was a pause, and Elias could picture his son fidgeting with his sleeve buttons as he often did when nervous. "It's just... Lydia is different from what I expected. When Father said he was bringing home a new duchess, I thought..."

"What did you think, dear?"

"I thought she'd be like the mean stepmothers we read about in those books… And that she'd just yell and fight all the time.'" Peter's voice took on a higher pitch, mimicking the society matrons who occasionally graced their halls. "But Lydia... she plays with me. She listens when I talk about my drawings. And she doesn't mind when Mug gets mud on her dress."

Nancy chuckled softly. "No, she certainly doesn't seem to mind a bit of mess, does she?"

"Today when we were playing pirates," Peter continued, his voice growing animated, "she helped me make up a whole story about treasure maps and sea monsters. And when I said I didn't know how to sword fight, she used a stick to teach me! Can you imagine? A duchess, playing with sticks!"

The pure joy in his son's voice made Elias's chest ache. When was the last time he'd heard Peter speak with such enthusiasm?

"And... and when Father came home," Peter's voice dropped lower, "she didn't let me get in trouble. She stood up for me. Like... like a real mother would. Wouldn't she?"

There was a long pause before Nancy responded. "Yes, dear. That's exactly what a real mother would do."

"I wish..." Peter started, then stopped himself.

"What do you wish, Master Peter?"

"I wish Father could come play with us . Playing and laughing and just... being happy. Lydia makes it seem so easy. But whenever Father appears, everything has to be proper and perfect and... and I don't want to disappoint him."

Elias felt as though someone had struck him in the chest. He leaned against the wall, his son's words echoing in his mind.

"Oh, I just know the Duke loves you very much," Nancy said softly. "He just... shows it differently."

"I know," Peter sighed. "But sometimes I wish he could show it more like Lydia does. She hugs me and smiles at me and doesn't mind if my cravat is crooked. And when she looks at me, I don't feel like... like I'm doing everything wrong."

Unable to listen anymore, Elias turned and walked silently away, his son's words haunting his steps. When he finally reached his study, Elias closed the door firmly behind him and dropped into his chair. He could still smell the faint trace of lavender that clung to her, could still see the fire in her eyes as she defended his son's right to play.

His son. Something did not sit quite right with him when he thought of the way the boy looked at him–at times it seemed also as though he were scared, hesitant. At times, their relationship resembled the tumultuous one he'd had with his own father and now…

It was Lydia, of course, who brought on these ridiculous feelings. He'd never before been bothered by the fact that he had to put duty first.

With an irritated grunt, he pushed away from his desk. Perhaps a ride would clear his head. Anything to escape the maddening presence of his new wife and the equally maddening effect she seemed to have on him.

As he strode towards the stables, he caught sight of Peter emerging from his room in fresh clothes, his hair neatly combed once more. But there was something different about the boy's bearing – a lightness that hadn't been there before, a hint of that earlier joy that hadn't been completely suppressed.

And perhaps, Elias admitted to himself, that made the grass stains and the noise and the disruption to his perfectly ordered household worth it after all.

Not that he would ever tell Lydia that, of course. She was quite satisfied enough with her victory – no need to encourage further disruptions to his carefully maintained dignity.

Though a small voice in the back of his mind suggested that perhaps a little disruption wasn't such a terrible thing after all.

CHAPTER 12

Afew mornings later, Lydia was arranging flowers in the drawing room when Elias found her. She heard his measured footsteps approaching and felt a strange, unfamiliar flutter in her stomach that she steadfastly refused to examine too closely.

"Your Grace," she said, not turning around as she adjusted a particularly stubborn rose. "I trust you slept well?"

"Well enough," Elias replied, his deep voice sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "I've come to inform you that I must leave for Yorkshire tomorrow. There are matters at one of the northern estates that require my personal attention."

Now Lydia did turn, surprised by the slight note of... was that reluctance in his voice? But his face was as impassive as ever, those striking blue eyes revealing nothing.

"I see," she said carefully. "How long will you be gone?"

"A fortnight, perhaps longer." He paused, seeming to choose his next words with unusual care. "I trust you will... continue Peter's education in my absence?"

---