Page 70 of Duke of Fyre

"Of course," Jane declared. "Though I must say, I rather like who you've become. You're stronger now, braver. And if His Grace can't see what he has in you, then he's an even bigger beast than the gossips claim."

"Jane!" Marian scolded, but Lydia found herself laughing despite her tears.

"I've missed you all so much," she said softly. "Sometimes the manor feels so... empty, even with Peter's laughter and Mug's adventures."

"Speaking of Mug," Diana glanced around. "Where is that impossible creature?"

"I left him with Peter," Lydia explained. "I couldn't bear to separate them, and Peter needs the comfort more than I do right now."

Her sisters exchanged knowing looks at the maternal tone in her voice. "You love that boy," Marian said gently. "As if he were your own."

"He is my own," Lydia replied without hesitation. "In every way that matters." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "Which makes this even harder."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, Jane straightened her shoulders with determination.

"Well," she announced, "if we're to help you remember who you were, we might as well start now. Diana, fetch that bottle of wine Cook keeps hidden in the pantry. Marian, find those chocolate biscuits Mother thinks we don't know about. And you," she pointed at Lydia, "are going to tell us everything. Every detail. And then we'll help you figure out what to do next."

Lydia found herself smiling despite the ache in her chest. This was what she had missed—the unconditional support of sisters who knew her heart better than she knew it herself.

"Everything?" she asked, managing a weak laugh.

"Everything," Jane confirmed firmly. "Starting with why you're really here, and ending with how we're going to make that stubborn duke of yours realize exactly what he's about to lose."

As her sisters scurried to gather their illicit supplies, Lydia leaned back against the familiar pillows of her childhood bed. The room felt smaller than she remembered, yet somehow safer. Here, at least, she could let down the careful walls she'd built around her heart.

But as the night deepened and her sisters plotted various schemes to bring Elias to his senses, Lydia found her thoughts drifting back to Fyre Manor. To Peter, who would be preparing for bed now, perhaps with Mug curled at his feet. To the gardens where they had played pirates and dragons. To Elias, alone in his study, surrounded by the weight of duty and proper dignity.

She wondered if he missed her, even a little. Or if, like everything else in their marriage, her absence was simply another inconvenience to be managed with appropriate decorum.

The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes, but this time, surrounded by her sisters' love, she let them fall freely. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for tonight, she could simply be Lydia—not a duchess, not a wife, just a woman trying to find her way back to herself.

And perhaps, in finding herself, she might also find the strength to face whatever lay ahead.

CHAPTER 28

The silence in Fyre Manor had grown oppressive in the week since Lydia's departure. Even the servants moved through the halls with hushed steps, as if the very air had become brittle enough to shatter at the slightest sound. The autumn rain that had settled over the countryside only added to the gloom, its steady patter against the windows a constant reminder of all that had changed.

Elias sat in his study, surrounded by papers he couldn't focus on reading. The lamp on his desk cast weak shadows across the room, though it was barely past midday. He had been avoiding meals in the dining room, taking them here instead, where the walls of books and business correspondence could shield him from the empty chair at the other end of the table.

But it wasn't just Lydia's absence he was avoiding. Peter's eyes, so like his own, held questions Elias couldn't bear to answer. The boy had grown quieter with each passing day, his usual enthusiasm dimmed to muted responses that twisted like a knife in Elias's chest.

Just that morning, he had encountered Peter in the library, curled in Lydia's favorite window seat with Mug at his feet. The little dog had lifted his head at Elias's approach, giving a soft whine that made Peter look up from the adventure book Lydia had given him.

"Father," Peter had said, his voice small and uncertain. "Have you heard from Lydia? Only, she promised to write, and I thought perhaps..."

"I'm sure she's been busy," Elias had replied stiffly, hating the way Peter's face fell at his words. "Your lessons await, I believe?"

"Yes, Father." Peter had gathered his book and stood, shoulders slumping. But at the door, he had paused. "Father? Did... did we do something wrong? Is that why she left?"

The question had struck Elias like a physical blow. "No," he'd managed, his voice rougher than intended. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why won't she come home?"

Elias had no answer that wouldn't wound them both further. "To your lessons, Peter."

Now, alone in his study, those words haunted him. You did nothing wrong. Buthehad, hadn't he? The memory of Lydia's face that last morning, the hurt in her eyes as he let her walk away...

A sharp knock interrupted his brooding. Before he could refuse entry, the door swung open to reveal Nicholas, his usual good humor replaced by an expression of grim determination.

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