Page 14 of Duke of Fyre

Tears pricked at Lydia's eyes, and she reached out to squeeze Diana's hand. "Thank you," she whispered. "I needed to hear that."

As the afternoon wore on, Lydia's spirits lifted. Her sisters regaled her with stories and jokes, reminding her of happier times and filling the room with laughter. For a few precious hours, she was able to set aside her worries and simply enjoy the company of those she loved most.

But as the light began to fade and her sisters prepared to leave, the weight of her impending future settled back onto Lydia's shoulders. She walked to the window, gazing out at the darkening sky.

"Lydia?" Marian's voice was soft behind her. "What are you thinking?"

Lydia turned, offering her sister a small smile. "I was just... remembering. All those hours spent practicing the pianoforte, perfecting my French, learning to embroider. I used to resent Mother for pushing me so hard. But now..."

"Now you're grateful," Marian finished for her. "Because it's prepared you for this."

Lydia nodded. "Exactly. I may not know the Duke, may not love him, but I can be the perfect wife and duchess. I can make Mother proud, prove to everyone that I'm worthy of this position."

Marian studied her face for a long moment. "And what about your own happiness, Lydia? Doesn't that matter?"

The question caught Lydia off guard. She'd been so focused on duty, on living up to expectations, that she'd scarcely considered her own desires. "I... I suppose I hope that happiness will come in time," she said slowly. "That in doing my duty, in being the best duchess I can be, I'll find fulfillment."

Marian didn't look entirely convinced, but she nodded. "Just... don't lose yourself in the process, Lydia. Promise me that."

"I promise," Lydia said, embracing her sister tightly.

As her sisters left, Lydia moved to her writing desk, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper. If the Duke wouldn't come to her, then she would go to him - through letters, at least. She would write to him every day until the wedding, sharing her thoughts, her hopes for their future together. Perhaps, if she could not win his love, she might at least earn his respect.

"Dear Duke," she began, her hand steady and her resolve firm. "I hope this letter finds you well. As our wedding day approaches, I find myself thinking of the life we will build together..."

The words flowed easily, filling page after page. Lydia wrote of her hopes for their future, her commitment to being a good wife and duchess. She spoke of her accomplishments, her desire to be a worthy partner to him. And though she did not mention love - for how could she love a man she barely knew? - she infused every word with sincerity and determination.

As she sealed the letter, ready to be sent first thing in the morning, Lydia allowed herself a small smile. This was not thefuture she’d expected. But would face it head-on, with all the grace and determination she could muster. After all, she had made a vow to be the perfect lady, the perfect wife. And Lydia Brandon always kept her promises.

The next day dawned bright and clear, but Lydia's spirits remained clouded with anxiety. As she went through the motions of her daily routine - breakfast with her family, a final fitting for her wedding gown, a meeting with the florist - she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her since her mother's talk.

"Lydia," Prudence called as she passed the drawing room, "come here a moment. We need to go over the seating arrangements for the wedding breakfast one last time."

Suppressing a sigh, Lydia entered the room. Her mother sat at a small writing desk, surrounded by papers and diagrams. "Yes, Mother?"

Prudence looked up, her keen eyes taking in every detail of Lydia's appearance. "Stand up straight, child. A duchess must always have perfect posture. Now, about these seating arrangements..."

For the next hour, Lydia stood dutifully by her mother's side, offering suggestions and nodding agreement as Prudence rearranged the names of guests over and over. It was tedious work, but Lydia knew better than to complain. A lady always maintained her composure, no matter how trying the circumstances.

As they finished, Prudence set down her pen with a satisfied nod. "There. That should prevent any social faux pas. Now, Lydia, let's review your duties one last time."

Lydia straightened her shoulders, reciting from memory: "As Duchess of Fyre, I am to manage the household staff, oversee the estate accounts, host social gatherings, support my husband in his business and political endeavors, and present a dignified and gracious face to society at all times."

"Very good," Prudence said, a hint of approval in her voice. "And your primary duty?"

"To provide an heir for the Fyre lineage," Lydia replied, fighting to keep the tremor from her voice.

Prudence nodded. "Exactly. Remember, Lydia, everything else is secondary to that. The continuation of the family line is of utmost importance."

Lydia swallowed hard, her mother's words from the previous day echoing in her mind. Love wasn't necessary in a marriage. Duty, respect, these were what mattered. But as she stood there, on the eve of her wedding, Lydia couldn't help but long for something more.

"Mother," she said hesitantly, "what if... what if the Duke and I never come to care for each other? What if it's always just... duty?"

Prudence's expression softened slightly, a rare occurrence. "Oh, my dear. I know it seems daunting now, but you'll see. Once you have children, once you build a life together, a different kind of love will grow. It may not be the passionate romance of novels, but it can be deep and lasting all the same."

Lydia nodded, not entirely convinced but unwilling to argue. As she turned to leave, Prudence called out once more.

"Lydia. Remember everything I've taught you. You've been prepared for this your entire life. Don't let us down."

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