Page 26 of Duke of Fyre

"She's also stubborn, impulsive, and entirely too informal," Elias added irritably. "That ridiculous dog of hers had my butler in fits yesterday, racing through the halls with Peter's cravat in its mouth."

"Ah yes, the infamous Mug," Nicholas grinned. "I heard about that. The staff says Peter actually laughed."

Something in Elias's chest twisted at that. When was the last time he'd heard his son laugh?

"The point is," Nicholas continued more seriously, "she's making changes. Good changes, from what I can see. Would it kill you to unbend a little? To let some light into this tomb you call a home?"

"I didn't marry her to make changes," Elias said stiffly. "I married her to provide Peter with a mother figure and to manage the household."

"And is she not doing both? Just perhaps not exactly as you expected?"

"Were you here to scold me, or are you here for business?" Elias bit out and Nicholas sighed. "I brought you some documents. I shall take my leave soon… but be careful to not ruin more than your own happiness with this bitterness, my dear friend."

Before Elias could respond, Nicholas left. He may have gotten quite stuck in a daze – but then laughter drifted in through the window – bright, joyous laughter that made him start. Elias frowned. Laughter was not a common sound at Fyre Manor – he preferred a quiet, orderly household. Another peal of merriment rang out, followed by what sounded suspiciously like barking.

With an irritated sigh, Elias rose from his desk and strode to the window. What he saw made him freeze in his tracks.

There, in the carefully manicured garden, was his son – his perfectly proper, always dignified son – rolling in the grass with that ridiculous dog. Peter's golden curls were wild, hisfine clothes smeared with dirt, and his face... his face was transformed by pure joy.

Lydia stood nearby, her own hair escaping its pins as she acted out what appeared to be a sword fight with an invisible opponent. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she called out encouragement to Peter.

"Quick, Sir Peter! The dragon approaches! Defend your loyal knight, Sir Mug!"

Peter's laughter – when was the last time Elias had heard his son truly laugh? – rang out again as he jumped to his feet. "Fear not, fair lady! Sir Mug and I shall protect you!"

The little dog barked enthusiastically, running circles around them both while Lydia pretended to swoon in distress. Even Miss Nancy, whom Elias had always considered a paragon of proper behavior, was smiling as she watched from a nearby bench.

Elias felt something strange stir in his chest as he watched them play. Peter looked so... young. So carefree. So unlike the solemn little adult he usually pretended to be. And Lydia...

His breath caught as she spun in a circle, her skirts swirling around her legs, her face lifted to the sun. She was beautiful – wildly, vibrantly beautiful in a way that made his fingers itch to reach out and touch her.

But then his eyes fell on Peter's dirt-stained clothing, and propriety reasserted itself. This wouldn't do at all. They had standards to maintain. What if someone were to visit and see the heir to the dukedom behaving like a common street urchin?

Before he could think better of it, Elias found himself striding out to the garden. As he approached, Peter spotted him first. The boy's laughter died immediately as he scrambled to his feet, attempting to brush the grass from his clothes.

"Father! I... we were just..."

"Slaying dragons, apparently," Elias said dryly, noting how his son's shoulders hunched at his tone.

Lydia turned to face him, and Elias felt his breath catch again at the sight of her. Her hair was coming down in wild curls around her face, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes... her eyes were challenging him to say something disapproving.

"Your Grace," she said, dropping into an elegant curtsy that somehow managed to seem both perfectly proper and slightly mocking. "Would you care to join our adventure? We could use another knight in our quest."

For a moment – just a moment – Elias was tempted. He remembered playing such games as a child, before his father had beaten all such frivolity out of him. He could almost feel the sun on his face, the grass under his feet, the simple joy of pretending...

But no. He was the Duke of Fyre. He had responsibilities, expectations to uphold.

"I think not," he said stiffly. "Peter, you should change before dinner. Your clothing is quite unsuitable."

The light dimmed in Peter's eyes, and he nodded sullenly. "Yes, Father."

"Oh, but we haven't finished our quest!" Lydia protested. "Surely the young knight can't abandon his post in the middle of battle? What would become of the kingdom?"

Elias found himself caught between amusement and annoyance at her obvious manipulation. "The kingdom, madam, will survive without Sir Peter's protection for one afternoon. The proper appearance of the future Duke of Fyre, however, is not negotiable."

"And what of his happiness?" Lydia asked quietly, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him want to look away. "Is that negotiable?"

The question struck him like a physical blow. Elias opened his mouth to deliver a sharp retort, but the words died in his throat as he caught sight of Peter's face. His son was watching the exchange with a wide-eyed look that made something in Elias's chest ache.

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