Page 40 of Duke of Fyre

"I used to imagine having brothers and sisters," Peter admitted quietly. "Sometimes I'd pretend my toy soldiers were my siblings, and we'd go on grand adventures together."

Lydia's heart squeezed. "Would you like to tell me about them?"

Peter was silent for a moment, his fingers twisting in Mug's fur. "There was William – he was the eldest after me. Very brave and strong. And Mary, she was clever like you, always knowing just what to do. And little Thomas..." He trailed off, blinking rapidly.

"They sound wonderful, darling."

"Father never talks about my real mother," Peter said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't... I don't even know what she looked like. Sometimes I think that's why he doesn't like to look at me too much. Maybe I remind him of her?"

Lydia felt tears prick at her eyes. "Oh, my darling boy. Your father loves you very much. Sometimes... sometimes people carry hurts so deep they don't know how to speak of them. But that doesn't mean they love any less."

"Did she..." Peter swallowed hard. "Did she not want me?"

"Peter, no!" Lydia turned him to face her, her heart breaking at the uncertainty in his eyes. "Listen to me very carefully. Your mother died when you were born – that wasn't anyone's fault, and it certainly wasn't because she didn't want you. I'm sure she loved you very, very much."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because," Lydia said softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead, "it's impossible not to love you. You're clever and kind and brave, and any mother would be proud to call you son."

Peter's lower lip trembled. "Even you?"

"Oh, my darling." Lydia pulled him close as the tears finally spilled over. "Especially me."

She held him while he cried, rocking gently and stroking his hair as she had so often done for her sisters. Mug pressed close against them both, offering his own form of comfort with gentle whines and occasional licks to Peter's hand.

Finally, the tears subsided, and Peter pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to cry like a baby."

"Nonsense," Lydia said firmly. "There's nothing wrong with crying. Even pirates cry sometimes, you know."

That got a watery chuckle out of him. "They do?"

"Oh yes. Especially when they're missing their families while out on long voyages. Why do you think they're always singing such sad songs?"

Peter considered this. "I suppose that makes sense. Though I bet they don't cry into their stepmothers' best silk dress."

Lydia glanced down at the tear stains on her gown and shrugged. "Well, this one needed altering anyway. Now it has character!"

Peter smiled, then grew serious again. "Lydia? Do you think... do you think someday I might have real siblings? Not just pretend ones?"

The question caught her off guard, making her heart flutter strangely. She thought of her list, of the duties she had yet to fulfill as Duchess of Fyre. But more than that, she thought of how wonderful it would be to give Peter the family he so desperately wanted.

"I hope so, darling," she said softly. "I hope so very much."

Peter brightened considerably. "I'd be a good big brother," he declared. "I'd teach them all about pirates and herbs and how to draw properly. And I'd protect them, like William always protected his siblings in my stories."

"You'd be the very best big brother," Lydia agreed, pushing aside the twinge in her heart at the thought of discussing such matters with Elias. That was a bridge to cross another day.

"And you'd tell them stories? Like you tell me?"

"Every night," she promised. "Though they'd have to be different stories – we can't have them stealing your pirate tales!"

"No," Peter agreed seriously. "Those are just for us."

Lydia felt her heart swell with love for this precious boy who had so quickly become her own. "Indeed they are. Now, speaking of stories, shall I tell you about the time Jane convinced Diana that she could teach Marian's cat to dance?"

Peter settled back against her pillows, his earlier melancholy forgotten. "What happened?"

"Well, it involved three yards of ribbon, Mother's best bonnet, and a very angry cat..."

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