Page 68 of Duke of Fyre

CHAPTER 27

Sleep did not come for Lydia at all that night–in fact, she never even considered it. Instead, she spent the whole night working, almost methodically. By the time the sun rose, Lydia stood in the entrance hall, her traveling bag at her feet. She had packed little—just enough for a brief stay—though the weight of what she was leaving behind pressed heavy on her heart.

Peter had wept when she told him, his small arms clinging to her waist as she explained that she needed some time away. "But you'll come back?" he had asked, his voice trembling. "You promise?"

"Of course, darling," she had whispered, pressing a kiss to his golden curls. "I just need a little time to... to sort some things out. You'll be good for Miss Nancy while I'm gone? And I… well, I will leave Mug here with you. He will take care of you while I am gone. And I shall write, I promise."

Now, the choice she had made during the night seemed far more impulsive, far more final than she had meant it to be. She took a shuddering breath as she stared at the door, everything in her aching to turn back and take Peter with her.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made her turn. Elias stood at the landing, his face a mask of carefully controlled indifference. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of emotion he couldn't quite hide, that made her breath catch.

"So," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "you're leaving."

"Yes." She lifted her chin, refusing to let her voice waver. "I've left instructions for Mrs. Winters about Peter's needs, and I've written down his schedule for…"

"You don't need to explain," Elias cut her off, his tone growing colder. "You've made your decision."

Lydia felt anger flare in her chest, hot and bright. "Have I? Or was that decision made for me last night when you made it clear exactly what my place in this household would be?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw, but his expression remained impassive. "Where will you go?"

"To my parents' house." She watched his face carefully, looking for any reaction. "I'll be helping my sisters find suitable matches. Since that seems to be all I'm good for—arranging marriages of convenience."

The words hung between them, sharp and bitter. Elias's hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, she thought he might say something—might ask her to stay, might offer some explanation for his coldness. But he remained silent, his blue eyes stormy with unspoken words.

"I've told Peter I'll write to him," she continued when the silence grew too heavy. "And I've asked Miss Nancy to send reports of his progress. Though perhaps you'd prefer I maintain proper distance there as well?"

"That won't be necessary," Elias said stiffly. "Peter is... fond of you."

"Fond." Lydia laughed, though the sound held no humor. "What a perfectly proper word. How very ducal of you."

She saw the flash of anger in his eyes, quickly masked. "Lydia?—"

"No." She held up a hand, stopping whatever he might have said. "I can't do this anymore, Elias. I can't keep pretending that your coldness doesn't hurt, that your distance doesn't matter. I need... I need time."

The morning light caught the silver at his temples, softening his stern features for just a moment. She remembered how those features had relaxed when he smiled, how his eyes had warmed when he watched Peter in the garden. But now his face was a stranger's, closed off and remote.

"Then by all means," he said, his voice like ice, "take all the time you need."

Lydia felt something crack inside her chest. Even now, even after everything, he wouldn't unbend enough to ask her to stay. Pride and proper dignity would always matter more than whatever fragile thing had grown between them.

"Goodbye, Your Grace," she said formally, the title a deliberate barrier between them. She bent to pick up her bag, but a footman appeared, reaching for it before she could.

"The carriage is ready, Your Grace," he murmured, his eyes carefully averted from the tension between his master and mistress.

Lydia nodded, turning toward the door. She had almost reached it when Elias's voice stopped her.

"Lydia." His tone was different now, softer, almost uncertain. "I..."

She waited, her heart hammering against her ribs. But whatever he might have said died unspoken as his face hardened once more.

"Have a safe journey," he finished formally.

Without another word, she stepped out into the morning air. The carriage waited, its doors already open, and she climbedinside without looking back. As they pulled away from Fyre Manor, she pressed her fingers against the window, watching the great house recede into the distance.

Only then did she allow the tears to fall.

The journey to her parents' house passed in a blur of autumn countryside and tumbling thoughts. Lydia barely noticed the familiar landmarks that marked their progress, her mind too full of the morning's goodbye. She kept seeing Peter's tearful face, feeling the weight of Elias's silence.

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