Page 73 of Duke of Fyre

Elias turned back to his desk, to the familiar comfort of ledgers and business correspondence. But try as he might, he couldn't focus on the numbers before him. All he could see was Lydia's face that last morning, the hurt in her eyes as he let her walk away.

All he could hear was Peter's voice, soft but certain: Maybe you could be brave like that too.

But some kinds of bravery, Elias thought grimly, came at too high a price. Better to maintain proper dignity, to keep the walls firmly in place, than risk having them crumble entirely.

Better to be the Beast of Fyre than to remember how it felt to be simply, vulnerably human.

CHAPTER 29

Lydia could hardly notice the beauty of the park as they walked. It was a route they had traveled countless times in their youth, though today the familiar surroundings felt somehow different—tainted perhaps by the weight of all she carried in her heart. The autumn breeze stirred fallen leaves around their feet, and Lydia found herself remembering how Peter had once described the changing colors as "nature's own art gallery."

Every memory of Fyre Manor seemed to pierce her anew. Even here, surrounded by the comfortable familiarity of her childhood home, she couldn't escape the ache of missing them. Missing Peter's morning visits to her chambers, his excited chatter about his latest drawings. Missing the way Mug would chase butterflies in the garden while Elias pretended not to smile. Missing...

"Enough brooding," Jane declared, linking her arm through Lydia's. "You've been here a week and you've barely said two words about what really happened at Fyre Manor. You driftabout like a ghost, staring at nothing, and we're worried sick about you."

"Jane," Marian warned, but Lydia shook her head.

"No, she's right. I owe you all an explanation." Lydia led them to a secluded bench, one that had witnessed many sisterly confidences over the years. The weathered wood still bore their initials, carved in secret one summer afternoon long ago. "Though I hardly know where to begin."

"The beginning is usually best," Diana suggested gently, settling beside her. She took Lydia's hand, her touch warm and reassuring. "When did things start to change between you and the Duke?"

Lydia twisted her hands in her lap, searching for words. The breeze caught at her hair, reminding her painfully of how Elias's fingers had once brushed a stray curl from her cheek. "I... I made a terrible mistake," she said finally. "I fell in love with him."

Her sisters exchanged glances. "Is that really such a mistake?" Marian asked softly. "Loving one's husband?"

"It is when he can never love you in return." Lydia's voice caught slightly. "When his heart still belongs to someone else."

"His first wife?" Jane's usual exuberance dimmed with understanding. "But surely?—"

"You didn't see his face when I asked..." Lydia broke off, the memory still too raw. That terrible moment in his study, when she'd dared to hope for more, only to have her dreams shattered by his cold refusal.

"I thought I could be content with what he offered," Lydia continued, blinking back tears. The words came easier now, as if speaking them aloud somehow lessened their power to wound. "A position, a home, a chance to be a mother to Peter. But I was foolish. I wanted more. I wanted..." She gestured helplessly. "Everything. His smile in the morning, his trust, his heart. I wanted him to look at me the way… I don't know, the way they do in books, I suppose… Like I was something precious, something worth protecting."

"That's not foolish," Marian said firmly. "You deserve everything, Lydia. And if the Duke can't see that…"

"Sometimes I think he does see it," Lydia admitted quietly. "There are moments when he looks at me, and I could swear..." She twisted her handkerchief between her fingers. "But then he remembers himself and the walls come back up. It's like watching a flower close at the first touch of frost."

"Men," Jane declared with all the wisdom of her nineteen years, "are impossibly stupid creatures. Even dukes, apparently."

That startled a laugh from Lydia, though it quickly turned watery. "He's not stupid, Jane. He's... wounded. Scarred in ways I can't reach. And perhaps that's the real tragedy—that I lovehim enough to understand why he pushes me away, even as it breaks my heart."

"Have you told him?" Diana asked. "How you feel?"

"Not in so many words. But surely he must know? After everything..." Lydia broke off, remembering that kiss in the garden, the way he had looked at her in that midnight blue gown. "Or perhaps I've imagined it all. Perhaps I've been seeing what I wished to see, rather than what was truly there."

"From what you've told us in your letters," Marian said thoughtfully, "it seems the Duke cares for you more than you realize. The way he watches you with Peter, how he ordered all those gowns from Madame Delacour..."

"And danced with you at the ball!" Jane added. "Everyone says he never dances."

"Momentary lapses," Lydia said bitterly. "Weaknesses he immediately regrets. You should have seen his face when I suggested sharing his chambers, as a proper wife should. You'd have thought I'd suggested something truly scandalous, like teaching Mug to juggle or letting Peter eat dessert before dinner."

Her attempt at humor fell flat as her sisters exchanged worried glances. "Is that why you left?" Diana asked gently. "Because he refused you?"

"No. Yes. I don't know anymore." Lydia pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting back fresh tears. "I left because I couldn't bear to keep pretending. To sit across from him at breakfast, to watch him with Peter, to love them both so much while knowing I'll never truly be part of their family. I'm just... a convenient arrangement. A duchess to manage his household and mother his son. Nothing more."

"Lydia…" Marian began, but was cut off by Jane's sharp intake of breath.

"Look out," Jane interrupted suddenly, her voice sharp with warning. "It's that man."

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