Page 82 of Duke of Fyre

"It's not reckless to know what I want, Father," Lydia said, her voice rising. "And it's not thoughtless to choose what's best for my family."

Her mother let out a soft gasp. "And what about us, Lydia? Have you thought about how this affects your family here? Your sisters?"

The mention of her sisters made Lydia pause for a moment, but only to gather her resolve. "Marian, Diana, and Jane deserve your attention now. Not me. I have my own family to care for."

Silas opened his mouth to retort, but Lydia's next words cut him off. "And before you try to make me feel guilty, let me be clear—this isn't up for debate."

The room went silent, her parents exchanging stunned glances. Prudence looked to Silas, hoping he might press the matter further, but before he could speak, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Elias entered, his expression unreadable, though his eyes flicked to Lydia with a silent question. She met his gaze steadily, giving him a small nod. He took one look at her parents and seemed to understand what had transpired.

"Is everything ready?" he asked, his voice calm but firm, as though daring anyone to challenge him.

Silas stiffened in his chair. "We were just discussing a very important matter."

"No," Lydia said, standing abruptly. "We were done discussing it."

Prudence rose as well, her composure beginning to crack. "Lydia, please. You can't mean to leave with this hanging in the air. Think of what people will say. Think of?—"

Elias's voice cut through her protests like a blade. "That's enough."

Prudence froze, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Silas's eyes narrowed at the commanding tone, but he said nothing.

Elias stepped forward, placing a hand on Lydia's back. "This is our life, not yours. Lydia has spoken, and I will not tolerate anyone trying to guilt her into changing her mind."

"But Elias," Prudence tried again, her voice cracking slightly. "She's your wife. Surely you want?—"

"What I want," Elias said, his voice dangerously low, "is for Lydia to be happy. And if you truly cared for her, you would want the same."

Prudence looked as though she might cry, but Lydia had no sympathy to spare. She took Elias's hand, her grip firm. "I already have a family," she said, her voice calm but unyielding. "One that needs me, and one that I will protect with everything I have. If you ever wish to visit, you're welcome—but only if you respect my choices and my family."

The silence that followed was deafening. Prudence finally sank back into her chair, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Silas looked as though he wanted to argue further, but Elias's presence seemed to hold him in check.

"Very well," Silas said at last, his tone clipped. "If that's your decision, we will abide by it."

"Thank you," Lydia said, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of finality.

Without another word, Elias led her from the room. The carriage waited just beyond the front doors, the horses restless as if sensing their passengers' urgency. Lydia didn't look back as they stepped inside, though she could feel the weight of her parents' disappointment lingering like a shadow.

The journey home began in silence. Lydia stared out the window, her thoughts a jumble of emotions—relief, defiance, and a lingering ache for the relationship with her parents that would never quite be the same.

"You did well," Elias said quietly, breaking the silence.

Lydia turned to him, her expression softening. "Did I?"

He nodded, reaching for her hand. "You stood your ground. I'm proud of you."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers entwining with his. "I couldn't have done it without you."

Elias pressed a kiss to the top of her head but said nothing more. The steady rhythm of the carriage wheels on the road lulled them both into a companionable silence, and for the first time in days, Lydia allowed herself to simply breathe.

As the carriage rolled to a stop at the grand entrance of Fyre Manor, Lydia felt a flutter of nerves in her chest. She glanced at Elias, who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. He stepped out first, turning to help her down with the ease and care that always steadied her.

Before she could take a single step toward the manor, a streak of fur shot out from the front doors, yapping furiously. Mug bolted toward her, his scruffy coat bouncing as he ran. Right behind him came Peter, his small legs carrying him as fast as they could, his cries of "Lydia!" carrying across the courtyard.

Lydia's breath hitched as Mug reached her first, leaping up to plant his front paws on her skirts. She knelt, her arms outstretched, and the little dog wasted no time jumping into them. His tail wagged so furiously it seemed to vibrate, and he barked between frantic licks to her cheek.

"Mug, you silly thing," she said with a laugh, burying her face in his fur. "I missed you too!"

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