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"Mug!" she called, hurrying toward the commotion. "What have you done now?"

She rounded the corner to find a scene of magnificent chaos. Mug had apparently discovered one of Mrs. Winters's prized Chinese vases – or what remained of it. The little dog stood proudly in the midst of the destruction, tail wagging, with what appeared to be Nicholas's dropped glove in his mouth.

"Oh, you impossible creature," Lydia sighed, just as Elias and Nicholas emerged from the study to investigate the noise.

"I say," Nicholas chuckled, "that's a rather fetching shade of blue on my glove. Though I don't recall it being quite so... damp before."

Elias opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a thunderous reprimand, but before he could speak, Peter came racing down the hall.

"Mug! There you are! I've been looking everywhere for– oh." He skidded to a halt, taking in the scene. "Oh dear."

"Indeed," Elias said darkly.

But instead of cowering, Peter straightened his shoulders and stepped forward. "It's my fault, Father. I was supposed to be watching him while Lydia attended to her correspondence. I'll help clean it up."

Lydia held her breath, watching Elias's face. To her amazement, the stern lines around his mouth softened slightly.

"Well," he said after a moment, "I never did care for that particular vase. Though perhaps in future, your... companion might be confined to less decorated areas of the house?"

"Yes, Father!" Peter beamed, then turned to Mug with his sternest expression. "Did you hear that? No more stealing gloves from Father's friends."

Mug, apparently sensing he was the topic of discussion, dropped the sodden glove at Nicholas's feet and sat, looking absurdly pleased with himself.

"Remarkable creature," Nicholas observed, retrieving his ruined glove with admirable good humor. "I don't suppose he takes commissions? I have several other gloves that could use... redesigning."

To everyone's shock, a sound that might almost have been a chuckle escaped Elias's lips. He caught himself quickly, but not before Lydia had memorized the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he was amused.

"Come along, Peter," she said quickly, before the moment could shatter like the unfortunate vase. "Let's find Mrs. Winters and see about getting this cleaned up."

As they headed toward the servants' hall, Peter whispered, "Did you hear that, Lydia? Father almost laughed!"

"Indeed he did, darling. Though perhaps we shouldn't mention it – we wouldn't want to damage his fearsome reputation."

They spent the next hour helping the maids clean up the mess, with Mug "supervising" from a safe distance. Peter took his self-imposed punishment seriously, carefully wrapping each piece of broken porcelain and apologizing profusely to Mrs. Winters.

Later, as Lydia was returning to her chambers to finally begin planning her ball gown, she nearly collided with Elias in the corridor.

"Your Grace!" she gasped, steadying herself against the wall. "I beg your pardon, I wasn't watching where..."

"He's a good boy," Elias interrupted, his voice gruff. "Peter, I mean. Taking responsibility like that."

Lydia's heart did that peculiar flutter again. "Yes, he is. Rather like his father in that regard, I think."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and Lydia felt that now-familiar spark of awareness pass between them. Then Elias cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Yes, well. Carry on."

As she watched him stride away, Lydia smiled to herself. Perhaps there was hope for the Beast of Fyre after all. And if it took a few broken vases and stolen gloves to crack that stern facade, well...

She glanced at Mug, who was looking entirely too innocent for comfort. "No more Chinese porcelain," she told him firmly. "Though if you happen to find any more of Lord Stone's gloves lying about..."

Mug's tail wagged with what she could have sworn was understanding.

Yes, Lydia thought as she finally turned her attention to her wardrobe, the upcoming ball promised to be very interesting indeed.

CHAPTER 16

Lydia stood amid a sea of silk and lace, contemplating which gowns to pack for their upcoming journey to the Hartley's ball in London. Mug lay sprawled across her bed, occasionally offering his opinion with a sleepy bark when she held up a particularly colorful option.