Chapter 20
The morning of the deadline dawned cold and bright, with a sky so blue it seemed almost cruel.
Lydia had barely slept. The nightmare had returned twice more, Frederick walking into flames, Frederick burning, Frederick lost to her forever, and each time she'd woken gasping, her heart pounding, her sheets tangled around her legs like chains.
Now she sat on the edge of her bed, watching the sun rise through her small window, and tried to remember how to breathe.
Today is the day.
Helena's deadline. The end of the week, she'd given Frederick to "come to his senses." The day when everything would be decided, one way or another.
She should go to the manor. That was what they'd agreed, what they'd promised each other over and over in the past week. Whatever came next, they would face it together.
But Helena's words kept circling in her mind, persistent as crows.
Is your happiness worth his future?
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let him go.
His children will pay for a choice their father made before they were born.
Lydia pressed her hands to her face and tried to think clearly.
She had promised to fight. She had kissed Frederick and told him they would face this together.
She had listened to Boggins' impassioned speech about three generations of Hawthornes choosing duty over love and had sworn that they would be different.
But that was before Helena's visit. Before the story about Frederick’s mother. Before the nightmare of fire and sacrifice and loss.
He would give up everything for you.
That was what terrified her most. Not Helena's threats, not the social consequences, not even the whispered gossip about her children.
It was the certainty that Frederick would sacrifice everything.
His title, his position, his future. His ability to do good in the world.
His seat in the House of Lords, where he could advocate for laws that helped ordinary people.
All of it, gone, for her.
And he would do it gladly, without hesitation, without regret. Because he loved her. Because he had finally found something worth wanting, and he would burn the world down before he let it go.
That's not love, Helena had said. That's destruction.
Lydia wasn't sure she believed that. But she wasn't sure she didn't, either.
She dressed mechanically, choosing the same blue dress she'd worn to the Crossed Keys—her best, the one that made her feel almost like she belonged in Frederick’s world.
The sun was fully up now, and the village was coming to life around her. She could hear the sounds of ordinary morning activity—carts rumbling past, children calling to each other, the distant sound of the church bells marking the hour.
Normal sounds. Familiar sounds. The sounds of a world that would keep turning regardless of what happened at the manor today.
She thought about going there. About standing beside Frederick when he faced his aunt, holding his hand, showing the world that they had chosen each other and would not be moved.
But every time she imagined it, she saw the fire. She saw Frederick stepping into the flames. She saw everything he was, everything he could be, consumed by his love for her.
Is your happiness worth his future?
She had to know. She had to see for herself what he was planning, what he was willing to sacrifice. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as Helena had made it sound. Maybe there was a way to have both; love and duty, happiness and position.
Or maybe Helena was right. Maybe the only way to save Frederick was to let him go.
Either way, she needed to see him. She needed to look in his eyes and understand exactly what she was asking him to give up.
***
The walk to the manor had never felt so long.
She took the back paths, avoiding the main road where she might meet neighbors who would want to talk. She needed silence and needed space to think, to prepare herself for whatever was coming.
The manor loomed ahead of her, its grey stone walls catching the morning light.
It looked different today, somehow. Less forbidding than usual.
The curtains were open in several windows; something that had never happened before Frederick started changing—and there was smoke rising from chimneys that usually stood cold.
The house was waking up, she thought. Just like Frederick was waking up.
And she was about to ask herself whether she had the right to be the one who woke him.
***
She didn't go to the front door.
Instead, she circled to the side entrance—the one Frederick had shown her during the manor tour, the one that led through the kitchen gardens to the servants' quarters. It felt appropriate, somehow. She wasn't here as a guest today. She was here as something else entirely.
The gardens were beautiful in the morning light, the frost-touched herbs glittering like jewels. She paused by the bench where Frederick had told her about running away as a child, about Mrs Chen talking him down, convincing him to stay and fight.
Stay and fight.
That was what everyone kept telling her. Robert at the public house. Thomas at the forge. Boggins with his thirty-one years of watching Hawthornes choose wrong.
But what if fighting was the wrong choice? What if staying meant destroying the very person she was trying to save?
Suddenly, she heard voices.
They were coming from the study, the room with the tall windows that overlooked the garden. Frederick’s voice, and another that she recognised after a moment as Boggins'.
She shouldn't listen. She should announce herself, make her presence known, and give them privacy.
Instead, she moved closer to the window, hidden by a climbing rose that had lost its blooms but not its thorns.
"I have already sent word to Lord Norton," Frederick was saying. "And to Lord Ashford, and to the other moderates in the Lords. They need to know what I'm planning before Helena has a chance to poison them against me."
"And what are you planning, Your Grace?" Boggins' voice was careful, neutral.
"To make a public declaration. To announce my betrothal, assuming Lydia accepts me, and to make it clear that anyone who objects can take their objections and leave."
"That is... considerably more aggressive than your usual approach."
"My usual approach has gotten me thirty years of misery and a reputation as the most boring man in England. I think it's time for a change." There was a sound of papers being shuffled. "I've also drafted a letter to my aunt. It's... not kind."
"May I read it?"
"If you must."
Silence stretched while Boggins presumably read the letter. Lydia held her breath, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain they could hear it.
"Your Grace." Boggins' voice was strange, tight, almost emotional.
"This letter informs Lady Helena that you are severing all ties with her.
That you will not attend any family functions she hosts, you will not respond to any correspondence she sends, and you will not acknowledge her existence in any public forum. "
"Yes."
"You are cutting off your only remaining family connection."
"Helena isn't family. She's a gaoler." Frederick’s voice was hard.
"She has spent an entire life trying to control me, trying to shape me into what she thinks a Hawthorne should be.
I'm quite done with being formed and directed by others.
Henceforth, I shall be nothing but what my own judgement permits. "
"And what do you choose to be, Your Grace?"
"Lydia's. If she'll have me." His voice softened.
"I know it's not what my family wanted. I know it's not what society expects.
But I've spent thirty years doing what other people wanted, and it's made me miserable.
I shall no longer be miserable, Boggins.
I want to be happy. And she makes me happy. "
"She does, Your Grace. I've seen it."
"Then help me. Help me fight for this. Help me become the kind of man who deserves her."
"You already are that man, Your Grace. You have always been, you simply couldn't see it."
Lydia pressed her hand against the cold stone of the manor wall, her throat tight with unshed tears.
He was going to do it. He was going to burn every bridge, sever every connection, sacrifice everything he had, position, family, future, for her.
And he would do it with joy. With relief. With the fierce determination of a man who had finally found something worth fighting for.
He would give up everything for you.
Helena had been right. She had been absolutely, terrifyingly right.
She walked away from the window.
She walked through the garden, past the bench where Frederick had shared his childhood memories, past the herb beds that Mrs. Chen had probably tended decades ago. She walked until she reached the far edge of the garden, where a low stone wall separated the manor grounds from the fields beyond.
And then she stopped, and she thought.
Frederick was going to sacrifice everything. His position in the Lords, where he could advocate for laws that helped common people. His family connections, such as they were. His reputation, his standing, his future.
All of it. For her.
And she could stop it.
That was the terrible truth that Helena had shown her. She had power here, power she had never asked for, never wanted, but power nonetheless. The power to save Frederick from himself. The power to give him back his future, even if it cost her everything.
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let him go.
The words echoed in her mind, and this time, they didn't feel like manipulation. They felt like the truth.
If she stayed, if she let Frederick make this sacrifice, she would be responsible for everything he lost. Every closed door, every whispered insult, every opportunity denied.
Every time his children were excluded, every time his influence waned, every time he looked at the life he might have had and wondered if it was worth it.
He would say yes. He would always say yes. But what if he was wrong?