Chapter 21
The walk home was a blur.
She didn't remember the gardens, didn't remember the paths, didn't remember anything except the sound of her own footsteps and the roar of blood in her ears. Her body moved automatically, following the familiar route back to the village while her mind replayed the conversation over and over.
Goodbye, Frederick.
I love you.
That's why I'm leaving.
She had done it. She had actually done it. She had looked at the man she loved and told him it was over.
And he had believed her. He had stood there with his heart breaking in his eyes, and he had believed her.
Because she had made him believe. She had used every truth Helena had told her, every fear she'd ever felt, and turned them into weapons.
Had struck at the places where he was most vulnerable, his guilt about his position, his fear of destroying her, his desperate need to be worthy of love, and she had watched him bleed.
She was a monster. She had become exactly the kind of person she'd always despised—someone who hurt the people who loved her, who used their feelings as leverage, who justified cruelty by calling it kindness.
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let him go.
But it hadn't felt kind. It had felt like murder. Like cutting out her own heart and leaving it on the floor of his study.
She reached the forge without any memory of how she'd gotten there. The fire had burned down to embers in her absence; she rebuilt it mechanically, adding kindling and coal without really seeing what she was doing.
Work. She needed to work. She needed to lose herself in the rhythm of hammer and metal, the way she always did when the world became too much to bear.
But when she picked up the hammer, she found she couldn't lift it. Her arms were shaking too badly, her hands trembling so violently that she dropped it twice before giving up.
She sank onto the small stool beside the anvil and let the tears come.
***
Thomas found her there an hour later.
He didn't say anything at first. Just stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of his niece; red-eyed, tear-streaked, curled in on herself like she was trying to disappear.
"What happened?" he asked finally.
"I ended it." Her voice was raw, scraped hollow by crying. "I told him it was over."
Thomas was quiet for a long moment. He moved into the forge, pulled up another stool, and sat down across from her.
"Tell me."
So, she did. All of it; Helena's visit, the story about Frederick’s mother, the nightmare of fire, the conversation she'd overheard in the garden. The decision she'd made. The words she'd said.
Thomas listened without interrupting. When she finished, he sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.
"You're a fool," he said finally.
Lydia blinked. "What?"
"A fool. A fool." His voice was hard—harder than she'd ever heard it. "You just threw away the best thing that ever happened to you because a bitter old woman told you it was the right thing to do."
"She wasn't wrong."
"She was entirely wrong. About everything.
" Thomas stood up, pacing the small space of the forge with an agitation she'd never seen in him before.
"Helena Blackmore doesn't know anything about love.
She's spent her whole life being afraid of it, afraid of what it might cost, what it might demand, what it might reveal about her. "
"She told me about Frederick’s mother…"
"I know about Frederick’s mother. Everyone knows about Frederick’s mother." Thomas turned to face her. "But do you know what Helena didn't tell you? What she conveniently left out of her tragic tale?"
"What?"
"That Frederick’s mother left a letter. A letter she wrote on her deathbed, addressed to whoever eventually found it. And in that letter, she said the same thing she'd been saying for ten years; that giving up the man she loved was the worst mistake of her life."
Lydia felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"
"She didn't sacrifice herself nobly for duty.
She was forced by her father, by Helena, by everyone who was supposed to love her.
And she spent every remaining day of her life regretting it.
" Thomas' voice cracked. "She begged whoever read the letter to learn from her mistake.
To choose love when they had the chance.
To not let fear make their decisions for them. "
"How do you know this?"
"Because I found the letter. Three years ago, when I was doing repair work at the manor." Thomas sank back onto his stool, suddenly looking older than his years. "It was hidden in the music room, behind the covered piano. She must have put it there before she died, hoping someone would find it."
"Did you…..Did you give it to Frederick?"
"No. I wasn't sure it was my place. I put it back where I found it and told myself that someday, the right person would discover it." He met her eyes. "Maybe that person was supposed to be you. Maybe you were supposed to find it and understand what Helena didn't tell you."
"But I didn't find it. I just…I just listened to Helena, and I believed her, and I…" Lydia's voice broke. "What have I done?"
"You made a mistake. A terrible, destructive, well-intentioned mistake." Thomas reached out and took her hand. "But it's not too late to fix it."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I know what too late looks like, Lydia. I watched your father wait too long to tell Eleanor how he felt. I watched him nearly lose her because he was afraid of rejection, afraid of reaching above his station, afraid of all the same things Helena told you to be afraid of."
Lydia looked up. "I didn't know that."
"He never talked about it. The fear, I mean.
He was ashamed of how close he came to letting her go.
" Thomas' voice was gentle now. "He told me once, after a few too many ales, that the day he finally proposed was the most terrifying day of his life.
Not because he thought she'd say no, he was fairly certain she'd accept, but because he knew that once he asked, there was no going back.
No more hiding behind safety. No more pretending that his heart wasn't on the line. "
"He was scared, too?"
"Everyone's scared, Lydia. Everyone who loves truly is terrified.
The difference between courage and cowardice isn't the absence of fear; it's what you do with it.
" Thomas squeezed her hand. "Your father chose to act despite his fear.
He chose Eleanor, chose happiness, chose a life that looked nothing like what the world expected.
And he never, not once, not for a single moment, regretted it. "
"But Helena said…"
"Helena said what Helena wanted you to believe.
She took a story about her sister's regret and twisted it into a story about noble sacrifice.
She made fear look like wisdom and cowardice look like kindness.
" Thomas' voice hardened. "She manipulated you, Lydia.
She played on your insecurities, your love for Frederick, and your desire to protect him. And you let her."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know. That's what makes it so cruel; you thought you were being noble.
You thought you were saving him." He released her hand and stood.
"But you weren't. You were just letting fear win.
And now the man you love thinks you don't want him, and you're sitting here crying into your forge instead of fixing it. "
"I don't know how to fix it. He won't see me. The manor will be locked, and……"
"Then you find another way. You write to him.
You send a message through Boggins. You stand outside his walls until he has no choice but to listen.
" Thomas' voice rose. "You fight for him, Lydia.
The way you should have fought from the beginning.
The way your father fought for your mother.
The way anyone who truly loves someone fights. "
"What if he won't forgive me?"
"Then you earn his forgiveness. You prove to him, every day, that your love is real. That your fear was temporary, but your devotion is permanent." Thomas moved to the door. "But you can't do any of that from here. You can't fix this by hiding in your forge and feeling sorry for yourself."
"I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm…"
"You're doing exactly what Helena wanted you to do. You're retreating. Surrendering. Letting the world tell you what you can and can't have." He stopped at the doorway and turned back to face her. "Is that the woman your parents raised? Is that the niece I've spent sixteen years trying to teach?"
"No."
"Then stop acting like it. Stop letting fear make your decisions.
Stop believing that love is a burden instead of a gift.
" His voice softened. "And stop thinking you have to do this alone.
You have people who love you—people who will fight alongside you if you let them.
But first, you have to decide that the fight is worth having. "
Lydia stared at her uncle, the man who had raised her, protected her, loved her through everything, and felt something shift inside her.
"I was trying to protect him," she whispered.
"I know. But he doesn't need protection, Lydia. He needs you." Thomas stepped out of the forge. "Now go. Before it's too late."
***
But it was already too late.
She ran to the manor, actually ran, her dress catching on branches, her hair coming loose from its pins, only to be met at the door by a footman she didn't recognise.
"I'm sorry, miss. His Grace has given orders not to admit anyone."
"But I need to see him. It's urgent."
"His Grace was very specific. No visitors. No exceptions."
She tried the side entrance. It was locked.
She tried the garden gate. Locked.
She stood outside the manor walls, staring up at the windows, and felt her last hope crumbling away.
She had destroyed everything. And now she couldn't even apologise.
***
Back at the cottage, she collapsed into a chair and stared at nothing.