Chapter 22 #2
She had believed she was being loving when she walked away. She had convinced herself that letting go was the ultimate act of love; giving Frederick back his future, even at the cost of her own happiness.
But listening to the familiar words now, she wondered if she had understood love at all.
Love never ends.
Maybe that was true. Maybe love didn't end; it just transformed, became something different. The love she felt for Frederick hadn't disappeared when she walked out of his study. It had become sharper, more painful, a constant ache in her chest.
That wasn't the ending of love. That was love in agony.
The service ended. Reverend Clarke pronounced the final blessing, and the congregation began to stir.
Then Frederick stood up.
"If I may," he said.
His voice carried clearly through the stone church, silencing the rustling of bodies and the murmur of conversation. Every eye turned to him.
Reverend Clarke looked uncertain. "Your Grace?"
"I apologise for the irregularity, Reverend. But I have something I need to say. Something that can't wait." Frederick’s voice was steady, but Lydia could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were clenched at his sides. "I'm asking for a few minutes of the congregation's time."
The reverend glanced around the church, clearly torn between propriety and curiosity. "I... suppose, given the circumstances..."
"Thank you." Frederick moved out of his pew and walked to the front of the church, turning to face the assembled villagers. His eyes swept the room, taking in every face, every expression of confusion or concern or barely concealed excitement.
And then his gaze found Lydia.
"Most of you know me," he began. "Or you think you do. You know that I'm the Duke of Corvenwell. That I live in the manor on the hill. That I've spent the last years being exactly what you'd expect a duke to be; distant, cold, utterly disconnected from the life of this village."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the congregation. Frederick waited for them to subside.
"What you may not know is why. Why I kept myself apart. Why I never attended church, never visited the public house, never made any effort to be part of this community." He paused. "It wasn't because I thought I was better than you. It was because I was afraid."
More murmurs, these ones confused. Dukes weren't supposed to admit to fear. It wasn't done.
"I was raised to believe that emotion was weakness.
That wanting things was beneath my station.
My father taught me to be cold, to be controlled, to never let anyone see what I was feeling.
" Frederick’s voice roughened. "He taught me that love was a liability.
A distraction from duty. Something to be avoided at all costs. "
Lydia felt tears burning in her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely, not wanting to miss a word.
"I believed him. For thirty years, I believed him. I built walls around my heart so high that no one could scale them. I went through the motions of living without actually being alive." Frederick’s eyes found hers again. "And then I met someone who made me want to tear those walls down."
The church had gone utterly silent. Everyone was holding their breath.
"You all know who I'm talking about. Lydia Fletcher.
The blacksmith's niece." Frederick’s voice softened.
"The woman who looked at me and saw something worth knowing.
Who challenged me, pushed me, and demanded that I become better than I was.
Who showed me that the coldness I'd been taught wasn't strength; it was cowardice. "
Emotion swelled in Lydia’s breast, and she put her hand to her mouth, determined it should not betray her.
"I fell in love with her," Frederick continued.
"Completely, hopelessly, irrevocably in love.
And for the first time in my life, I wanted something more than I wanted to be safe.
I wanted her. I wanted a life with her. I wanted to wake up every morning next to someone who actually saw me—not the title, not the position, but me. "
He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion.
"My aunt, Lady Helena Blackmore, came to this village a week ago.
She came to put a stop to what she called my 'unfortunate attachment.
' She threatened to destroy Lydia's reputation, her uncle's business, her standing in this community.
She gave me an ultimatum: end the relationship and marry someone suitable, or face the consequences. "
Whispers erupted throughout the church. This was a scandal of the highest order; a viscountess threatening a commoner, family politics laid bare for all to see.
Frederick waited for the noise to subside.
"I refused. I told my aunt that I would rather lose everything than give up the woman I loved.
I meant it then, and I mean it now." His jaw set.
"But Helena didn't stop with me. She went to Lydia.
She told her a story, a twisted, poisonous version of the truth, designed to make Lydia believe that leaving me was the kindest thing she could do. "
Lydia felt her face flush with shame. The whole village was watching her now, understanding dawning in their eyes.
"She convinced Lydia that my love was infatuation.
That I would eventually regret my choice.
That the only way to save me from myself was to walk away.
" Frederick’s voice hardened. "And Lydia, brave, foolish, wonderful Lydia, believed her.
She came to me yesterday and told me it was over.
She broke my heart because she thought she was protecting me. "
The silence was absolute.
"I'm here today because I want everyone to know the truth.
Not the version Helena told, not the version the gossips have invented, but the truth.
" Frederick took a deep breath. "I love Lydia Fletcher.
I will always love Lydia Fletcher. And I am going to marry her, if she'll have me—not because I'm blind to the consequences, but because I've counted them and found them worth paying. "
Gasps echoed through the church. A duke publicly declaring his intention to marry a commoner. It was unprecedented. Scandalous. Utterly improper.
And it was exactly what Lydia had been too afraid to let him do.
"I know what this means," Frederick continued.
"I know that society will shun me. That doors will close, and invitations will stop coming.
That my children will be whispered about and my grandchildren will carry the stain of my choice for generations.
" His voice rose. "I do not care. I would rather be shunned with her than accepted without her.
I would rather live in scandal than die in respectability. "
He reached into his coat and withdrew a letter; old, yellowed, fragile.
"This letter was written by my mother. She hid it before she died, hoping someone would find it and learn from her mistakes.
" He held it up for the congregation to see.
"She loved someone once. A scholar, not a nobleman.
They were going to run away together. But her family stopped them.
My aunt helped stop them. And my mother spent the rest of her short life regretting the choice she'd been forced to make. "
The congregation stirred uneasily. This was family business, dark, painful family business, being exposed in a public forum.
"Her last words were a warning. 'If you ever have the chance to choose love, real love, the kind that makes you feel alive, choose it.
Don't let fear make your decision for you.
'" Frederick’s voice cracked. "I'm choosing love.
I'm choosing Lydia. And I'm doing it here, in front of everyone, so that there can be no doubt. No taking it back."
He turned to face Lydia directly.
"I know you thought you were saving me. I know you believed that letting me go was the kindest thing you could do.
But you were wrong." His eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"The kindest thing you can do, the only thing I want, is for you to stay.
To fight for this with me. To build a life that proves my aunt wrong about everything. "
The church held its breath.
"Lydia Fletcher," Frederick said. "I love you. I will always love you. And I am asking you, in front of everyone who matters, to marry me."