***
Thomas found her there hours later, standing at the anvil, staring at a piece of iron that had been heated and reheated so many times it was barely usable anymore.
"You look like a disaster," he said.
"Thank you. That's very supportive."
"I'm not trying to be supportive. I'm trying to be honest." He moved to stand beside her, studying her face with concerned eyes. "What happened?"
"His aunt came to see me."
Thomas was quiet for a moment. "And?"
"And she offered me five hundred pounds to disappear. I refused."
"Good."
"Then she…" Lydia's voice cracked. "Then she told me about Frederick’s mother. About how she loved someone else, gave him up, and married the old duke instead. About how she died in that cold house, worn out from trying to be something she wasn't."
"I've heard the stories."
"She said the kindest thing I could do is let him go. Set him free to marry someone appropriate. Someone who wouldn't cost him everything."
Thomas didn't respond immediately. He moved to the forge, checking the fire, adjusting the coals with the automatic competence of long practice.
"What do you think?" Lydia asked.
"I think Lady Helena is a formidable woman who knows exactly how to get what she wants."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I can give you." Thomas turned to face her. "I can't tell you what to do, Lydia. I can't tell you whether to stay or go, whether to fight or surrender. That's a choice you have to make for yourself."
"What would you do? If you were me?"
"I'm not you. And I've never been in love the way you are." Thomas' voice softened. "But I watched my brother make this choice. I watched him decide that Eleanor was worth any cost, any consequence, any sacrifice. And I watched him be right about that."
"But then they died."
"They died. And Lydia…" He reached out and took her hands. "They died having lived. Really lived, not just existed. They had love, joy and a daughter they adored. They had everything that mattered."
"Helena said…"
"Helena is afraid. She has spent her whole life being afraid; of scandal, of change, of anything that might disrupt the careful order she's built around herself." Thomas's eyes were gentle. "Fear makes people say terrible things. It makes them believe terrible things. Don't let her fear become yours."
"I'm already afraid."
"I know. That's normal." He squeezed her hands. "But there's a difference between being afraid and letting fear make your choices. You can feel the fear and still choose love. You can be terrified and still be brave."
"What if I'm not brave enough?"
"Then you'll learn to be. Or you won't, and you'll spend the rest of your life wondering what might have been." Thomas released her hands and stepped back. "Either way, the choice is yours. Not Helena's, not Frederick’s, not mine. Yours."
Lydia stood there, looking at her uncle, the man who had raised her, protected her, loved her through everything, and felt something shift inside her.
"I need to think," she said.
"Then think. Take all the time you need." Thomas moved toward the door. "But don't take too long. Some choices have deadlines."
