"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.
