"She was grieving. For the life she gave up. For the man she loved." Frederick took a deep breath. "I won't make the same mistake, Boggins. I won't spend my life writing letters that no one will read."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I intend to show the world, and Lydia, that my love is not negotiable. That it cannot be bargained away or frightened into silence." Frederick’s jaw set. "And I intend to do it today. Before Helena has time to do any more damage."
"Today, Your Grace?"
"Today. At the village church. After Sunday services."
Boggins' eyebrows rose slightly. "You intend to make a public declaration. In front of the entire village."
"And anyone else who cares to listen." Frederick smiled—a fierce, determined smile. "Helena wanted me to choose duty over love. I'm going to show her what it looks like when I choose love over everything else."
"Your Grace…" Boggins hesitated. "Miss Fletcher may not come. After what happened yesterday."
"She'll come. Or she won't. Either way, I'm going to stand up and tell the truth." Frederick’s voice softened. "My mother never got that chance. She died with her regrets locked inside her, hidden behind a covered piano, waiting for someone to find them. I'm not going to wait. I'm going to speak my truth while I still have the chance."
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"Even then." Frederick met Boggins's eyes. "Because my mother was right, Boggins. Love is the only sanity in a world determined to crush the life out of us. And I'm done letting that world win."
Boggins was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"It has been an honour to serve you, Your Grace. But it will be a greater honour to stand beside you today."
"You'll come?"
"Wild horses couldn't keep me away." Boggins straightened his cuffs with his usual precision. "Now. What do you need me to do?"
Chapter 22
Sunday dawned cold and bright, with a sky so clear it seemed to stretch forever.
Lydia had not slept. She had not even tried to sleep; she had just been in her narrow bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the previous day's disasters over and over in her mind.
The breakup. Thomas's revelation about the letter. Her desperate run to the manor, only to find every door locked against her.
And now it was morning, and the church bells were ringing, and she had no idea what to do.
"You're coming to services," Thomas said. It wasn't a question.
"I don't think I can face…"
"You're coming." His voice brooked no argument. "Whatever happens today, you're not going to hide in your room and pretend the world doesn't exist."
"Uncle…"
"Get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes."
He left her alone to prepare, and Lydia sat on the edge of her bed, wondering how she was supposed to face an entire village of people who knew, who had to know by now, that she had broken the Duke of Corvenwell's heart.
Village gossip travelled fast. By now, everyone would have heard some version of the story. The blacksmith's niece, reaching above her station. The duke, besotted and foolish. The inevitable ending, when reality finally intruded on fantasy.
They would pity her. Or scorn her. Or both.
And she would have to sit through an entire church service pretending she wasn't dying inside.
***
