The walk to the front of the church felt endless.
Every step brought her closer to Frederick, closer to a decision that couldn't be undone. She was aware of eyes on her, Thomas's steady gaze, Mrs Thompson's curious expression, Robert's approving nod, but she kept her focus on the man waiting for her.
He looked terrified. Beneath the composure, beneath the determination, he looked like a man who had just bet everything on a single throw of the dice.
She stopped in front of him. Close enough to touch, but not touching. Not yet.
"You shouldn't have done this," she said quietly. "Not publicly. Not like this."
"I had to." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I had to make sure you understood. That there was no going back. That I meant every word."
"You've ruined yourself. Helena will…"
"I do not care about Helena." His jaw tightened. "I've spent my whole life doing what Helena wanted. What my father wanted. What everyone wanted except me. And I'm done. I'm done being cold, and I'm done being safe, and I'm done pretending that duty matters more than love."
"Frederick…"
"I know you were trying to protect me. I know you thought you were doing the right thing." He reached out and took her hands—gently, tentatively, like he wasn't sure she would let him. "But I don't need protection, Lydia. I need you. Just you. For the rest of my life."
She felt tears spilling down her cheeks. "I was so afraid. Helena made me believe…"
"I know what Helena made you believe. She used my mother's story against you, she twisted it, poisoned it, turned it into a weapon." His grip on her hands tightened. "But she lied. My mother didn't sacrifice herself nobly for duty. She was forced into it, and she spent the rest of her life regretting it. She wrote it in a letter. She begged whoever found it to choose differently."
"Thomas told me. About the letter." Lydia's voice was unsteady. "I tried to come back to you. Last night. But the manor was locked."
Frederick’s expression softened. "I thought you didn't want to see me. I was just…"
"Hurting. Like I was hurting."
"Yes."
They stood there, hands clasped, tears flowing, in front of a church full of villagers who were witnessing the most dramatic reconciliation any of them had ever seen.
"I love you," Lydia said. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a moment. I just…I was so convinced that loving you meant letting you go."
"Love never means letting go. Not real love." Frederick lifted her hands to his lips. "Real love means holding on. Fighting for each other. Choosing each other, every day, no matter what the world throws at us."
"I want to choose you." Her voice cracked. "I want to choose you every day for the rest of my life."
"Is that a yes?"
She laughed. "Yes. Yes, you, impossible man. Yes, I'll marry you."
He kissed her.
Right there, in the middle of the church, in front of the entire village, the Duke of Corvenwell kissed a blacksmith's niece.
And somewhere in the congregation, someone started to clap.
The applause spread like wildfire.
It started with one person, Robert, Lydia realised, the carpenter who had promised her father he would look out for her, and then it was Mrs Thompson, and then the miller's wife, and then the chandler, and then what seemed like everyone in the village, rising to their feet and applauding like they were at the theatre.
Frederick broke the kiss, looking stunned.
"Are they…"
"They're applauding," Lydia said, just as stunned. "They're actually applauding."
