Lydia danced with Frederick, their first dance as husband and wife, in a ballroom that had been silent for decades. She danced with Thomas, who surprised everyone by being rather good at it. She danced with Robert, who was not good at it at all but made up for it with enthusiasm.
She ate food she couldn't taste and drank champagne she barely registered and smiled until her face ached. Every few minutes, someone new approached to offer congratulations, to share a memory of her parents, to welcome her into a new phase of her life.
It was overwhelming. It was wonderful. It was, she realised somewhere around midnight, exactly what she had always wanted without knowing she wanted it.
A home. A family. A place to belong.
"You look exhausted," Frederick said, finding her in a quiet corner of the drawing room.
"I'm fine."
"You're swaying on your feet." He took her hand. "Come with me."
"We can't leave our own wedding celebration."
"It's our celebration. We can do whatever we want." He smiled. "Besides, everyone is too drunk to notice we're gone."
He led her through the corridors of the manor, their manor now, past the portraits she had learned to recognise, past the rooms she had helped to transform, past the music room where Catherine's piano stood uncovered for the first time in years.
They ended up in the garden, in the same spot where Frederick had once told her about trying to run away as a child.
"Do you remember what I said?" he asked. "When I showed you this place?"
"You said Mrs Chen told you that running away doesn't change who you are. That you had to stay and fight."
"I've been thinking about that. About fighting versus running." He turned to face her, his expression serious despite the celebration sounds drifting from the house. "I spent thirty years running, Lydia. Running from feelings, from connection, from everything my father taught me to fear. And then I met you, and for the first time, I wanted to fight instead."
"You did fight. You fought Helena, society, everything that was supposed to keep us apart."
"I fought because you were worth fighting for. Because what we have…" He gestured between them. "This is worth everything I gave up. Everything I might still give up. It's worth any price."
"You don't have to keep proving that. I believe you."
"I know. But I wanted to say it. On our wedding day, in this garden, where I once dreamed of escaping to a different life." He took both her hands. "I found that different life. Not by running, but by staying. By fighting. By choosing you."
Lydia felt tears threatening again. She had cried more in the past six months than in the previous twenty years combined.
"I love you," she said. "I know I say it all the time now, but I don't think I shall ever get tired of saying it. I love you."
"I love you too." He pulled her into his arms. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing you what that means."
They stood there, holding each other, as the stars wheeled overhead and the sounds of celebration faded into silence.
***
One year later
The forge was quiet in the early morning light.
Lydia stood in the doorway, watching Thomas work. He was shaping a horseshoe, his movements as precise and economical as they had always been. The years had slowed him slightly, but his skill remained undiminished.
"You're staring," he said, without looking up.
"I'm admiring."
"Same thing." He set down his hammer and turned to face her. "What brings you here at this hour? Shouldn't you be at the manor, doing duchess things?"
"Duchess things can wait." She moved into the forge, feeling the familiar warmth of the fire. "I wanted to tell you something. Before everyone else finds out."
