"I don't know how to be there for them," he said. "I was never taught. Every instinct I have says to stay apart, stay above, don't engage. The few times I've tried…" He broke off, remembering. Attempted conversations that went wrong. Offers of help that came across as condescension. The endless, exhausting dance of trying to connect and failing so badly that distance seemed like the kinder option.
"Tell me about those times," Lydia said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm curious. And because I think you want to tell someone, and I'm here, and…" She shrugged. "And maybe I can help. Maybe I can't. But you'll never know if you don't try."
Frederick looked at her; this village girl with iron in her soul and directness in her gaze, who had somehow walked into hishouse and asked him questions no one had ever dared to ask before.
He could send her away. It was still an option. He could summon the housekeeper, complete the transaction, return to his comfortable isolation and his familiar loneliness. But something in her honesty made him want to reveal more.
Or he could take a step. Just one small step toward something different.
"There was a tenant farmer," he heard himself say. "Two years ago. I heard his roof was damaged, so I went to see him. To offer help. But I…I didn't know how to talk to him. Everything I said came out wrong. By the end of the conversation, he was more offended than when I started, and I still don't understand what I did."
"What did you say exactly?"
Frederick tried to remember. "I told him I would have the roof repaired at estate expense. That seemed reasonable."
"And?"
"And I may have mentioned that I was surprised the damage had been allowed to become so severe. That regular maintenance would have prevented it."
Lydia winced. "Oh."
"What?"
"You blamed him for his own misfortune. While offering to fix it."
"I wasn't blaming him, I was…" Frederick stopped and reconsidered. "All right. I suppose I see how it might have sounded that way."
"It sounded like you thought he was incompetent. Like you were helping out of duty, not caring. Like you expected gratitude for pointing out his failings." Her voice was matter-of-fact, not cruel. "Is that what you meant?"
"No! I meant…" He struggled to find the words. "I meant that I had noticed. That I was paying attention. That his situation mattered enough for me to come personally instead of sending a steward."
"Did you say any of that?"
"No. I thought it was obvious."
"And what did he say in response?"
Frederick's expression flickered with something that might have been embarrassment. "He said he appreciated His Grace's condescension in visiting personally, and that he would be certain to maintain his property better in the future so as not to inconvenience the estate."
"Let me guess. You didn't recognise that as sarcasm."
"I recognised it eventually. After he had already…" Frederick waved a hand. "There may have been some door-slamming on his part. And some standing awkwardly in his yard while I was trying to determine how a conversation about roof repairs had become an international incident."
Despite herself, Lydia felt her lips twitch. "You stood awkwardly in his yard?"
"For approximately three minutes, yes. Boggins eventually rescued me by bringing the carriage around, but those were very long three minutes." He paused. "I sent a written apology afterwards. Very carefully worded. I had Boggins review it for any accidental insults."
"What happened?"
"He never responded. I assume he either didn't receive it, didn't read it, or didn't believe it. None of those options were particularly encouraging."
Lydia was quiet for a moment, processing. The image of the Duke of Corvenwell standing awkwardly in a tenant farmer's yard, trying to figure out where a conversation had gone wrong,was so far from the cold, indifferent aristocrat the village imagined that she almost wanted to laugh.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
