"I'm expanding my skill set." He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away, and took her hand. "I'm not asking for anything you're not willing to give. I'm not asking you to trust me; I know I haven't earned that yet. I'm just asking for a chance. To know you. To let you know me. To see if whatever this is might be worth pursuing."
Her hand was warm in his, her fingers curling around his own. "And if it's not? If we try, and it doesn't lead anywhere, and we end up with nothing but broken hearts and village gossip?"
"Then at least we'll have tried. At least we'll know." He squeezed her hand gently. "I've spent my whole life being careful, Lydia, being appropriate and being what everyone expected me to be. And where has it gotten me? Alone in a manor, eating dinner by myself, with no one who knows me and no one who cares. I don't want that anymore. I want something else. Something real."
"Even if it's messy?"
"Especially if it's messy. I'm beginning to think that's where the real living happens—in the mess. In the parts that don't fit neatly into categories."
She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze searching his face. The fire had warmed the small space, turning it almost cosy despite its abandonment. Outside, the storm still raged, but inside, there was a pocket of stillness, of possibility.
"My uncle told me something today," she said. "About my parents. About how my mother gave up everything to marry my father. She gave up her family, her inheritance, her entire life because she loved him. And she never regretted it."
"That's......That's a remarkable story."
"It is. But here's the part I keep thinking about: she didn't know it would work out. When she made that choice, she had no guarantee. She just... leapt. Trusted that the falling would be worth it." Lydia met his eyes. "I'm not saying I'm ready to leap. Not yet. But I'm... I'm willing to step closer to the edge. If you are."
"I am." The words came out like a vow. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
"Then we'll see what happens." She smiled, and the sight of it made his chest ache. "We shall proceed carefully, see each other properly, not just through the excuse of boot shopping or fair attendance. Let people talk because they're going to talk anyway. And maybe, if we're very lucky, we shall figure out if this is something worth keeping."
"It is." He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles; a gesture that was probably too intimate, too presumptuous, too much too soon. But she didn't pull away. "I don't know much, Lydia, but I know this is worth keeping. You're worth keeping."
The rain continued to fall. The fire crackled and spat. And in the abandoned cottage on the edge of Frederick’s neglected estate, something began that neither of them fully understood, but both of them were willing to explore.
***
They talked for hours.
Not about anything momentous, at least not at first. They started with small things: favourite foods; his was roast lamb;hers was strawberry tart, childhood memories; his were mostly lonely, hers were mostly chaotic, embarrassing stories that they'd never told anyone else.
"Wait," Lydia said, laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. "You fell into the fountain? In front of the entire gathering?"
"In my defence, I was twelve and the fountain was not where I expected it to be."
"How does a fountain sneak up on someone?"
"It was a very stealthy fountain. And I was distracted."
"By what?"
"By..." He felt himself flush. "There was a girl. One of the guests' daughters. She had red hair, and she smiled at me, and I was so busy looking at her that I walked straight into the fountain and emerged covered in lily pads."
"What did your father say?"
"He didn't say anything. He just looked at me with this expression of profound disappointment and walked away. I spent the rest of the evening hiding in the library, convinced I'd ruined everything."
"For falling into a fountain?"
"For being human. For being visible. For failing to maintain the appropriate dignity of a Hawthorne." He shook his head. "My entire childhood was like that. Tiny failures, met with silence. I learned very quickly that the safest option was to never try anything at all."
Lydia's laughter had faded into something softer. "That sounds awful."
"It was. Though I didn't realise it at the time. I thought it was normal. I thought everyone's father was a distant figure who communicated primarily through expressions of disappointment." He shifted closer to the fire, which had burned down to embers. "It wasn't until I went away to school that Irealised other boys had families who actually seemed to enjoy their company."
"Did you make friends at school?"
"Not really. I didn't know how. The other boys all seemed to have this ease with each other. They knew how to jest and play and form alliances. I just knew how to be quiet and invisible and excellent at my studies." He smiled ruefully. "I was the boy who always had the highest marks and no one to celebrate with."
