"Good. Understanding is the first step." Thomas turned to Lydia. "Fetch the dessert, will you? I made an apple cake. It's your grandmother's recipe."
Lydia rose to get the cake, and Thomas leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"She loves you. You know that, don't you?"
Frederick felt his heart flutter. "She's said no such thing."
"She doesn't need to say it. I've known that girl her whole life. I know what she looks like when she cares about something or someone; fierce and protective and completely committed." He met Frtederick’s eyes. "She looks at you that way. She has since the fair, I suspect, though she's only just admitted it to herself."
"I…" Frederick swallowed. "I feel the same. About her."
"I know. That's why I'm telling you this." Thomas' voice hardened. "If you hurt her, if you break her heart, there will be nowhere you can hide. Not in your manor, not in London, not anywhere in England. I will find you, and I will make you regret it. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good." Thomas sat back as Lydia returned with the cake. "Now. Let's have dessert."
***
Thomas told stories about Lydia's father; his brother William, who had been dreamy and romantic and hopelessly impractical, who had fallen in love with a merchant's daughter and never looked back.
"He proposed to Eleanor within a week of meeting her," Thomas said, shaking his head at the memory. "A week! I told him he was insane. I told him he didn't know anything about her; where she came from, what she wanted, whether she'dsurvive a month in the village. He just smiled and said, 'I know everything I need to know. I know she's the one.'"
"And he was right?" Frederick asked.
"He was right. Over twenty years they had together, and I never once heard either of them express regret." Thomas' voice roughened. "When the fever came, when it took them both within days of each other, Eleanor's last words were about how grateful she was. How she would choose the same life again, even knowing how it ended."
Lydia had gone quiet, her eyes fixed on her plate. Frederick wanted to reach across the table and take her hand, but he wasn't sure if that was appropriate. Instead, he spoke.
"My mother never got to make that choice. She married my father because it was arranged. I don't know if she was happy; I was too young to understand such things. But I remember..." He paused, surprised by the memory that was surfacing. "I remember her laughing sometimes. When my father wasn't around. She would take me to the garden, and we would pick flowers, and she would laugh at something I said, and for those moments, everything felt bright."
"She sounds lovely," Lydia said softly.
"She was. I think she was. I don't have many memories; she died when I was six, but the ones I have are warm." He took a breath. "My father never spoke of her after she died. He removed her portrait from the gallery, gave away her clothes, her jewellery, anything that might remind us she had existed. I think he loved her, in his way, and losing her broke something in him. But instead of grieving, he just froze. And he spent the rest of his life making sure I froze too."
The table was silent for a long moment. Then Thomas spoke, his voice gruff.
"That's no way to raise a child."
"No. It wasn't."
"And yet here you are. At my table, eating my stew and courting my niece." Thomas fixed him with a look that was equal parts challenge and assessment. "How did you get from there to here?"
Frederick considered the question. It deserved an honest answer.
"I don't entirely know," he admitted. "I spent eight years after my father's death being exactly what he'd trained me to be. Cold. Distant. Above it all. And then I rode through this village and saw your niece at the forge, and something..." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. Something woke up. Something that had been asleep so long I'd forgotten it existed."
"Love does that," Thomas said. "It wakes things up and makes you realise you've been sleeping through your own life."
"I didn't say it was love."
"You didn't have to." Thomas' mouth quirked into something that might have been a smile. "The look on your face when you walked in tonight said it clearly enough."
Frederick felt heat rise to his cheeks. Across the table, Lydia was blushing too.
"I think," she said, "that perhaps we should change the subject. Before my uncle embarrasses everyone further."
"Embarrassment builds character," Thomas said placidly. "But fine. Let's talk about something else." He turned to Frederick. "Tell me about the estate."
