And so the conversation shifted to safer ground; rents and repairs, crop yields and livestock, the practical realities of managing land and the people who worked it. Frederick found himself talking more openly than he ever had about the challenges he faced, the improvements he wanted to make, the ways he had failed and was trying to do better.
Thomas listened, asked pointed questions, and offered occasional observations that showed a shrewd understanding of economics and human nature alike.
"You're not what I expected," he said finally, as Lydia began clearing the dishes. "When I heard the Duke of Corvenwell was prying about my niece, I assumed the worst. Rich men usually want only one thing from village girls, and it isn't marriage."
"I'm not…" Frederick started.
"I know. I can see that now." Thomas held up a hand to forestall protest. "I'm not saying I trust you completely. Trust is earned, not given. But I'm willing to believe that your intentions are..... Better than I feared."
"They are. I promise."
"Don't promise. Just prove it. Through actions, over time. That's all any of us can do."
Lydia returned from the kitchen, drying her hands on a cloth.
"I thought Frederick might like to see the garden before he goes. There's still enough light, if we hurry."
It was a transparent excuse to get them alone together, and everyone at the table knew it. Thomas' eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded.
"Don't be long. It's getting cold."
"We won't be."
Lydia took Frederick’s hand, casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and led him toward the back door.
***
The garden was small but lovely, a patch of cultivated ground surrounded by a low stone wall. In the fading light, Frederick could see vegetable beds prepared for winter, fruit trees against the south-facing wall, and a small wooden benchtucked into a corner where someone could sit and watch the sunset.
They sat there now, side by side, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"That went better than I expected," Lydia said.
"Your uncle is... not what I expected either."
"He threatened you, didn't he? While I was getting the cake."
Frederick blinked. "How did you…"
"He always does that. He threatened the miller's son when he came to court me at seventeen. And he threatened the travelling merchant who tried to charm me at nineteen. It's his way of showing he cares."
"What happened to the miller's son?"
"He decided I wasn't worth the trouble. The merchant, too." She glanced at him sideways. "Are you going to decide the same?"
"No." The word came out immediately, without thought. "Your uncle could threaten me with the worst punishment, and it wouldn't change my mind."
"He might, if you give him time. He's very creative."
Frederick laughed—surprised, delighted, grateful for the moment of levity. "I shall keep that in mind."
They were quiet for a moment, listening to the evening sounds; birds settling into trees, a dog barking somewhere in the village, the distant murmur of voices from theCrossed Keys.
"I think he likes you."
"I think he's reserving judgment. Which is fair. I haven't done anything to earn his trust yet."
"You came to dinner. You ate his food. You answered his questions honestly." She reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "That's more than most people would have done."
