"It means that I have resources you cannot imagine, connections, influence. The ability to make life very difficult for people who get in my way." She paused, letting the implication sink in. "I don't want to hurt anyone. But I will do what is necessary to prevent you from destroying everything your ancestors built."
"You're threatening me."
"I'm warning you. There's a difference." Helena moved toward the door, then paused with her hand on the frame. "One week, Frederick. Think carefully about what you want. And about what you're willing to sacrifice to get it."
She left without saying goodbye.
Frederick stood alone in the drawing room, the letter crumpled in his fist, and tried to remember how to breathe.
***
Boggins found him there an hour later, still staring into the fire.
"Your Grace. Shall I bring anything? Tea? Something stronger?"
"Brandy. The good stuff."
Boggins disappeared and returned with a glass and a decanter. He poured a generous measure and handed it to Frederick without comment.
"She's going to ruin her," Frederick said, after he'd taken a long sip. "If I don't do what she wants, she'll find a way to hurt Lydia. To hurt her family. Her reputation."
"Lady Blackmore is formidable. But she is not omnipotent."
"She has connections everywhere, money and influence. She could make life impossible for the Fletchers without ever lifting a finger herself; just a word in the right ear, a rumour started in the right drawing room." Frederick set down his glass with intensity. "I can't let that happen."
"Then what will you do?"
"I don't know. I don't…" He pressed his hands to his face, suddenly exhausted. "An hour ago, I was in a garden with Lydia, and everything seemed possible. Now it all seems impossible."
"May I speak freely, Your Grace?"
"You always speak freely. It's one of your few flaws."
"I prefer to think of it as a service." The valet's voice softened. "This is not the first time a duke has been pressured to abandon someone he loved. It will not be the last. History is full of such stories; some ending in tragedy, some in triumph, many in something in between."
"That's not particularly comforting."
"I'm not trying to comfort you. I'm trying to remind you that you are not the first person to face this choice. Others have stood where you stand. Some have chosen duty. Some have chosen love. And while I cannot tell you which choice is right, that is for you to decide, I can tell you this: the men who chose duty often spent the rest of their lives regretting it. The men who chose love, even when that love cost them everything, rarely expressed the same regret."
"How do you know this?"
"I read, Your Grace. I observe. I have spent many years watching aristocrats make decisions about their futures, and I have noticed certain patterns." Boggins paused. "Your father chose duty. He married your mother because it was expected, managed his estate because it was required, and lived his entire life according to rules he never questioned. And he died alone, even though he was surrounded by people at that dinner table, because no one mourned him except out of obligation."
"You think I should choose differently."
"I think you have already chosen differently. The question is whether you will have the courage to follow through." Boggins met his eyes. "You love Miss Fletcher. That much is obvious to anyone with eyes to see. The question is whether you love her enough to fight for her. To stand against your family, your class, your entire world if necessary."
"And if I do? What then?"
"Then you will face consequences. Some of them painful. Some of them permanent. You may lose friends, allies, andsocial standing. You may become a scandal, a cautionary tale, an outcast from the world you were born into." Boggins' voice was gentle but unflinching. "But you will also have something your father never had. Something most dukes never have."
"What's that?"
"A life worth living. A partner who knows you and loves you anyway. A home that is warm because it is filled with love, not cold because it is filled with obligation." He paused. "Is that worth fighting for?"
Frederick thought about Lydia. About the way she looked at him like he was a person instead of a position. About the warmth in her voice when she said his name, the fire in her eyes when she challenged him to be better than he was. About the future, he could see when he was with her—not the empty, echoing halls of the manor, but something smaller and warmer and infinitely more alive.
"Yes," he said. "It's worth everything."
