***
Lydia was awake when the knock came at her window.
It was past midnight, and she should have been asleep hours ago, but her mind wouldn't stop replaying the evening; the dinner, the garden, the kiss. Frederick’s face when he'd promised not to let her face anything alone. The warmth in her chest hadn't faded even as the fire burned low.
She had tried reading, she had tried counting sheep. She had tried all the usual tricks for quieting a racing mind, but nothing worked. Her thoughts kept circling back to Frederick—to the way he'd looked at her, the things he'd said, the future he'd implied without quite putting into words.
What were they doing? Where was this going? Was it possible, truly possible, for a duke and a blacksmith's niece to build something lasting, or were they just fooling themselves?
The knock came again, soft but insistent.
She rose, pulling a shawl around her shoulders, and crossed to the window. Through the glass, she could see a figure in the darkness; too small to be Frederick, too slim to be her uncle.
Molly. Little Molly from the fair, the one who had dragged Frederick to the pie stall and declared him "not scary, just sad."
Lydia opened the window. "Molly? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."
"I had to tell you." The girl's face was pale in the moonlight, her eyes wide. "My mum sent me. She works at the public house sometimes, helping with dishes. She heard things."
"What things?"
"About the fancy lady at the duke's house. About what she said."
Lydia's stomach dropped. "What did she say?"
"She said…" Molly bit her lip, clearly struggling to remember the exact words. "She said that the duke has to marry someone else. Someone suitable. And if he doesn't, she's going to make trouble. For you. For your uncle. For everyone."
The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of fear through Lydia's carefully maintained calm.
"How do you know this?"
"My mum heard that a servant from the manor knows someone here, and she came and told them. They said the fancy lady was angry and she's planning something." Molly's voice dropped to a whisper. "They said she wants to ruin you. Make it so no one in the village will speak to you. Make the duke ashamed to be seen with you."
Lydia felt cold, despite the shawl wrapped around her shoulders. This was what she had feared—the outside world reaching in, threatening everything she'd built, everything she'd hoped for. A fancy lady with a fancy carriage, had come to put an end to dreams that had barely begun.
"Thank you, Molly. For telling me."
"Are you going to be okay?"
"I don't know." Lydia reached out and squeezed the girl's hand. "But I'm glad I know. Now go home, before your mother worries."
"She knows I'm here. She's the one who sent me." Molly's chin lifted with stubborn pride. "She said you needed to know what you were facing. She said you're one of us, and we don't let outsiders hurt our people."
Something warm bloomed in Lydia's chest, even as fear continued to coil in her stomach. The village. Her village. Standing up for her, looking out for her, just as they always had.
"Tell your mother thank you. From me."
"I will." Molly hesitated, then added: "The duke isn't going to let them hurt you. I know it. He's not like other rich people. He actually sees us."
"How do you know that?"
"Because he looked at me. At the fair. He really looked at me, like I mattered." The girl smiled; a flash of brightness in thedarkness. "People who look at you like that don't give up easily. Trust me."
She disappeared into the night, leaving Lydia alone with her thoughts.
She closed the window and stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.
So, this was it. This was what she had feared.
