"Frederick…"
"My father told me that one day I would take my place among them. That I would speak in debates and cast votes, and help shape the laws of England. And I knew, I knew with absolute certainty, that I would hate every moment of it. That I would spend my life doing something I despised, surrounded by people who didn't know me, fulfilling a role I had never chosen."
He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them.
"That was my future. Cold and empty and utterly without hope. And then you came along, and suddenly…" He shook his head. "Suddenly, there was something else. Something worth wanting. Something that made all the rest of it bearable."
"I'm not asking you to give up the House of Lords."
"I know. But you're asking me if I've counted the cost, and the answer is yes. I've counted it. I've weighed it. I've looked at everything I might lose, and everything I might gain, and the calculation isn't even close."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that a life with you, even a difficult life, even a life full of closed doors and whispered gossip and a viscountess who hates me, is worth more than a life without you. Even if that life were easy and comfortable and everything my family ever wanted for me." He met her eyes. "I choose you, Lydia. Not because I don't understand the cost. Because the cost is worth paying."
Lydia felt tears threatening again, happy tears this time, or something close to it.
"You're going to make me cry in front of your tea," she said.
"The tea won't judge. It's very discreet."
She laughed, and then she was kissing him, right there in the sitting room, with the tea going cold and the fire crackling and Boggins probably standing in the hallway pretending not to know what was happening.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder than they should have been.
"I should go," Lydia said reluctantly. "Uncle Thomas will worry."
"I know. But I don't want you to."
"I don't want to either. But we have four more days before your aunt's deadline. We should probably spend some of them being practical." She stood, smoothing down her dress. "Walk me out?"
"Always."
They walked through the manor together, past the portrait gallery and the music room and all the other spaces that had been empty and silent for so long. It was strange, Lydia thought, how different the house felt now. Not warm, exactly, it would take more than a few opened curtains to make this place feel welcoming, but less oppressive. As if it were starting to wake up from a long sleep as well.
At the front door, Frederick paused.
"Tomorrow," he said. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"Working at the forge, most likely. We have orders to fill."
"Can I come? Again, I mean. Learn more about metalwork."
"You want to make more misshapen hooks?"
"I want to be useful. I want to understand your world. And…" He smiled slightly. "And I want to spend time with you, even if it means looking ridiculous in front of your uncle."
"You don't look ridiculous. You look like a man trying very hard to learn something new." She reached up and touched his face. "It's one of the things I like most about you. You're willing to be bad at things. Most people with your position wouldn't risk looking foolish."
"I've been foolish about far more important things than metalwork."
"True. But you're learning."
She kissed him one more time, and then she was walking down the drive, toward the village and the forge and the life that was waiting for her.
Chapter 17
"You're fidgeting."
