Frederick didn't seem to notice. Or didn't care.
"Lydia changed that," he continued. "She looked at me and saw something worth knowing, not just a title to be managed. She challenged me, pushed me, and demanded that I become better than I was. And for the first time in my life, I wanted to. I wanted to be the kind of man who deserved her."
"Pretty words," Robert said.
"They're not just words. I've spent the last month trying to prove it. Learning to work a forge, walking through the village, sitting in this place drinking ale like a regular person instead of hiding in my manor like a coward." Frederick’s voice dropped. "I know I'm not there yet. I know I haven't earned anyone's trust. But I'm trying. Every day, I'm trying. And I'll keep trying for as long as it takes."
Robert was quiet for a long moment, his weathered face unreadable.
"Her father said something similar," he said finally. "When he came to me asking about Eleanor. He said he knew he was a fool for loving her, knew her family would never accept him, knew the whole world would call him mad. But he'd rather be mad and happy than sane and miserable."
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him that love was always madness. That there was no sensible reason to risk everything for another person." Robert picked up his tankard. "I also told him that the people who never risked it, the ones who played it safe and married for convenience, they were the ones who ended up bitter and alone."
"And what do you tell me?"
"I tell you the same thing." Robert drained his ale and set down the empty tankard. "Risk it. Risk everything. Because a life without love isn't really a life at all; it's just existing, going through the motions, waiting to die."
He pushed back his chair and stood.
"For what it's worth," he added, "I think you might actually mean it. The things you said. The way you look at her." He glanced at Lydia, then back at Frederick. "Her father looked at her mother the same way. Like she was the answer to a question he didn't know he was asking."
"She is," Frederick said simply.
"Then don't let anyone take that away from you. Not your aunt, not society, not the weight of three hundred years of family expectations." Robert's voice hardened. "Because I promise you that if you hurt her, if you play games with her heart and then disappear back to your fancy world, I'll make sure you regret it. Duke or not."
"I believe you."
"Good. Then we understand each other." Robert nodded to Thomas, then to Lydia. "I'll leave you to your evening."
He returned to his own table, where his friends were waiting with the carefully casual expressions of people who had been listening to every word.
The silence stretched for a moment longer. Then, gradually, conversations resumed. The normal buzz of life reasserted itself, flowing around their corner table like water around a stone.
"Well," Thomas said eventually. "That could have gone worse."
"Could it?" Frederick’s voice was slightly strangled.
"He could have thrown his ale in your face. That's what he did to Mr Wrightly's son."
"That's... not as reassuring as you might think."
"It wasn't meant to be reassuring. It was meant to give you perspective." Thomas caught Mr Holloway's eye and gestured for another round. "Robert's blessing matters. He's respected in the village; been here longer than almost anyone, and he knows where all the bodies are buried, metaphorically speaking. If he's willing to give you a chance, others will follow."
"I wasn't aware I was receiving a blessing."
"You weren't. You were receiving a warning wrapped in advice wrapped in cautious approval. It's how village folk communicate." Thomas accepted the fresh tankards from Mr Holloway’s daughter, Martha, a practical woman in her thirties who had inherited her father's gift for serving without judging. "The important thing is that he didn't dismiss you outright. That's progress."
Lydia reached under the table and found Frederick’s hand. He gripped it like a lifeline.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For bringing me here. For making me do this."
"I didn't make you do anything. You chose this."
"I chose you. Everything else follows from that."
***
