"I know. But beginnings matter. And this one felt right."
Thomas nodded, exchanged a glance with Lydia, and withdrew into the cottage with the discretion of a man who knew when to leave.
They were alone. Just the two of them, standing in the darkness, with the stars overhead and the future stretching out before them.
"Two more days," Lydia said. "Until your aunt's deadline."
"I know."
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know yet. But I shall think of something." Frederick took her hands in his. "Whatever happens, I want you to know that tonight was one of the best nights of my life. Not because anything dramatic happened, but because it was real. Authentic. The kind of evening I never knew I was missing until I had it."
"It was just drinks at a public house."
"It was so much more than that. It was…." He struggled for words. "It was proof. Proof that this life, the life I'm trying to build, is possible. That I can be part of something larger than my title. That I can belong somewhere other than a manor house full of ghosts."
Lydia felt tears prick at her eyes, but she blinked them back.
"You belong here," she said. "You've always belonged here. You just didn't know it yet."
"I know it now."
He kissed her, softly at first, then with more urgency, his hands cupping her face like she was something precious. She kissed him back, pouring all her feelings into it; the fear, the hope, the fierce protective love that had grown so quickly it still surprised her.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing harder than they should have been.
"I should go," Frederick said reluctantly. "Before your uncle comes looking."
"He won't. He trusts you."
"He trusts you. Me…..He's still evaluating."
"He invited you to drink at his local. That's trust, for Thomas."
"Is it?" Frederick smiled. "I'm still learning to read the signs."
"You're getting better at it."
"I'm trying." He kissed her forehead, then released her hands. "Goodnight, Lydia."
"Goodnight, Frederick."
She watched him walk away until the darkness swallowed him. Then she went inside, to her small room above the cottage, and lay awake for a long time thinking about the future.
Two more days. Anything could happen in two days.
But for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that the ending might be happy.
***
The next morning, Lydia arrived at the forge early.
It was her habit to rise before the sun, enjoy the quiet hour before the village woke. She would build up the fire, organise her tools, and plan the day's work. It was meditative, in a way; a chance to settle her thoughts before the demands of the day began.
This morning, however, her thoughts refused to settle.
She kept replaying the previous evening; Robert's pointed questions, Mrs Thompson's grudging approval, Molly's shining eyes. The way Frederick had navigated each interaction with a grace that seemed genuine rather than practised. The way he'd looked at her across the table, like she was the only person in the room.
