“An advisor would tell you what to believe. I remind you that you have already chosen.”
Her laugh was bitter. “And what if I chose wrong? What if Edmund deserves it more than I do?”
Maximilian drew the opposite chair and sat close enough for the candlelight to carve his face into lines both stern and beautiful. “Would you be content to yield it if you thought he would use it well?”
She hesitated. “No.”
“Then you know what to do.”
She looked down at her hands, caught in a cycle of guilt and justification. “You make it sound simple.”
“It is, and it is not. The estate is legally yours. You could burn every letter and still prevail. But if you want peace, only you can decide what it means.”
Surprise crossed her face. “You are not going to tell me to play the lady and marry someone with a title?”
He shook his head. “I think you should do whatever you please.”
Her words faltered, taken aback by his honesty. Instead, she laughed, raw and hoarse, filling the room with warmth. “God help me, you mean it.”
“I do.”
Lydia folded the codicil and Eugenia’s letter, her hands steady now. She closed the diary, her thumbtrailing along its spine. “I need time. A day, to see what it feels like to stand here as mistress.”
“Take it,” Maximilian said simply.
He extinguished the excess candles, leaving one to burn near her. At the door, he waited until she joined him. She gathered the papers into a single bundle, pressed her fingers to Eugenia’s signature one last time, and then rose.
Exhaustion tugged at her, but it felt like relief. At the doorway, he offered his arm. She declined, choosing to walk alongside him instead, equal and steady.
The last candle cast their shadows long and intertwined across the wall, grounding her. Together, they shut the door, sealing the night behind them.
The corridor lay silent. Lydia exhaled, long and slow. Tomorrow would bring lawyers and perhaps Edmund’s fury. But tonight, she had her answer—and the freedom to choose what came next.
