that you knew me before they began speaking. I was not a perfect man, but I did not take bread from the children who trusted me. I love you both beyond the reach of any of their words.
Lydia pressed the letter to her chest. For years she had dreamed of hearing him say precisely that, and now the words had arrived too late for him to see what they meant to her. She sat on a small upholstered bench because her legs would no longer support her. Alder took his violin from its case and quietly checked a loose string, giving her the mercy of a moment alone. Nathaniel remained by the door. He did not come nearer until she looked up. "I believed him," she said, surprising herself with how fierce the words sounded. "Even when I feared that I was being foolish, I believed him." Nathaniel nodded. "You were right." The simplicity of his answer nearly undid her again.
Footsteps approached. A servant appeared in the doorway, his posture rigid. "Miss Bellamy, Mr. Wetherell requests your presence in the library." Alder's bow stopped in midair. Nathaniel glanced at Lydia, but she rose before he could speak. "Tell Mr. Wetherell I shall join him," she answered. The servant hesitated. "He requested that you come alone." Lydia looked down at her father's letter, then folded it and placed it within her glove. "I heard him the first time." She walked past the servant without waiting for permission, while Nathaniel followed at a distance she had not asked him to keep but was grateful he respected.
Wetherell's library was warmer than the gallery, with a broad fireplace and tall shelves reaching almost to the painted ceiling. A decanter of amber wine stood on a side table. The merchant waited beside a desk, holding an envelope that looked too much like the one Lydia had received that morning. "You have made an interesting entrance," he said. "I thought we might speak privately before your emotions carry you into an unfortunate scene." Lydia kept her shoulders straight. "You invited me. Did you not expect me to listen to the orchestra?" Wetherell's gaze moved briefly to the folded music under her arm. "Mr. Alder has always been a sentimental fool. I should never have hired him again."
"You knew my father," Lydia said. "You praised his honesty in front of the entire society. What changed?" Wetherell lowered himself into his leather chair with a sigh that suggested she had asked him to explain something very tiresome. "The world