Mary climbed the stairs slowly after breakfast, her feet dragging despite how perfect her posture appeared in case anyone was watching. The moment she shut her bedroom door behind her, the weight she carried finally dropped onto her shoulders.
She leaned against the door and let out a long breath.
The perfume of pressed flowers and dusted lace filled the room, but it offered no comfort.
She walked over to the vanity table and sat down in front of the mirror. Her reflection stared back: neatly braided hair, soft rose lips, delicate pearls around her neck.
She didn't recognize the girl in the glass.
Her fingers drifted to her lips.
The memory still burned there—Isabelle's kiss.
Soft. Daring. Real.
No one had ever touched her like that.
No one had ever seen her like that.
She pressed her palm flat against her chest. Her heart was still fluttering like a bird caught behind a curtain, desperate to break free but trapped by all the polished windows.
The wedding is in less than three weeks.
She was to be Mrs. Mary Ashton.
Wife to a man who never made her laugh, never asked what she dreamed about at night, never once looked at her like she was anything but a decorative addition to his life.
She stood abruptly and walked to her wardrobe. Gowns were already being selected, measured, hemmed. A delicate ivory one hung from a hook on the inside of the door—a sample of what she'd wear down the aisle.
Mary stared at it.
She imagined herself in it.
And then, she imagined walking away.
She opened her drawer and pulled out a slip of parchment and a fountain pen. The ink quivered against the paper as she wrote slowly:
Meet me. Just one more time.
The bench beneath the west willow. Tomorrow night.
Please.
– M.
She folded the note and pressed her lips against the paper, sealing it.
She would find someone—one of the staff, perhaps, or a stable hand who asked no questions—to deliver it quietly.
Just one more time.
To say goodbye.
To understand what it all meant.
To see her.
She sat back on the edge of her bed, eyes fixed on the letter now clutched in her hands. Her fingers trembled slightly.
I will see her again.
Even if it had to be the last time.