Sunlight spilled through the bedroom curtains like spilled tea, warm and harmless. Mary sat upright on her bed, her ankle neatly bandaged, her hair brushed soft and long over one shoulder. She had grown used to the rhythm of her hidden life—letters folded beneath floorboards, whispered daydreams of Isabelle, and pretending to wince every time she placed weight on her foot.
She wasn't hurt anymore.
Not truly.
But she limped, carefully, in front of the staff. She winced just slightly when her mother entered. She sighed when her father asked how the pain was.
The delay had bought her peace.
Time.
Love, in quiet pages.
Until that peace shattered with five words from her mother's smiling lips.
"Thomas arrives this afternoon, darling."
Mary froze.
Her fork hovered just above a sliced pear on the breakfast tray.
"Thomas?" she repeated.
"Yes," Lady Whitmore said cheerfully, fluffing a pillow behind Mary's back. "He insisted on visiting, even just briefly. Wanted to check on you. Such a considerate young man."
Mary's heart raced. Her fingers curled tightly around the linen napkin.
"But... why so soon?" she asked.
Her mother waved a hand. "You've been writing to him, haven't you?"
"Yes," Mary lied, forcing a small laugh. "Of course."
"Well then, he's only answering affection with action. He'll arrive around tea time. I've told Martha to bring out the fine china."
Mary smiled. But it was the kind of smile she'd perfected over years of sitting quietly at dinner parties—present but not present.
Inside, her thoughts spiraled.
Why now? Why today? What do I say to him? What if he notices I'm not limping quite enough? What if he asks questions I can't answer? What if he touches me and I flinch?
She closed her eyes.
Then opened them with practiced grace.
"I'll be ready," she said. "Even if I have to sit for most of the visit."
Her mother beamed. "That's my brave girl."
As her mother stepped out of the room, Mary dropped the napkin and pressed both hands tightly to her chest.
She wasn't ready.
Not to face Thomas.
Not to pretend.
But she would.
Because if she could fake a limp, she could fake a smile too.