The soft knock on the door was followed by her maid's voice.
"Miss Mary, your guest has arrived."
Mary drew in a breath, smoothed the fold of her silk robe, and leaned against the plush headboard. The ache in her ankle now was less from injury and more from tension.
She whispered, "Let him in."
The door creaked open—and there he was.
Thomas.
Polished as ever in a navy waistcoat, hair neatly combed, carrying a small bouquet of soft pink carnations. But there was no smug grin. No puffed chest.
Just a slightly awkward smile.
"I brought flowers," he said, stepping inside slowly.
Mary blinked. "Thank you."
He looked at her carefully. "How… how are you feeling?"
"I'm managing," she replied, adjusting her position with a subtle wince. "The doctor says rest is best."
"I heard about the fall." He sat down in the chair beside her bed, fidgeting with the stems of the bouquet. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."
Mary tilted her head slightly. "That's kind of you."
There was a pause.
He looked around the room like he didn't know what to do with his hands—or his words.
Then, gently: "I know we don't know each other very well."
Mary blinked. "No... we don't."
"And I know this match—it wasn't entirely our choice."
That surprised her.
He gave a small shrug. "My father expects me to marry before twenty-five. My mother wants someone polished. You were the 'perfect match' in their eyes. A proper daughter of a proper mayor."
Mary gave a nervous chuckle. "And you're the heir of wealthy merchants. Well-dressed, well-behaved."
"Well-trained," he corrected with a sigh. "I've been trained since I was ten on how to sit, how to speak, how to impress."
She looked at him—really looked this time.
There was no cruelty in his eyes. No ego. Just... fatigue. And perhaps loneliness.
He looked back at her, his tone softer now.
"You don't seem very happy about the wedding."
Mary's heart skipped.
"I'm… just overwhelmed," she answered carefully. "Everything's moving so fast."
He nodded slowly, as if he understood. "Me too."
She hesitated, then asked, "Do you want to marry me, Thomas?"
He looked down. Thoughtful.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I want peace. I want kindness. I want someone to talk to. But I don't want to feel like a stranger beside someone for the rest of my life."
Mary exhaled slowly. "Neither do I."
He smiled faintly. "You don't have to pretend around me, Mary. I can tell something in you's already far away."
Her throat tightened.
"You deserve to be where your heart feels alive," he added gently. "We both do."
She stared at him in stunned silence.
Maybe he wasn't cruel. Maybe he wasn't selfish.
Maybe, just like her, he was simply bound.
And maybe, just maybe—there was still hope in this world full of rules.