Mary stood behind the lace-curtained doorway, heart pounding as she watched Thomas speak to her parents across the room.
He was calm. Respectful. Every word chosen with care.
"My family has arranged a small gathering in London," Thomas said, sipping tea with the grace of a seasoned diplomat. "A few friends, some classical music. A refined evening, nothing improper."
Lord Whitmore raised an eyebrow. "And you wish for Mary to attend?"
"Yes, sir," Thomas nodded. "She knows Lily—one of the ladies attending. They used to correspond, I believe."
Lady Whitmore folded her hands delicately in her lap. "And you will be staying where, Thomas?"
"With my uncle in Kensington. Mary would, of course, stay at the lady's house. I'd simply be the escort."
There was a long pause.
Lord Whitmore exchanged a glance with his wife. "It's unusual."
"She's barely left the estate in months," Thomas added softly. "A change of air might do her well."
Mary bit her lip from behind the door, hoping her hands wouldn't betray her shaking.
At last, her father spoke.
"Fine. Two nights only. And we expect letters from her upon arrival."
Thomas smiled politely. "Of course, sir."
Later that Afternoon – Mary's Bedroom
Mary clutched Thomas's hands the moment the door closed behind them.
"You did it!" she beamed, eyes sparkling with relief. "You actually did it!"
Thomas laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wasn't easy. I think your father suspects I'm up to something."
"Well… you are helping me escape," she teased with a grin.
He chuckled, then straightened his vest. "Still. I had to try. I saw it in your face—you needed this."
Mary stepped closer and placed a hand over his.
"Thank you, Thomas. I don't think I've ever meant those words as much as I do now."
Her voice was warm. Sincere. A small light in the grey weight she'd been carrying.
Thomas looked down, a bit flustered. "It's nothing, really."
"No, it's everything," she insisted. "You didn't ask why. You didn't press. You just… helped me."
His ears reddened faintly. He glanced away, trying to brush it off with a crooked smile. "Well. That's what a gentleman does, isn't it?"
Mary grinned, noticing his bashfulness but not mentioning it aloud. "You're more than a gentleman, Thomas. You're a good soul."
Thomas turned away slightly, pretending to examine the buttons on his cuff. "Careful, Mary. Praise like that might go to my head."
But she saw the faint blush that touched his cheek—and knew she'd surprised him.
And even if her heart belonged elsewhere, it didn't mean she couldn't be grateful for the boy who was kind in a world that demanded coldness.