The Lady Who Stayed

II. The Daughter

Three weeks had passed since Mary stood in her father's burning ritual, clad in black and utter numbness, surrounded by hounds of greedy men, as her father called them, who wanted to be her friend because she inherited more than his wealth. She also gained his authority.

Mary barely had time to grieve before the fear crept in. Her father did not know what he was doing when he left her everything.

Wrong move, Papa. Wrong move.

The pain and loss she could deal with, but the fear was a different matter. It made her want to disappear—to be forgotten.

She walked to her closet and stood before the boring black dresses. For a split second, she hoped Cressida was with her.

Being alone in a dangerous world filled with friends she could not trust could be frightening. She could go after Cressida and live a different life up there. Away from the dreary walls of earth they called home hundreds of feet belowground.

But she had to stay because Ernest Featherton said so.

Continue my legacy, my dearest.

Mary drew in a long breath. She would continue his legacy, but she would not be pushed to find a man. That would be the one part of his will she could not fulfill.

Her maid, Rose, was preparing a bath in one corner, humming a nameless song. Mary drowned the woman's tune with a shaky sigh.

How long will the fear linger? She mastered masking it, but it was always there, tucked in a corner, waiting for the perfect time to slither back. That was what fear always did—wait and attack.

"Miss Mary," Rose said from behind her, "Timmy has been a little fretful of late and I share his sentiments."

"Why?" Mary absently asked, her eyes on the dark dresses before her.

"You cannot continue running around Willowfair unguarded."

"I have Robins and Elkins, Rose. They are enough."

"But you are now—"

"I'm still Mary Featherton in the eyes of the people. That has not changed."

"But it has changed," Rose insisted. Mary closed her eyes to summon equanimity. In a few strides, the petite young woman was at her side. Rose, like her mother before her, had been around the family for years. "I do not understand why you have to attend this ball. It can be dangerous. I know you need a husband, but I have always thought you will choose someone from the family. Like your father did."

"Do you like anyone in the family, Rose?" she asked wryly, reaching out for a black dress. Her maid stopped her, clucking her tongue, murmuring about a dress with a lower neckline.

"... And no, Miss Mary," Rose said, dark brown eyes stern. "I'm afraid there is no match for you in the family. Although I have had a feeling Marcus Durley is very interested."

Mary shuddered at the thought. With her father's help, Marcus Durley was gaining success at an incredible speed. He respected her and never questioned her father's decision, but Marcus Durley's dark eyes and enigmatic smile had always bothered her. Mary could sense something wicked from the man—dangers she did not want to dip her toes into. He was as ambitious as everyone else. If she married him, Durley would have more access to power she did not want to share with him or anyone in the family.

When Mary offered no comment, Rose sighed, reaching for a gown with the lowest neckline. "Are you hoping to find a husband in this ball? Then this gown should suffice."

Mary's eyes flickered to the notebook the size of her palm lying on the table beside her bed. Like her, it looked plain and unassuming. Alone. Innocent. Easily disguised.

"Yes," she lied under her breath.

While Rose continued to platter about how she should find one fast this Willowfair Season, and or the Wickhurst Season, but hopefully not during the last two social seasons of the year, Mary's thoughts drifted elsewhere. She understood everyone's concern about her lack of a husband, but it was not a simple task. She could have no one from their family, and she could not trap just anyone who knew nothing about her world.

She did not need a husband, most especially an innocent one.

Mary walked away from Rose and snatched her notebook along the way.

There were far greater things that needed her attention than husband hunting.

Bad things and good things. Betrayal and sacrifice.

And while doing so, she had to stay alive.