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Michaela told John she liked girls when she was fifteen.
At the time, finishing school was casting a shadow over her future, and she spent her remaining days of freedom running from it.
Luckily, the Scottish countryside offered many places to run to.
Flower pressing. That was the hobby her governess deemed appropriate for her. It was seen as palatable enough to pass as a ladylike endeavour, which satisfied her family, while giving her a reason to roam the gardens and the forest beyond, at her leisure.
Her skirts were covered in mud most days, her journal, spilling out half-pressed petals onto the floor, sending the maids into a flurry every day she forgot to remove her boots before traipsing through the front door.
She tried to remember, but so often she was distracted thinking about something else that she forgot. She felt guilty when the maids had to clean up after her and always offered to help. Usually, her offer to assist was graciously turned down, and she would leave. But there was one maid in particular who made her want to linger in the hall a little longer, her heart fluttering every time she had an excuse to speak to her.
Ivy was three years older. Her hair was dark and silky, her eyes, a deep, dark brown, and her chin square and sharp. She always smelled like soap and fresh daisies. She never looked twice at Michaela except when cleaning up after her, to glare.
Michaela was old enough now to recognise there was something different inside of her that made her want Ivy the way she was supposed to want a man. It was so easy, in small moments of quiet, to conjure thoughts, imagining what it would be like to kiss her.
When she tried to picture marrying a man, she felt nothing.
She started to feel dread every time someone brought up her future husband, and every day finishing school drew nearer, the feeling grew.
When her cousin John arrived a few days before she was to leave, she did not greet him with her usual enthusiasm.
He noticed.
But they did not have much time to talk privately. John was often pulled into various important meetings by his father, and when he did have free time, the rest of Michaela’s family demanded his attention.
It wasn’t until the morning before Michaela was to leave, that they found a moment alone.
She had slipped out earlier than usual, and the sun was still orange in the sky, casting long shadows across the gardens.
She stopped short at the sight of John.
He was kneeling down beside a bed of petunias, turning his head as she approached, so she could see the profile of his face.
“I’m told you spend more time in the gardens than you do indoors, these days,” he said, so softly she could barely hear him.
She clutched her journal at her side. “I do.”
He turned fully, looking up at her. He looked more serious these days, and the way he seemed to analysed her with just one look made him seem so much older. “You do not wish to go.”
She pressed her lips together, and gave a small shake of her head.
He pushed himself up to stand, brushing dirt off his knees. “I wish there was something I could do, but father - ”
Michaela raised her hand. “I do not blame you, cousin.” She forced a smile - one that she knew he would see right through anyway.
John was silent. But in the silence, in the way he peered at her curiously, there was a question.
A question she desperately wanted to answer. Her feelings had been eating her up for weeks, without anyone to share them with.
The worst almost burst from her. “I like a girl. I desire her. I desire… women.”
John didn’t react. He just watched her steadily, waiting.
She released a breath, feeling a weight lift off her chest. She turned, casting her gaze into the distance. Leaves, rippling in the breeze. “I will not marry a man. All of this… education… will be for naught. I cannot give my family what they want.”
She swallowed over the lump in her throat. The world was suddenly blurry. “And yet, I can never have what I truly want, either.”
A steady hand placed on her shoulder brought her feelings into focus. She realised she was crying.
She turned into John’s embrace.
He held her close, not uttering a single word as she sobbed through her emotions. It felt amazing, to release her emotions from the prison she had made within her heart.
John became an anchor for her in that moment - her one safe landing place.
When she pulled away, he let her go. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping at her face.
He shook his head, stepping back to give her space. “You never have to apologise to me, Michaela. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.”
She was so overcome with gratitude then. She reached out and took his hand in hers. “I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you, and I… I needed someone to tell.”
He squeezed her hand firmly. “When I am Lord, I will protect you. You will not be forced or pressured into marriage. I promise.”
In that moment, Michaela truly felt safe.
***
Michaela listens to the sounds of Francesca crying through the door.
It doesn’t feel real.
That her cousin could be here one day, and gone the next. That they could be completing a puzzle together, only to be attending his funeral the next day.
At the funeral, they had mourned for John.
Now, in the privacy of her home, Francesca grieves for the pieces of her husband that she will never have.
And on the other side of the door, Michaela grieves for the part of her soul she had shared with John all those years ago.
The sense of security he had provided, just by knowing and accepting her secret, is gone.
She feels completely lost.
And guilty.
Because ironically, the very secret she confided in him is the reason she is now unintentionally disrespecting his memory.
Because she aches to open the door and comfort John’s widow, not for him, but for herself. Because despite her best efforts, she has grown to care for Francesca far too deeply.
More than she ever cared for Ivy.
And she simply cannot stand to hear her cry.
She still remembers what John said to her all those years ago: You never have to apologise to me, Michaela. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.
But John could never have accepted or understood the way she feels right now. Even she doesn’t fully comprehend it.
She is terrified of it.
And the one other person in this world she can imagine confiding in, is the one person she can never truly open up to.
Because she is on the other side of the door, mourning the man they both loved.