The gathering was supposed to be nothing unusual. Just one of many family occasions held in London.
And yet… something shifted after that.
George was no longer merely "happening" to be in the same place as Mary. He began to ensure it. Not openly, not in any obvious way—but enough for those who paid attention to notice.
A few days after that meeting, Mary received a letter.
The handwriting was neat, brief, almost too formal.
From George.
It was not long, nor romantic, nor excessive.
He simply asked after her well-being. Mentioned their last meeting. Expressed a hope that she was in good health.
And yet… there was something different.
He had written.
And that alone meant something.
Because George was not a man who wrote without reason.
Mary read the letter calmly, then set it aside without much thought.
But from that day on… it was no longer alone.
The following week, another family invitation appeared.
A small gathering.
A dinner. A social visit.
And somehow, George was always there.
So was Mary.
"How interesting," Maud murmured. "…how often coincidences seem to occur these days."
George looked at her flatly.
"It is not coincidence. It is a family invitation."
Maud nodded.
"Of course… and you always accept these invitations now, even the ones you used to ignore."
George did not respond.
Which was answer enough.
Edward and Alexandra began to see that this change was no longer temporary.
George was not only calmer—he was more present. More engaged.
More… alive.
Mary, on the other hand, remained the same.
Composed. Polite.
Never once suggesting she expected anything more.
She accepted George's letters with grace and replied with equal propriety.
She attended gatherings, spoke with him as expected.
But she never stepped beyond that.
And perhaps that was exactly why George could no longer retreat.
Maud, who was always somewhere nearby, finally lost patience with his silence.
"You know, Georgie… if this continues, people will start placing bets on when you will finally admit it."
George stopped walking and turned sharply toward her.
"Maud—"
"What?"
"You cannot say things like that."
She shrugged lightly.
"Why not? Everyone is already thinking it. I am simply the only one saying it out loud so you might finally hear it."
George exhaled slowly.
Maud looked at him again—this time more seriously, though the hint of mischief remained.
"You are afraid, aren't you?" she said softly. "Oh, come now, Georgie… you have to be honest with yourself."
George turned toward her.
And for the first time… there was no quick reply.
Maud had won.
That night, George sat alone with several letters in his hands.
The ones he had written.
And the ones Mary had sent in return.
There were no declarations.
No confessions.
But there was something far more dangerous.
Habit.
He had grown used to writing to her.
To waiting for her replies.
To seeking her presence.
And without realizing it… he could no longer return to who he was before.
As spring slowly approached, that quiet pressure no longer remained hidden.
Queen Victoria began ensuring that things moved toward clarity.
She had always favored Mary—believing her character well-suited for the future of the monarchy.
Edward no longer left room for delay. He admired Mary, and saw in her a future Queen beside George.
Alexandra, too, held deep affection for her.
She already regarded Mary almost as a daughter.
She understood Mary's past—how she had lost her fiancé only weeks after their engagement.
And now, she believed Mary could stand beside George… steadying him where he was most rigid.
And in the middle of it all…
George stood between two things.
The decision he had to make—
And the truth he had finally admitted to himself.
Alongside the fear that still held him back…
The fear of betraying the memory of his brother.
But now, there were only two paths left.
To be honest with what he felt—
Or to bury it, out of fear of that memory.
And for the first time…
He no longer had a reason to wait.
Because Mary could become someone else's future.
And if that happened…
He might never have her at all.