22. The Perfect Performance
Twenty Two
The Perfect Performance
T he carriage drew to a halt outside the Sullivan household as Mr. Moore sat rigid against the cushioned seat, hands clasped in his lap, watching the familiar facade of the London townhouse through the window.
Three days had passed since Kate’s departure from Yorkshire, three days of sleepless nights and mechanical completion of estate business, doing his best to return to a normalcy that had been shattered forever.
At least for him.
Vikram looked out the window, his face bright with the excitement of returning to the city. “Look, sir! We’re home! Do you think Mrs. Moore-Sullivan has missed us terribly?”
The innocent question punched his stomach in the right place, pressing on the wound even more. “I’m certain she’s been… occupied with business matters.”
The carriage door opened, and instead of the warm greeting he had half-hoped, half-dreaded to receive, it was Mary the one there to receive him. Her face was very-well composed, as usual, but when her eyes met his, a silent communication confirmed what he already suspected.
She knew. Kate had confronted her.
“Welcome back, sir,” Mary said as she offered her hand to assist his descent. “I trust the journey was comfortable?”
“Comfortable enough, thank you, Mary.” The words felt like ash in his mouth.
As his feet touched the pavement, Mary’s fingers squeezed his briefly.
Vikram bounded from the carriage, immediately wrapping Mary in an enthusiastic embrace that she returned with genuine warmth.
“Mary! We’ve accomplished so much work on the estate! The barn repairs are nearly finished, and Mr. Moore-Sullivan taught me about drainage systems, and—” he paused, looking around expectantly. “Where is Mrs. Moore-Sullivan? Isn’t she here to welcome us back?”
Mary’s expression remained pleasant, although Mr. Moore caught the fleeting glance she gave him before turning back to the boy. “Mrs. Moore-Sullivan is at the shipping offices, attending to some urgent business matters. She’s been quite occupied since her return.”
“Oh! I see.” Vikram’s brow furrowed.
Mr. Moore interjected smoothly, “Business concerns required her immediate attention.”
The explanation satisfied Vikram’s curiosity, though Mr. Moore noticed Mary’s sharp glance at his choice of words.
“Will she be back for supper?” Vikram asked hopefully.
“Of course she will,” Mary replied. “Perhaps you should get settled in your room, and I’ll have Helene prepare something special for your return.”
Vikram’s face brightened at the mention of food, and he hurried inside with his travel bag, calling back promises to tell Helene all about their adventures in Yorkshire.
The moment the boy disappeared into the house, the pretense dropped from both their faces. Mary’s tight expression gave way to the concern beneath, while Mr. Moore seemed to deflate, the rigid control he had maintained during the journey finally giving way to exhaustion.
“How much does she know?” he asked quietly.
“Everything.” Mary’s voice was low. “She confronted me the same day she arrived. Asked me to explain your past, your… circumstances.”
“And did you answer her?”
“What I could. What I thought might help her understand.” Mary glanced toward the house to ensure they weren’t being overheard. “We should go inside. There’s much we need to discuss.”
They climbed the front steps in silence, Mary leading him through the familiar corridors toward his chamber. The house felt different, not physically changed, but disrupted somehow with the weight of secrets exposed, as if the balance had been somehow disrupted.
And that was indeed the case.
Every servant they passed offered the usual respectful greetings, but Mr. Moore found himself studying their faces for signs that Kate had shared her knowledge beyond Mary.
When they reached Mr. Moore’s chamber, Mary closed the door firmly behind them and turned the key. Only then did her professional mask slip entirely.
“She’s devastated,” she said without preamble. “Hurt, confused, angry. But not vindictive. She’s promised not to reveal your secret, and right now that’s what matters the most.”
Jason moved to the chair by his writing desk and sank into it.
The descent seemed to pull everything with it: the held breath, the rigid posture, the mask.
What remained in the chair was only Gina: smaller, softer, undone.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, and when she spoke, the voice that emerged was hers alone.
“What matters?” Her voice was hollow. “I’m not sure what matters now, Mary. I’m miserable.”
Mary walked to her and knelt in front of the chair. She reached up and gently took Gina’s wrists, pulling her hands away from her face so she could see her properly.
“What matters is that she hasn’t exposed you,” Mary said softly, caressing Gina’s hands. “That she’s keeping your secret despite everything. That means she’s still protecting you, even in her pain.”
“For now,” Gina whispered, meeting Mary’s eyes with a gaze full of despair. “Meaning she reserves the right to destroy me later.”
“She’s not thinking about destroying you. She’s trying to understand how the person she’s come to love could have deceived her so completely.”
“Love.” The word fell from Gina’s lips like something broken. “She can’t love me now. Not after learning the truth.”
Mary’s grip on Gina’s wrists tightened, grounding her. “You’re wrong. The love is there—I saw it in her face, heard it in her voice. But it’s tangled up with betrayal and confusion. She doesn’t know what to do with it.” Mary paused. “But more than all of that—she’s terrified.”
Gina’s brows furrowed. “Terrified?”
“Paralyzed by it. She asked me questions for an hour—about you, about Mr. Moore, about whether anyone has ever noticed anything unusual, whether anyone suspects. She’s not just hurt.
She’s forthseeing every possible danger, every way this could destroy you both.
That fear is consuming everything else.”
Gina’s expression shifted from confusion to an understanding mixed with fresh anguish. Her eyes, already red-rimmed with exhaustion, filled with tears that finally spilled over.
“Then I’ve truly lost her,” she said, her voice breaking. “If she’s that afraid… I’ve lost everything that mattered.”
Mary released one of Gina’s wrists to reach up and cup her cheek, catching the falling tears.
“Not everything. Not yet.” Her voice conveyed a firmness that Gina did not feel at all.
“She’s working herself to exhaustion at the offices, throwing herself into business to avoid thinking about this.
But she hasn’t left London. She hasn’t sent word to her solicitors or written to your business associates.
She’s staying, which means part of her wants to find a way through this. ”
Gina pulled away gently from Mary’s touch and stood, needing movement, needing distance from the comfort that made her feel too vulnerable.
She crossed to the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she gazed out at the London street where evening shadows were beginning to gather.
The masculine coat she still wore hung loose on her frame, no longer fitting properly now that she’d stopped taking care of herself after Kate’s departure.
“What did you tell her exactly?” she asked quietly.
Mary rose from where she’d been kneeling, brushing off her skirts.
“The truth. About your father’s death, the debts, the desperation that drove you to assume a male identity.
About the years of building Jason Moore’s reputation, the impossibility of returning to being a woman once you’d achieved success.
” She paused, watching Gina’s back stiffen.
“She asked about your… personal inclinations. Your romantic history.”
Gina’s arms tightened around herself as she turned her head back to Mary. “And what did you say about that?”
“I refused to discuss such matters. Told her those secrets were yours to share or keep private.”
“She must suspect, though.” Gina’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “About… other women.”
Mary’s eyebrows arched in unison.
“She did ask. Several times. I think the possibility that there might be others, other relationships she doesn’t know about, is eating at her as well. Adding to all the other fears.”
Gina turned completely from the window, her face pale in the dimming light. “There haven’t been others. At least… not like this. Never like this.” Her voice cracked slightly. “No one has ever mattered the way she matters.”
“But there have been others,” Mary said, her tone carrying neither judgment nor apology, simply stating what they both knew to be true.
“You’re human, Gina. You’ve had needs, companionship, moments of connection in ten years of living half a life.
That’s not something to be ashamed of, and it’s not something I could have explained to her even if I’d wanted to.
Those parts of your life—they’re yours to share or keep private. ”
Their eyes met across the dimming chamber. In that look passed a decade of shared secrets, of Mary bearing witness to Gina’s loneliness, to the isolation of living as someone she wasn’t. No accusation lived in Mary’s gaze, only understanding.
And in Gina’s eyes, there was no defensiveness, only a weary gratitude that someone, at least, knew the weight of what she had carried. That someone, at least, knew, and accepted without question, the person she truly was.
“What do I do now?” Gina asked finally, her voice small, lost. “How do I approach her? How do I even begin to repair what I’ve broken?”
Mary moved closer. “Carefully. Honestly. And with the understanding that she may need more time than you’re comfortable giving her.”
“Time to decide whether to expose me?”
“Time to decide whether she can live with the truth. Whether she can accept that the person she fell in love with is exactly who you’ve always been, even if she didn’t know all the details of your circumstances.”