“I must say, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Darling. Michael and John have told me a great deal about you.”

A faint stutter breaks into his words, and the blood rises to his cheeks again as he fights against it. That and the way he keeps a careful space between them makes Wendy swallow the response leaping to her tongue, too sharp for the situation: And they have told me nothing about you.

“John in particular has been a good friend to me ever since he came to work for my father.” Ned looks out over the garden as he speaks, not at her.

“If you don’t mind my asking.” Wendy tries to be careful with her words, not wanting to frighten Ned, not wanting to sound ignorant. Ned knows she’s been sick, but not where she’s been. Why does he think John and Michael have kept her a secret all these years? “How do you know my brothers? Were you with Michael in…”

She lets her words trail again, afraid of upsetting him. For all she knows, Ned bears scars every bit as deep as Michael’s and just as invisible to the naked eye. Ned’s mouth twitches beneath his moustache, but he schools his expression quickly.

Ned glances over his shoulder and Wendy follows his gaze to Michael.

“I was in the European theater at the same time as Michael, though we didn’t meet until after I’d returned home. John introduced us.”

“I’m glad Michael has someone to speak to, then. Someone who understands.” This much is true. She’s certain John and Michael don’t talk, not about the war at least, and she fears Michael may not have very many friends otherwise.

They lapse into silence again, but this time more comfortable. Wendy almost allows herself to relax, until she remembers John and Ned’s father are currently negotiating her future. Their future. After a moment, Ned gathers himself, his words emerging in a rush. His stutter returns, more pronounced now, and Wendy can’t help glancing back toward the dining room, half expecting to find Ned’s father looming in the doorway, a shadow against the curtains, a shadow over Ned’s whole life.

“I know this is all rather sudden, Miss Darling, and I wouldn’t blame you for any trepidations.” Ned hesitates, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. “To be perfectly honest, I never expected to be married myself. I might have preferred… that is, I had assumed I would remain a bachelor.”

Ned looks down, and Wendy senses he’s trying to tell her something. There are words between his words, ones he’s afraid to speak, but for the life of her, she can’t guess at them. She bites back frustration. Why are people so fond of riddles, making others guess what they mean? Why is no one able to simply speak plainly?