The envelope appears under my door on a Tuesday morning, slipped through the gap while I was sleeping. Plain brown paper, no markings, sealed with ordinary wax. I pick it up, feel the weight of coins inside.
My hands shake as I break the seal. Money spills into my palm—enough to cover three months of the children's needs. Food, clothes, rent for whatever room we'll need when this position inevitably ends. More than I make in half a year.
I sink onto the edge of my bed, staring at the coins. This isn't the first time.
Over the past month, anonymous assistance has appeared with unsettling regularity. A coin purse tucked into my apron pocket. Children's clothes delivered to Bridei's house in perfect sizes—no note, no explanation.
The magistrate who'd been demanding death certificate documentation for Thomas Farren suddenly dropped the inquiry without explanation. Bridei mentioned last week that her household debts were mysteriously forgiven by creditors who refused to explain why.
And three days ago, scholarship invitations arrived for Tavish, Lachlan, and Fenella from educational foundations I've never contacted. Opportunities I could never have secured on my own.
Someone is watching, someone with significant resources is protecting us from shadows.
I assumed it was Bridei's work—her title opening doors, her influence smoothing obstacles. But Bridei would tell me. She's never been subtle about her help.
This is someone else. Someone who knows my circumstances intimately enough to anticipate needs before I voice them. Someone who can make magistrates drop inquiries and creditors forgive debts and scholarship committees extend invitations to children of unknown mothers.
The realization is both comforting and terrifying.
I tuck the envelope into my pocket and finish dressing. Today is my afternoon off, and Bridei agreed to watch the children while I handle errands. Errands that suddenly feel less urgent than getting answers.
Bridei's house is warm and loud when I arrive.
Tavish and Lachlan are racing through the sitting room while Fenella sits in a corner with a book, ignoring the chaos around her. Bridei watches from a chair by the fire, looking amused rather than overwhelmed.
"They've been like this for an hour," she says when she sees me. "I forgot how much energy six-year-olds have."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's refreshing." She stands, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "Let's talk in the study. They'll be fine here for a few minutes."
I follow her down the corridor to a small room lined with books. She closes the door, muffling the sounds of children shrieking.
"You look troubled." She settles into a chair, gesturing for me to take the other. "What's wrong?"
I pull out the envelope and set it on the desk between us. "This appeared under my door this morning. It's not the first time."
She opens it, examines the coins, turns the envelope over looking for markings. "How many times has this happened?"
"Money? Twice before. But there are other things: clothes for the children, the magistrate dropping his inquiry, your debts being forgiven, scholarship invitations from foundations I've never contacted."
I lean forward.
"I thought it was you, but you would have told me. So who?"
Bridei sets the envelope down carefully. "Someone with resources, who knows your situation intimately enough to anticipate needs." She pauses. "Someone protecting you from shadows."
"But who would…" I stop. The answer crystallizes with uncomfortable clarity.
"Domnall." Bridei says his name quietly. "It has to be. He has the resources. He has access to magistrates and creditors and scholarship foundations. And he has reason to want you protected."
My chest tightens. "Why would he do this without telling me?"
"Perhaps because telling you would require explaining why he feels responsible for your circumstances." She watches my face carefully. "Which brings me to a question I've been meaning to ask. What exactly is your relationship with Domnall? The truth this time."
I hesitate—just a fraction of a second, but Bridei sees it.
"Mairead." Her voice goes gentle. "I've known you for fifteen years. I can tell when you're hiding something."
The confession spills out before I can stop it. "We've been meeting. Secretly. At the groundskeeper's cottage. For three weeks now."
"How secretly?" Her tone stays calm, but her eyes sharpen.
"Physically involved." My face burns. "Nothing... complete. But close. Very close." I can't look at her. "When we're alone, everything else disappears. The engagement, his mother, the lies—none of it matters when it's just us."
Bridei is quiet for a long moment. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle but firm. "Has he mentioned breaking the engagement? Specifically?"
The question catches me off guard. "He says he's working on it. That he wants to find a way out."
"That's not what I asked." She leans forward. "Has he given you an actual plan? A timeline? Has he said the words 'I will break my engagement to Elspeth'?"
The silence stretches. My stomach sinks as I realize: no. He hasn't.
He says he wants me, that postponing the wedding gives him more time with me, that he's trying to figure out how to navigate his mother's expectations. But he's never promised to actually end it.
"No." The word comes out hollow. "He hasn't."
"Mairead."
Bridei reaches across to take my hand.
"I'm not saying this to be cruel, but you need to be sensible—not for yourself, but for your children. What happens when the wedding comes and he hasn't found his way out? What happens when you're his secret while Elspeth is his wife? When Catriona discovers the affair and destroys you?"
"He wouldn't let that happen."
"Wouldn't he?" Her grip tightens. "Seven years ago, he let his mother's men drag him away from you. He married Sorcha when Catriona demanded it, got engaged to Elspeth because his mother arranged it. Every major decision of his life has been dictated by what she wants."
She pauses, letting the words sink in. "Caring about you isn't the same as choosing you. And right now, all the evidence suggests he's very good at caring while his mother makes the actual choices."
The truth of it lands like a blow. I pull my hand back, wrapping my arms around myself.
"He's different now," I try. "What we have is real."
"I'm sure it is, and I'm sure he cares deeply. But Mairead, in nine weeks, there's a wedding. And unless he takes actual steps to stop it—not vague promises about working on it, but concrete action—you're building hopes on words he hasn't said and plans he hasn't made."
She stands, moves to the window. "I've seen this before. Men who care deeply, who mean well, who genuinely want to do the right thing. But when the moment comes to choose between what they want and what's expected of them, they choose expectation. Every time."
"What are you saying I should do?"
"I'm saying you need to protect yourself and your children. If Domnall can't give you a clear answer about breaking the engagement—a real timeline, concrete steps—then you need to be prepared for the possibility that he won't."
She pauses, coming up with a conclusion I wasn’t brave enough to make myself.
"That nine weeks from now, you'll be watching him marry someone else while Catriona uses evidence of your affair to destroy any chance you have of keeping your position or your children."
The weight of it crushes down on my chest. She's right. Every word she's saying is right, and I've been too caught up in stolen moments and desperate wanting to see it.
"I don't know if I'm strong enough to walk away." The confession comes out barely above a whisper.
"Then you need to find that strength. Because staying in this without protection, without promises, without any assurance he'll actually choose you when it matters—that's not love, Mairead. That's self-destruction."
She leaves me alone in the study. Through the door, I can hear the children laughing. Tavish's voice calling for his brother, Fenella's quiet response to something Bridei asks.
I sit there with an envelope full of anonymous money in my pocket and the hollow realization that caring isn't choosing settling into my bones.
Nine weeks until the wedding. And I have no idea if the man I'm falling for will actually be brave enough to stop it.