Lady Elspeth is standing in the doorway, hand raised to knock, eyes wide. Taking in the scene with perfect clarity.
Mairead and I are standing too close. Her hair is half-unpinned, falling loose around her shoulders. My jacket is off, shirtsleeves rolled up. We're both flushed, breathing too fast. And we're holding hands.
The evidence is damning.
For one frozen moment, all three of us just stare. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. The silence stretches until it's unbearable.
Then training kicks in. I drop Mairead's hand and step back, forcing my expression into something resembling casual surprise.
"Oh, Elspeth! You're here!" My voice comes out too bright, too loud. "What brings you by? We were just," I gesture vaguely between Mairead and myself. "discussing Isla's progress in her lessons. She's been doing remarkably well with her Latin comprehension, hasn't she, Mrs. Farren?"
Mairead nods mutely. She's frozen in place, color draining from her face.
Elspeth's gaze travels from me to Mairead, then back again. Taking in every detail. The mussed hair, the red lips, the flushed cheeks. The way we're both still breathing too hard for a conversation about Latin.
"Latin." Elspeth's voice is flat. "Of course."
"Yes, we were just reviewing," I'm fumbling now, grasping for anything that sounds plausible. "the curriculum for next term. Mrs. Farren had some excellent suggestions about incorporating more practical applications into the grammar exercises—"
"Domnall." Elspeth cuts me off. "Stop."
I stop.
Her eyes are brimming with tears now, threatening to spill over but not quite falling. Her voice is stern, controlled, but I can hear the tremor underneath.
"Mrs. Farren. Please leave us alone."
Mairead doesn't move immediately. She glances at me, uncertainty written across her face. I give her the smallest nod.
She walks toward the door, steps carefully around Elspeth without meeting her eyes. Just before she disappears into the corridor, she looks back once. Our eyes meet for half a second.
Elspeth notices. Says nothing aloud. But she sniffs loudly—a sharp, bitter sound—and walks into the office without even glancing at Mairead again.
The door closes with a soft click.
The silence that follows is worse than the confrontation. Elspeth stands in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. Tears are streaming down her face now, but she makes no sound.
"Elspeth—" I start.
"Don't." Her voice cracks. "Don't lie to me. Please. I can't—I can't bear it if you lie right now."
I close my mouth. What can I say that isn't a lie?
She finally looks up at me. "Am I not good enough? Not beautiful enough? Not smart enough?" Her voice rises with each question. "Not educated enough? Not wealthy enough? What does that woman have that I don't?"
"It's not about you."
"Then what is it about?!" She's shouting now, tears flowing freely. "What did I do wrong? What am I lacking that makes you look at me like an obligation while you look at her like… like—"
She can't finish. She presses her hands over her face and sobs.
I cross to her, reach out to comfort her. "Elspeth, you haven't done anything wrong. You're perfectly…"
"Don't!" She jerks away from my touch. "Don't you dare patronize me with compliments about how 'perfectly suitable' I am. I've heard it from your mother for months. I don't need to hear it from you too."
I let my hand drop. "I'm sorry."
"Are you?" She wipes her face roughly. "Are you actually sorry? Or are you just sorry you got caught?"
The accusation stings because it's partially true. "I never meant to hurt you."
"But you did anyway." Her voice goes hard. "Do you understand what you've done? What this means for me?"
"I know the situation is difficult…"
"Difficult?" She laughs, and the sound is bitter. "You're being selfish, Domnall. Completely selfish. You made a commitment to me, our families made arrangements, contracts were signed. And now you're risking all of it because you can't control yourself around the help?"
The dismissive way she says "the help" makes my jaw tighten. "Don't talk about her like that."
"Why not? That's what she is, isn't she? A tutor, a servant in your household. A woman so far beneath your station that acknowledging any relationship with her would be—"
"Enough." My voice goes cold.
But she's not stopping. The hurt has transformed into rage now, and it's pouring out unchecked.
"Do you have any idea what I'll endure if this wedding falls through? The whispers? The humiliation? Everyone knowing I was cast aside for someone so completely inappropriate? My reputation will be destroyed. My family's standing will suffer. Everything I've worked for, everything I am—ruined because you couldn't keep your—"
"I said enough." The words come out sharp.
She's crying again but pushing through it. "If you back out of this engagement, I will make sure you regret it. I swear to God, Domnall, I will."
"Are you threatening me?" The question cuts through her tirade.
She stops, wipes her face. Her chin lifts with defiance. "I'm telling you what will happen. I have connections too. My family has influence. If you humiliate me like this, there will be consequences."
Something shifts in the room. The temperature seems to drop.
I take a step toward her, just one step, but something in my movement, or my expression, makes her flinch.
"Let me make something very clear." My voice is quiet now, controlled. The kind of quiet that's more frightening than shouting. "You should think a hundred times before you act on that threat. Because I might forget for a second that you're a woman."
The color drains from her face. "What… what are you—"
I step closer, right into her space. Close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
"I have been patient with you. I have been kind. I have treated you with respect you haven't earned and courtesy I don't feel. But if you threaten me, if you threaten what's mine—that patience ends."
"I wasn't…" Her voice is shaking now. "I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did." I lean in slightly, not touching her, just close enough that she can feel the threat in my proximity. "You meant every word. You're hurt, and you want me to hurt too. I understand that. But Elspeth,"
I let my voice drop even lower. "You need to be very careful about how you choose to hurt me. Because I promise you, any consequences you think you can inflict pale in comparison to what I'm capable of."
"You want to know what that woman has that you don't?" I tilt my head slightly, studying her terrified expression. "She has the ability to see past the performance. She knows exactly what I am and chooses me anyway. Can you say the same?"
Elspeth tries to move toward the door. I shift slightly, blocking her path. Not touching her, just standing between her and escape.
"Remember this moment." My voice is still quiet, still controlled. "You're leaving this room right now only because I'm allowing you to. Next time you threaten me or mine, I might not be so lenient."
I step aside.
She runs. Actually runs. I hear her footsteps pounding down the corridor, rapid and panicked.
I close the door and lean against it, eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
What did I just do?
I threatened my fiancée. Deliberately frightened her. Used proximity and tone and the suggestion of violence to make her genuinely afraid of me.
And the worst part? It worked. It felt good. Natural. Like putting on a familiar coat I'd forgotten I owned.
My mother would be proud. This is exactly the kind of ruthlessness she's been trying to cultivate in me for years—the ability to identify threats and neutralize them without hesitation or remorse.
I should feel ashamed. Should be horrified by how easily that darkness surfaced.
But all I feel is a cold, practical satisfaction that Elspeth won't threaten Mairead again.
I straighten, smooth my shirt, force my expression back into something civilized.