Julia's head throbbed, a relentless drum against her temples. The vision of Marian, shackled and terrified, played on a loop behind her eyelids. She had spent the night in a restless torment, clutching the edge of her bed so hard her nails were half-broken. Silas had brought her back to her room, put her to bed, and only after her fervent insistence that she was truly fine had he finally left. But she was not fine. Not even close.
The echoing terror of Marian's last moments, the suffocating collar, Alistair's chilling whispers – it was all too real. Her stomach churned with a cold dread. Her nose bled faintly, a thin, warm trickle. She felt a familiar, creeping fear that her mind was betraying her, just as it had before.
She pushed herself up, her muscles aching. Her room felt different, unsettled. The large mirror on her dressing table, usually angled to catch the morning light, was turned inwards, reflecting only the dim, shadowed wall. She never did that. Someone had been in her room. But who? And why?
Elsie was nowhere to be seen. Julia usually relied on her help getting ready, but today, the silence was absolute. With a sigh, she stumbled towards the washstand. The cold water on her face felt like a shock, momentarily clearing the fog in her mind. She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple charcoal dress that felt like a shield.
As Julia stumbled downstairs, the house felt strangely alive. Not with warmth, but with a frantic, agitated energy. Servants scurried everywhere, their faces grim, their movements sharp. Elsie, pale and tense, was among them, scrubbing an already polished stretch of the grand hall floor, her small body hunched. Finch's voice, usually a low hum, boomed through the space, barking orders with an intensity Julia had never heard.
Elsie looked up, her eyes wide as they met Julia's. She dropped her scrub brush with a clatter, then scurried over, grabbing Julia's arm and pulling her aside into a shadowed alcove. Elsie's hand was trembling.
"Miss Julia!" Elsie whispered, her voice a thin, reedy sound. "I'm so sorry, I couldn't come to help you this morning. They've had us working since before dawn."
"Don't be silly, Elsie," Julia replied, waving away the apology. Her mind was racing. "What's going on? Why is everyone so… frantic?"
Elsie wrung her hands. "A man, Miss. From the city. He's arriving today. Important."
"A man?" Julia frowned. "What kind of man? And why is his arrival causing such a fuss?" Her curiosity, a relentless spark, ignited.
Before Elsie could say another word, Finch appeared between them, as if conjured from the very shadows. He moved with a chilling silence, his stern face holding a smile that didn't quite reach his watchful eyes. It was a terrifying, unnatural expression.
"Good morning, Miss Julia," Finch said, his voice unnervingly smooth. It was the first time he had directly addressed her since her arrival, since… the slap. He separated them with an almost imperceptible movement, placing himself between Julia and Elsie. "Elsie, back to your duties. Lord Blackwood is waiting for Miss Julia in the dining room."
Elsie, her face even paler, bobbed a quick curtsy and scurried away, disappearing into the flurry of other servants.
Julia stared at Finch. "What is happening, Mr. Finch? Who is this man?"
Finch's smile remained fixed, unblinking. "Lord Blackwood will explain everything, Miss. He is most eager for your company." He gestured towards the dining room, a silent, unyielding command.
Julia, her stomach churning with a mix of dread and defiance, had no choice but to follow.
Alistair was already seated at the head of the long dining table, bathed in the cool morning light that spilled through the tall windows. He looked impossibly handsome, impeccably dressed, a picture of effortless charm. But as Julia neared, she saw the subtle tension in his jaw, the faint, predatory glint in his piercing blue eyes.
He stood as she approached, a gentlemanly gesture that felt utterly performative. He drew out her chair, his movements smooth, almost theatrical. As she settled into the rich velvet, he leaned in, his voice a low, intimate murmur meant only for her.
"And how was your night, Julia?" he asked, his eyes raking over her face, lingering on the faint smudges beneath her eyes, the raw edges of her fingernails. It was a calculated barb, a direct hit to her sleepless, tormented night. A direct hit to the vision. He knew.
Julia forced a smile, bright and brittle. "Perfectly well, Lord Blackwood. Thank you." Her voice was steady, betraying none of the chaos within.
He chuckled, a low, unnerving sound that held no warmth. "Oh, I know, Julia. I know." His blue eyes stared, deep and unsettling, as if he could see every thought, every lingering terror in her mind.
Finch, who had silently reappeared, signaled to the maids. They moved with practiced precision, serving an elaborate breakfast of eggs, ham, and toast. Julia picked up her fork, forcing herself to eat, though every bite felt like ash. Alistair, meanwhile, merely swirled the dark liquid in his glass, his gaze never leaving her.
Julia couldn't help herself. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for Silas. She needed him. His presence, his grounding cynicism, his unsettling intimacy.
Unable to hold her curiosity, she asked, trying to sound casual, "Is Mr. Corwin joining us this morning, Lord Blackwood?"
Alistair's jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly, but his charming smile didn't falter. Finch, however, answered before Alistair could.
"Mr. Corwin is still sleeping, Miss Julia," Finch stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "His breakfast has been served to him in his room."
Alistair let out a soft, amused scoff. "My wife's ex-lover, not only living in my house, but being served breakfast in bed, too." His gaze snapped back to Julia, sharp and accusatory. "Perhaps you can explain, Julia, what exactly you two were doing last night. Sitting on his lap, in my cellar, no less?"
Julia stiffened, the fork clattering against her plate. The question blindsided her. Her mind raced, grasping for an explanation, a lie. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
"Don't bother," Alistair cut her off, his voice suddenly cold, devoid of its earlier charm. "Don't bother lying, or attempting to explain yourself." He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "The only reason I allowed Silas to stay here, Julia, was to help you find out what happened to Marian. Not for you two to sneak into cellars and engage in… intimacies."
Julia stared at him, aghast. "Intimacies?" The word hung in the air, a vile accusation. "Nothing of the sort happened! How dare you suggest-"
"How dare I?" Alistair's voice was a low growl, barely controlled. "I assure you, Julia, I dare. You think I am blind? I know what Silas Corwin is. I know what his plan is. And it seems he is succeeding." His eyes burned with a terrifying, jealous rage. "Did you truly think I would leave my unmarried cousin and Marian's unchaperoned former lover alone in my house?"
The vision of Marian, shackled by his words, crushed by his possessiveness, flooded Julia's mind. The velvet collar, the blood on the floor. It was all him. Always him. A surge of pure, unadulterated fury coursed through her. She almost spoke of the vision, almost screamed about Marian's terror. But she held herself back, her jaw clenched. She didn't understand it fully yet. She couldn't give him that power.
"You spy on me?" Julia accused instead, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You dare to watch my every move?"
Alistair smiled, a chilling, triumphant twist of his lips. "Of course. And do you know the scandal, Julia, the absolute ruin, if it came out that my late wife's cousin and her penniless ex-lover were having an affair under my very roof?"
"Enough!" Julia cried, pushing back from the table, her chair scraping loudly across the polished floor. Her voice cracked with the force of her indignation. "Nothing of the sort is happening! There is no affair!"
"I don't believe you," Alistair stated, his voice flat, resolute. He rose, his tall frame looming over her. "Silas Corwin leaves this house. Now. This instant."
"No!" Julia protested, desperation clawing at her. She couldn't let him do it. Silas was her only ally, her only connection to Marian's hidden life. "You can't! He's helping me. You said-"
"It is my house, Julia!" Alistair roared, his charming facade cracking completely, revealing the raw, violent temper beneath. His blue eyes blazed. "I decide who stays here, and who leaves! Finch!"
Finch, who had been standing silently by the doorway, took a step forward.
"Go to Mr. Corwin's room," Alistair commanded, his voice cold, ruthless. "And drag him down here immediately."
Just as Finch turned, a frantic knock echoed through the silence of the dining room. Elsie, breathless and pale, burst through the door, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and urgency.
"Lord Blackwood!" Elsie cried, her voice trembling. "A man! From the offices of Corbin, Lyle and Trent! He has arrived!"