Alistair.
The name echoed in Julia's mind, a sudden, jarring chord. She looked up, her gaze meeting his, and for a split second, the world tilted. His blue eyes, usually so captivating, were clouded with a storm she couldn't quite decipher. Concern? Anger? Something darker, lurking beneath the surface.
She clutched Elsie's arm tighter, her body stiffening. She didn't want to speak to him. Not now. Not when her heart still hammered from the confrontation with Finch, when the words of Marian's journal echoed in her ears.
"Julia," Alistair said, his voice a low rumble, the sound of it seeming to vibrate through the very floorboards. He took a step towards her, his brow furrowed with a question. His eyes, usually so composed, held a flicker of something she hadn't seen before. Concern, yes, but also a hint of something possessive, something almost demanding.
She tried to sidestep him, to move past. Just reach her room. Just breathe.
But he was too quick. His hand reached out, gently, yet firmly, blocking her path. "Julia," he repeated, his voice softer this time, almost pleading. "What happened? You're… you're trembling. And Elsie is crying." His gaze softened as it landed on Elsie's tear-streaked face. He extended a hand towards the maid, as if to offer comfort, but Elsie recoiled, pressing herself closer to Julia.
Julia pulled Elsie further behind her, a protective instinct rising. "Nothing happened, Lord Blackwood," she said, her voice strained, tight with a mixture of anger and a sudden, unwelcome fear. "We are merely… indisposed. If you would excuse us, we wish to retire."
She tried to move again, to push past him, but he held his ground, a silent, unyielding wall.
"Indisposed?" Alistair's voice hardened, a dangerous edge creeping into it. "That hardly explains the scene I just witnessed. Or the look on your face, Julia. Tell me what happened. Now." His eyes narrowed, searching hers, demanding an answer she wasn't prepared to give.
The intensity of his gaze was suffocating. She remembered Marian's frantic scrawl in the journal: I asked Alistair, and he says I've always bruised easily. If Alistair wanted her… compliant… The words, chilling and insidious, resurfaced, twisting in her gut. She had seen his charm, his magnetic presence, but now, a flicker of something else—something cold and unyielding—shone in his eyes.
A wave of nausea washed over her. She pushed against his chest, a sudden, violent shove born of a terror that had nothing to do with Finch and everything to do with Marian's words. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, her voice raw, laced with an unfamiliar fury. "Just… get out of my way!"
Alistair recoiled, a flicker of surprise, then something colder, harder, entering his gaze. He stared at her, his lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she thought he might retaliate, might physically stop her. But then, he slowly, reluctantly, stepped aside.
Julia didn't wait. She practically dragged Elsie up the grand staircase, her heart hammering against her ribs, the terrifying encounter with Finch and the even more unsettling one with Alistair swirling in her mind. She could feel Alistair's gaze burning into her back, a tangible weight following them as they ascended.
She didn't stop until they reached her room, slamming the door shut behind them, the heavy oak shuddering on its hinges. Elsie collapsed onto a nearby chair, still sobbing quietly. Julia leaned against the door, her own breath ragged, her mind a whirlwind of fear and the desperate need to protect Elsie, to protect herself, and to understand. Finch would tell him. He would tell him everything. And Silas…
A cold knot formed in her stomach. Silas was still in the East Wing. Alistair would find him. What then?
---
Lord Alistair Blackwood watched Julia storm away, a cold, unfamiliar fire coiling in his gut. Her face, usually so calm, was bright red with anger, her eyes blazing with a raw feeling he hadn't seen before. And Elsie, the timid maid, was clinging to her, small sobs shaking her. What in the shadowed halls had just happened? This wasn't the Julia he'd been picturing, the one who'd filled his thoughts on the carriage ride from London.
He'd arrived back at Blackwood Hall earlier than planned, a sudden, almost haunting urge pulling him from his business. He'd been thinking of Julia, of her sharp mind, her surprising strength. He'd just left the lawyers, finally getting answers, taking back control. He'd learned about Evelyn's real plans, her careful wish to keep Julia weak, maybe even broken, for the money. A strange pull, like a spider's thread, had grown inside him since Julia arrived, a curious change from the quiet he'd lived in since Marian's… passing. He couldn't let Evelyn destroy Julia, not when she was so close to understanding the house, to understanding him.
He'd expected the house to be in its usual, hushed state. Instead, he found chaos. Julia, wild with rage, and Elsie, trembling and broken. More secrets, more defiance, he thought, his jaw tightening. This mess was exactly what he couldn't have.
"Finch!" Alistair's voice, usually soft and smooth, cut through the silence of the servants' hall like a whip. It held a dangerous edge, a command no one dared ignore. He wouldn't stand for any more chaos, no more surprises.
He saw the housekeeper, Agnes, creep out from a shadowy corner, her hard face etched with surprise. "Lord Blackwood! You're back! Was your trip a success—"
He cut her off, his patience thin, his eyes locked on the scene he'd just walked into. "Agnes! What happened here? Why was Miss Harrow so upset? And Elsie? What has been done to her?" His eyes, usually charming, now pierced the gloom, demanding answers. He needed to know how far Julia had gone, how much she'd broken his rules.
Agnes, her stiff posture crumbling into a flurry of nervous movements, started to explain, her voice a rapid, breathless waterfall of angry words. "Lord Blackwood, it was Miss Harrow! She is impossible! She was in the East Wing again, even after all your warnings! And she… she struck Mr. Finch!" Her voice rose to a dramatic scream. "And she was with someone! A man, my lord! In the East Wing, of all places!"
Alistair felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. The East Wing. The forbidden wing, where Marian's mind had slowly unraveled, where the whispers had begun. And a man? This was precisely why he'd locked it away. The sacred quiet of the house. Marian's memory. And now, this… trespass. A dark stain on everything he held dear, everything he had carefully rebuilt. She's slipping, he thought, the memory of Julia's trembling defiance from their last fight flashing through his mind. Just as Evelyn wants.
"Finch!" Alistair roared again, his voice cracking like a thunderclap. "Come here! Now!"
Finch, pale and shaking, crept out from the shadows near the corridor where the drama had played out. The angry red mark on his cheek stood out sharply against his pale skin. He bowed, his movements stiff, like an old doll.
"Explain yourself, Finch," Alistair commanded, his voice low, deceptively calm. "What happened? And who was Miss Harrow with in the East Wing?" The thought of another man, any man, in his house, with Julia, stirred a violent urge to claim what was his, a dark feeling he rarely let surface. It was a threat to his perfect order, to his careful plans for her.
Finch, always loyal, repeated the story, his voice low, careful, leaving nothing out. He spoke of Julia's endless defiance, her constant search for answers about Marian – answers Alistair himself kept locked away. He confirmed she'd been in the East Wing, and that she'd been with a man. He even admitted hitting Elsie, though he tried to say it was necessary because she'd been rude.
Alistair listened, his face a mask of stone. The East Wing. The endless questions about Marian, questions that could tear everything down. And a man. A ghost in his house, a rival for Julia's attention and loyalty. The thought was chilling. Julia, so innocent, so smart, letting herself be pulled into such a secret meeting. The betrayal burned. She's vulnerable, just like Marian was, he concluded, and someone is using her.
But then, Finch confessed to hitting Elsie. That detail, more than anything else, woke a sleeping rage within Alistair. His perfect calm cracked.
"You struck her?" Alistair's voice was a low growl, a predator's snarl. He closed the distance between them in two swift steps.
Before Finch could say another word, Alistair's hand shot out, grabbing the butler by the throat. His grip was instant, choking. He slammed Finch against the wall, the dull thud echoing through the quiet, watching hall. Finch's eyes bulged, his hands weakly scratching at Alistair's arm.
"How dare you?" Alistair snarled, his face twisted in a furious mask. "How dare you lay a hand on a woman in my house? A servant, yes, but still a woman! Are you mad, Finch? Have you forgotten yourself?" He was supposed to keep the house running smoothly, not cause this kind of messy scene.
Agnes shrieked, rushing forward, her hands waving wildly. "Lord Blackwood! Stop! You'll kill him! Please, my lord!" She tried to pull Alistair's fingers from Finch's throat, but his grip was like iron.
"Stay out of this, Agnes!" Alistair roared, his eyes blazing with an almost inhuman fury. His gaze stayed fixed on Finch, whose face was rapidly turning purple. "You will never again lay a hand on a woman in this house, Finch. Do you understand me? Especially not Miss Harrow. She is… important. She means a great deal to me. If you ever, ever think to harm her, to disrespect her, I will not hesitate to dismiss you. To throw you out onto the street. Do I make myself clear?" Julia is mine to control, not yours to break.
Finch, gasping for air, nodded wildly, his eyes wide with terror.
Alistair slowly, deliberately, let him go. Finch slumped against the wall, coughing and wheezing, clutching his throat.
"Good," Alistair said, his voice now dangerously calm, a quiet threat. "Now, listen carefully, Finch. I want this Hall locked down. Every door, every window. No one goes in or out without my direct order. Do you understand? I want to find this man. The one Miss Harrow met in the East Wing. He will not escape." He will be found. He will not be another problem I can't control.
He turned to Agnes, his eyes cold and steady. "Agnes, I want every possible way into and out of the East Wing sealed. Every door, every window. Make sure he cannot escape. If he does, you will pay for it. Both of you." This cannot be allowed to spread. The house must remain perfect.
His voice left no room for doubt. Finch, still rubbing his throat, nodded grimly. Agnes, pale and shaking, could only nod, her usual loud complaining gone.
Alistair didn't wait for their answer. He turned, his gaze already fixed on the grand staircase. Julia. He had to find her. He had to know who she had been with. He had to know everything. He needed to pull her back into his world, before she slipped completely away, like Marian, like Evelyn planned.
He ascended the stairs, two steps at a time, his mind already swirling with questions, with a chilling certainty that something far darker than he had imagined was creeping within the old walls of Blackwood Hall. And he would uncover it all. He would find this man. And then, he would deal with Julia. He would get her compliant.