"Or what?"
"Or we'll find someone else who can." He heads toward the door, then pauses. "There are others who would welcome the opportunity to marry into the Connelly fortune. Younger men. Men who wouldn't have the same… difficulties performing their duties."
The threat is clear. Fuck this up, and they'll replace me. Marry Maeve off to someone else. Someone who might actually hurt her. And it’s clear that Liam doesn’t believe my lie about consummating the marriage. Or at the very least, he questions it. Maybe not enough, yet, to demand that Maeve be examined, but enough to use it as a threat against me. If he truly believed that I fucked her, he wouldn’t be able to use the threat of her remarriage against me.
"I'll take care of it," I say through clenched teeth.
"See that you do." Fitzgerald's smile is thin. "Consider it motivation to take your responsibilities more seriously. Good day."
He leaves, and I stand there in the empty parlor, my mind racing.
I should have followed orders last night. I should have consummated the marriage, ensured that Maeve was protected, that this arrangement couldn’t be undone, no matter how much I fucking hate it.
And now, I’m going to have to figure out how to fix my mistake.
10
MAEVE
The next morning, nothing feels better in the slightest.
I didn’t see Sean again until dinner. He informed me that a representative from the Council had come to check on my well-being, and refused to say anything else. The moment he was finished eating, he got up and left, and I haven’t seen him since.
I lay awake for a long time last night, thinking about what happened yesterday. About our fight, about how I finally let out a fraction of what I was feeling… and what happened after. How for a few moments, Sean looked at me like he wanted me. Or at least… what I think that would look like.
I thought he was going to kiss me. And I had the strangest feeling that if he did, I… wouldn’t have hated it.
And then the moment was shattered, and I remembered exactly how much of an absolute asshole I’ve been forced to marry.
Mrs. Brady brings breakfast to my room. I tell her I'm tired, that I need rest, that I'm still adjusting. She just smiles and nods and pats my hand, and makes me promise to come down for lunch later, so that I get out of my room.
I spend the morning in my window seat, staring out at the garden where I finally stood up for myself for the first time in my life, told Sean a fraction of what I thought of him and this situation. I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes.
I don't know what I expected from this marriage. Despite everything—despite knowing it was arranged, despite Sean's coldness, despite the wedding night disaster—some stupid, naïve part of me hoped we might find some kind of understanding. Some way to exist together that didn't involve this constant push and pull.
But after yesterday, after seeing the way he looked at me in the garden—like he wanted me and hated himself for it—I don't know what to think anymore.
A knock on my door makes me jump.
"Come in."
It's Claire, one of the housemaids. She's young, maybe twenty, with dark hair and nervous hands that twist in her apron. "Miss—I mean, Mrs. Flannery. There's a man at the front door. He's asking for Mr. Flannery, but he's not answering when I knocked on the study door, so I thought that I should fetch you instead."
I frown. "What kind of man?"
"I don't know, ma'am. But he seems… angry."
My stomach tightens. "Where's Patrick? Or Mrs. Brady?"
"Patrick went to get supplies. Mrs. Brady is in the kitchen." Claire shifts uncomfortably. "Security let him pass, so he must have been here before. The man said it's urgent. About debts."
Debts?I frown. My father was meticulous about money, at least as far as I was aware from what I overheard at dinner table conversation. He would never have left unpaid debts. Unless…
Unless there's something I don't know about. Something else my family kept from me.
"All right." I stand, smoothing down my dress. "Tell him I'll be down in a moment."
Claire hesitates. "Are you sure, ma'am? Maybe we should wait for Mr. Flannery?—"
