Mrs. Ashby froze, the ledger still in her hands. Her eyes darted between us, wide and uncertain.
Isolde shot to her feet, color blotching her pale cheeks. “I most certainly am not leaving,” she hissed. “If anyone departs this house, it shall be you!”
Our voices rose together, hers sharp as shattered glass, mine trembling with long suppressed fury. The air between us grew taut, humming with animosity.
I stepped toward her, my mouth opening, only to be cut off abruptly before words could leave my tongue.
“Enough!”
The word thundered through the room.
I turned, heart lurching, to see Sylum standing in the doorway. The sunlight haloed him, though his expression was anything but angelic. His dark eyes cut between us, his jaw clenched, his coat still dusted with travel. Behind him stood Lydia, her gaze cast dutifully to the floor, her hands clasped like a penitent nun.
“Someone,” Sylum said, voice low and commanding, “explain to me,immediately,what this is.”
Isolde found her composure first, straightening her skirts and lifting her chin. I was still focused on the maid standing daringly close to my husband.
“Your wife,” she began with venomous poise, “has lost her senses. She’s ordered me to leave this house… my brother’s house!”
Sylum’s eyes turned to me. For a moment, they were molten, ready to strike, but then I saw it, the softening, the familiar gentleness reserved only for me. “Lucy,” he probed. “Tell me what happened.”
My pulse thrummed painfully. I held my head high. “I want her gone,” I said simply. “This is my home now, and I will not be mocked or managed like a wayward child in it.”
“Mocked?” the Dowager snapped. “She’s mad! Did you know she refused her Laudanum this morning?
I stiffened.
Sylum’s gaze shifted between us, the silence stretching taut as a bowstring. Then, finally, he exhaled, the sound ragged with exhaustion.
“Everyone out!” he demanded.
Mrs. Ashby hesitated. “Your Grace—”
“Out,” he repeated, louder this time.
The Dowager’s face purpled with outrage. She started to protest, but his voice silenced her before she could speak again.
“I will speak to my wife,” he seethed, turning the full weight of his authority on the room. “Alone.”
One by one, they filed out—the Dowager’s skirts rustling like storm clouds, Mrs. Ashby’s heels clicking softly behind her, and Lydia casting a weary glance at me before she followed them.
When the door shut, Sylum’s gaze returned to me. The quiet that followed was heavier than any scream.
“Lucy,” he began gently, his voice low and careful. “Tell me why you refused the medicine.”
I laughed, a brittle sound. “Why is everyone in this house so intent on sedating me? Since the day I arrived, it’s been one thing after another. Special teas and now Laudanum. What’s next, Sylum? A locked door?”
He exhaled through his nose, the tenderness draining from his face. His brow furrowed as he crossed the room, stopping a few feet from me. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said quietly, the edge of irritation threading through the calm. “There’s nothing sinister about the Laudanum… or the tea.”
“There’s everything sinister about it!” I snapped, the anger I’d swallowed for days bursting forth. “She’s beendrugging it! I can feel it! The way it dulls my mind, makes me see things that can’t possibly be real!”
Sylum’s expression darkened. “That’s enough.” His voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade. “There’s nothing in that tea except lavender and chamomile. Mrs. Ashby has made it the same way since my youth.”
My breath caught. For a moment, doubt slithered through the cracks in my anger. My heart began to race, confusion warring with fury. “You… you drink it?” I whispered.
He nodded once, eyes locked on mine. “Every night.”
The floor seemed to sway beneath me. I pressed a trembling hand to my temple, the edges of the room blurring. No… no, he was lying. He had to be. My pulse hammered, loud and heavy in my ears.
