"What of our families? What will they think?"
"Let us not live for them, let us live for us and our eternal love."
A century-long feud and a forbidden romance.
In which a Sutherland falls
for a Bridgerton, and despite
the cutthroat rivalry between...
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MARGARET SUTHERLAND FELT NUMB.
She felt numb when Montague tore her away from Colin with such a force that she fell to the ground, her cheek meeting with the lush terrain and a rock slicing her cheek. Blood pooled from the shallow wound, trickling down her cheek and dropping to the bosom of her dress. She felt numb when Montague's grip tightened on her bicep, sure to leave gnarly bruises, and led her the long way around the Sculthorpe residence in fear of anyone catching sight of the scandal. She felt numb when Colin chased after the sibling pair and grabbed her brother, commanding Montague to let her go, shouting that his tight hold was hurting her, that he loved her more than the stars could ever understand. He declared his wishes to marry her.
Maisie felt numb when Colin professed his love and Montague laughed in his face. It was the maniacal sort of laugh that chilled the bones. She had never heard her brother so cruel and heartless before. But he had no reason to be kind now, for she committed a betrayal to her own blood.
She wanted nothing more than to speak, to fight for what she wanted. But the words that she would have said — that she wanted to say — never vocalized. They became caught in her throat, a thick ball that wouldn't dislodge, that she couldn't swallow. The ball became thicker and tears pricked at her eyes and all she wanted to do was scream. But she didn't. She couldn't. There were so many thoughts circling her mind, each one more heartbreaking than the last, that she couldn't free herself from the endless loop of darkness. Montague kept pulling and Colin kept begging and Maisie remained silent, allowing the world to treat her poorly.
Nothing mattered now.
She was feeling so much — sorrow, disdain, hopelessness — that she couldn't process how to feel at all. Maisie was feeling so much, she felt as if she were feeling nothing at all.
Margaret Sutherland felt empty.
Lost.
From the carriage ride home, in which Montague berated her the entire way, to when he dragged her up the stairs and forced her into her bedroom, Maisie was moving through the motions. She was not present, instead of being imprisoned by the sea of darkness that she was drowning in, without attempting to pull her head above water. She couldn't tell how much time had passed or if time was passing at all. The seconds melted into a pool of nothingness. For she was hopeless and time was irrelevant in a world without hope.
It was over. Her family would never allow them to marry.
Her fate had been sealed.
Her mother returned home with Maude sometime after she and Montague. Maisie only knew they returned when the ceaseless shouts from raw throats began, echoing through the halls and rattling the house on its foundation. It was an unsettling noise that tore through her mother's lips. But Maisie was numb and untethered from the world, floating in the hazy void of her thoughts and unfazed by the shouts. It wasn't that she could not hear her mother's yells, for the older woman was standing no more than five feet away, but Maisie was absently living. Her body may have been sitting on the floor beneath her shaking window, slouched with her head held in her hands, but her mind was elsewhere.
