"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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THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON WHILE THE SUN SEEPED THROUGH THE WINDOW AND KISSED THEIR SKIN, Maisie sat in the Sutherland drawing-room alongside Maude, Montague, and Maxwell. There was no reason for the youngest son to be sitting in the drawing-room at the current hour, but from how he consistently checked his pocket watch every few minutes, she knew he was impatiently waiting for something. Whatever it was, it was without a doubt none of her business. Maisie wondered if it had anything to do with the cook's daughter.
She was still shocked with the information Mildred spilled the other night that Maxwell was in love with a daughter of the house staff. Truthfully, she wasn't bothered by his forbidden love. As long as he was happy and healthy, Maisie did not see an issue with her brother falling in love with Dorothy. However, members of high society would not take the relationship lightly and would shun Maxwell, but the worst of it would fall on Dorothy's shoulders. The pair were playing a dangerous game. If Lady Sutherland found out, not only would she be extremely unimpressed with her son, but all hell would break loose. Oh, Maisie hoped Mildred could refrain from telling anyone else.
A monotonous atmosphere shrouded the Sutherland drawing-room. The four siblings sat in a state of silence. Montague skimmed the paper whilst Maude busied herself with her needlework. Maxwell kept a sharp eye on the time. Maisie on the other hand stared at the family portrait on the wall behind Montague's head. Drab colours of the oil paint and the lacklustre spirit of the Sutherland siblings were a stark contrast against the green floral wallpaper and the other portraits scattered around the house. All six siblings were painted with grim smiles and hollow eyes as if all life had been drained out of them. Maisie was all but fourteen when the portrait was commissioned. The puffiness of her cheeks — which she lost a year after — and her youthful appearance, caused a rush of nostalgia to ache her heart and plague her thoughts. Oh, how she wishes she could escape her current reality and return to her youth. For, when she was young and subjected to naiveties, Maisie dreamt of marrying for love — she would only marry for love.
Yet, that was no longer a sensible wish.
Her future marriage would be the product of strategy on her mother's part. Maisie's happiness was not considered in the decision.
If there was one thing she hoped for, Maisie hoped the Marquess of Lansdowne would not call upon her. And, as of yet, she was rather optimistic. Three hours have past and the Sutherland sisters have yet to receive a single caller. There were worse gentlemen than the marquess, who was admittedly rather handsome, but Maisie could not fathom living the rest of her life alongside him. She had only met the man once and upon that first meeting, she wished it would be her final.
Heavy footsteps sounded against the flooring, causing Maisie's attention to snap towards the open doors of the drawing-room as she feared for the worst (which was the presence of the Marquess of Lansdowne). Upon seeing the caramel brown locks falling into his eyes and the empty blue irises of her brother, Maisie released a breath of air she failed to notice she was holding. The velvet grey tailcoat fitting his form darkened the blues of his irises, adding the quality of a brewing storm in the ocean's waves. Moses was tall, towering over all the Sutherlands except Montague, who was all but three inches taller. The second eldest son held a stoic expression, his presence and the heels of his boots against the wooden floor slashed through the quiet afternoon air.
