✔️ shadows of desire | downton abbey

chapter 7

As I crossed the hall, my steps echoing against the polished floor, Mr. Crawley approached, his presence immediately grating on my nerves.

"Do you know where his Lordship is to be found?" he asked, his tone abrupt and businesslike.

I sighed, unable to hide my irritation. "What happened to hello?" I snapped, unable to hold back my frustration. His mere presence annoyed me to the moon and back.

Mr. Crawley blinked, taken aback by my response. "I'm sorry. Good day to you," he corrected himself, a forced politeness in his voice. "Now, where is he?"

I shrugged, my annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. "I don't know. I haven't seen him today."

"Thank you," he said, clearly eager to move past the awkward exchange. "If you see him, can you please tell him I'm in the library?"

I forced a smile, the effort almost painful. "Of course, sir," I replied, my voice dripping with fake friendliness.

As he walked away, I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The mere thought of him irked me, and I wondered why his presence had such an effect on me. Pushing the thoughts aside, I continued with my tasks, the brief encounter lingering in my mind, a reminder of the small annoyances that could disrupt even the most routine of days.

I continued about my duties, my irritation at Mr. Crawley's presence still fresh in my mind. Moments later, as I was straightening a portrait in the hallway, Mr. Crawley returned unexpectedly, his expression tense and his patience clearly thin.

"I need to speak with you, Miss Barrow," he said, his voice clipped and authoritative.

I turned to face him, my annoyance bubbling to the surface. "What now?" I retorted, unable to hide the edge in my voice.

Mr. Crawley's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your attitude towards me since we met on the train has been utterly unacceptable," he stated firmly, his voice rising with each word. "I have tried to be civil, but you insist on treating me with disdain."

I scoffed, crossing my arms defiantly. "And what do you expect from me?" I shot back, my tone sharp and defiant. "You represent everything I despise."

His face flushed with anger, his composure wavering. "I demand respect, Miss Barrow," he shouted, his voice echoing through the corridor. "I will not tolerate your insolence any longer!"

I held my ground, my own anger fueling my words. "Respect is earned, Mr. Crawley," I countered, my voice rising to match his. "You have done nothing to earn mine."

The tension crackled between us, the air thick with animosity. Mr. Crawley took a step closer, his eyes blazing with intensity. "You will learn to show me the respect I deserve," he insisted, his voice dangerously low.

I stood my ground, meeting his gaze defiantly. "Or what?" I challenged, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "What will you do?"

For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence heavy with unspoken threats and unresolved conflict. Mr. Crawley's jaw tensed as he fought to regain his composure. Finally, he spoke through gritted teeth. "This is not over, Miss Barrow," he warned, his voice barely contained. "Remember that."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me seething with frustration and a gnawing sense of unease. The confrontation had left its mark, stirring emotions and questions that lingered long after he had disappeared down the corridor.

After Mr. Crawley's little outburst, I rolled my eyes and continued scrubbing the intricate tiles of the entryway floor. The grand hall of Downton Abbey was a breathtaking blend of old-world elegance and meticulous order. The polished marble floors gleamed under the warm glow of the crystal chandeliers, reflecting the ornate woodwork and rich tapestries that adorned the walls. The scent of fresh polish and the faint aroma of blooming roses from the nearby vases filled the air, mingling with the ever-present undercurrent of well-maintained fabric and aged leather.