Julian didn't wait for Priscilla's response. He crossed the remaining distance to Margaret in two swift strides, dropping to a crouch beside her, his expression softening entirely as he reached her, though the fury remained evident in the tightness of his jaw.
"Margaret," he said gently, his voice carrying a tenderness entirely at odds with the sharp authority he'd just directed at Priscilla moments earlier. "I'm here. I've got you."
He shrugged off his heavy black overcoat in a single fluid motion, draping it carefully over her shoulders, the gesture carrying an unmistakable, protective finality that made the watching crowd on the staircase go entirely silent, several guests exchanging startled, comprehending glances.
Priscilla's earlier composure had begun visibly cracking now, her eyes darting between Julian's protective posture and Margaret's tear-streaked face, dawning horror beginning to replace her earlier satisfaction as pieces started assembling themselves with devastating speed.