#deepperplexity

“Richard!” called Petunia in that grating voice he so detested. “Tea is to be had!” she continued, and the thought of sitting down for another tea with his cousin had his hand clenching around the spool of silken thread. Petunia was akin to him, similar in fashion and thought, yet far apart in other aspects. She was wilfully demanding where he was calculatingly methodical. She spoke of romance and grand gestures of great expense, where he saw only marked flesh and reddening knees on satin pillows by his polished boot.

One thing, a minuscule one, had latched itself to the membranes of his mind, though. She spoke of his need for a wife — not for the same reasons as the ones that had remained with him, though — and it had been many nights he had sought a broken comfort in the imagines of you by his side. His little wisp, on your knees, on his arm, by his side, in his bed, tangled in his sheets, or bent over his desk most gloriously. Always, unfailingly so, with those eyes of yours holding his gaze for moments slightly too long, yet never was there to be any fear shimmering in them. No matter the dream, no matter the twisted ruin he wished to lavish on you, there was never fear in his image of you so delicately balanced on the tip of his finger, under his touch, within his grasp.

He wasted no breath on calling out as he dressed in his outdoor garments in dark red and black, with his tophat sat firmly on his head, as he opened the door and marched toward Earl (Y/l/n) house, your house.

Richard was a man of reason, a man of logic, a man of restraint and power, yet still he tricked himself into believing the spool of thread in his satin-lined pocket was the only reason for his sudden outing. There was no twisted endeavour of sinking his respected talons in you, surely not. Yet he marched with longer strides as the thought of seeing you in your own environment, within your safe walls of normalcy and comfort, slowly encroached on all other thoughts. He could not deny that as his pace picked up and the spool of thread offered the first and, thus far, only acceptable reason for him to call upon you privately. I shall return what is rightfully hers. No more. Little wisp, you are far too delicate… Still, I will call upon you, tempting myself to madness once more, yet God has seen fit to put you in my path… repeatedly.

He knocked harshly as he had marched up the five stone steps to the smaller townhouse nestled tightly with others of the same drab exterior, the same size and look. Yes, all things about your home were the same as any other on the street — yet still, he found it to be different.

The door opened, and a young maid stood with an agreeable smile, which faltered the second her eyes landed upon him, and her head lowered just after. “Judge Turpin, my Lord,” she said in a shallow breath, as if her throat had caught a lump of distress — not unlikely. "I will see the young Miss (Y/l/n).” He did not dawdle or make a request. “The young miss— Oh, Judge Turpin, that is not possible,” the maid stammered, her hands trembling before her where she held them in front of her thinner dress. “I shall fetch Earl (Y/l/n), Judge Turpin, sir.” She scurried off before the words had fully left her mouth, and he was left to stand on the doorstep. Imbecile behaviour. Leaving a man such as I upon the doorstep? Unthinkable. His mouth thinned, his straight back hardened, and a harshness far more noticeable crept along his features as they tensed.

Rushed steps sounded from within the house as he looked inside through the open door, letting the cold air infiltrate the space. “Judge Turpin!” came the loud call of the earl as he walked along the short hall. “My Lord, what offers us this great pleasure and honour?” the man continued with a cowered, nearly choked voice — with widened eyes showing the reflection of fear his voice had barely managed to shield. “I am calling upon your daughter.” Richard did not let the harshness subside, nor did he allow the intention of his words to be construed into a request. The earl stopped short. “My sweet (Y/n)? My Lord, that is impossible, sir. I am terribly sorry, but—” “You dare deny, me?” Richard spoke harshly; his steely gaze hooked the man fully as the earl gulped and paled. “Bring her forth, Earl.”

The earl and the maid glanced at each other quickly. “My sweet daughter is not here, my Lord. She left in all haste but three days ago.” He arched a brow. “In all haste?” “Y-yes, my Lord. She was quite distressed. I fear she is long gone.” Distressed? My subdued little wisp of the greatest countenance? “To where?” “Hampshire, sir. I do not dare state a time for her return, my Lord.” “Where in Hampshire?” Earl (Y/l/n) tensed further, a seemingly impossible thing. “F-Fareham, sir. To my sister’s humble home. She seeks sanctuary for a broken heart among the—”

Richard’s arm surged forward, taking hold of the cravat around the man’s throat a second before ripping him forward, closing the distance as the man’s eyes widened with terror under his glare. “Who. hurt. her?” he snarled, the words barely audible as rage coiled in his blood. The man gulped. “I do not know, sir. She… my sweet daughter would not speak his name. She said it had been three years, and she hadn’t a chance with the respectable man. She proclaimed herself foolish, her heart worse so, and refused to sully my view of her with the man’s name. That is all she spoke, sir. I would not force it out of her.” “Three years?” “Y-yes, sir.” “Respectable man?” Richard’s hand hardened further as his muscles locked up. “Yes, sir. Most— Most respectable, according to her. Out of… reach, sir. She is but the youngest daughter of an earl, so the man must—” he struggled for a breath “—be highly placed… within s-society.” The earl drew another harsh breath, nearly wheezing as the cravat tightened around his throat.

A moment passed with Richard and your father locked in their position. Richard’s brain strained with a cascade of memories as he sought any hints of who the wretched man could be. She belongs to me. None other. There shall be no other. None shall distress my little wisp, make her flee her home, make her suffer for three— “Three years…” he murmured under his breath as the grip of the earl’s cravat loosened and the man stumbled backwards, rubbing at his freed throat. “A respectable man, out of her reach, who suddenly is to be married…” he continued as your face filled his head.

Every longer gaze he’d felt, every second he had admired you from afar in secret, and every time he had greeted you when attending the same events of higher society, without so much as a touch ever occurring between him and you. He was mesmerised by you, as if you had performed a fairy dance, wanting and yearning, yet never had he felt the desperation to take what he wanted so deeply before. Now, another man had claimed his wisp’s heart and driven you away. He would not stand for it.

“My dear (Y/n)…” the earl began as Richard’s rage and possessive nature grew to a storm of bound wrath. “She is my jewel, a most sweet and demure girl, not a fancy or a flirt. I have never seen her in distress, sir. And speaking of it here, with you, Judge Turpin, I must confess myself uncomfortable, sir.” Richard knew the man could not dismiss him, he would not be dismissed — not even from another’s property. “You shall procure me the address of—” “Father!” came a warm female voice. “Colonel Moore has written to us!” it continued from another room within the house, annoyingly flimsy in tone.

They all quieted as steps echoed from within the house. “Oh, wonderful news, Father! The dear Colonel will arrive at Aunt Mary’s home late afternoon, the day after tomorrow! What a pleasant detour before he arrives here as planned. That will surely make her happy—” the steps grew louder as your sister entered the hallway with the letter fixed in her gaze “—she so adores Colonel Moore, Fa—” Her sentence was cut as she raised her gaze.

Richard glared at her, his harsh face tightened as he contained the need to bark at the young woman whose husband now joined up behind her, both finding themselves in his steely glare. “J-Judge Turpin,” they echoed as she curtsied and he bowed deeply. “Who is Colonel Moore?” he asked in a mix of a drawl and a snarl between nearly closed lips. “A family friend, sir,” said the earl carefully. “He has been a companion most welcome for many years. Quite the esteemed gentleman, and a good fortune with proper family ties, sir. He visited more frequently before he became engaged; he is to marry this spring,” he continued with a respectful lowering of his head.

Richard’s chest tightened, his pulse roared, and the idiocy of the family before him, not understanding this Colonel Moore was obviously the reason you were so distraught, darkened his gaze. The chill of the December air that had been flowing into the house through the open door held little to the coldness he was consumed by in that moment. You, his little wisp of dreams and haunting yearnings, were soon to be faced with the very man who had claimed your heart and then crushed it. Wisp of mine… Yes. Mine.

“Judge Turpin?” asked your father, his voice unsure as he took half a step back and bumped into the quivering maid. Richard’s eyes snapped to him. “You simpletons.” Callousness dripped from his voice as he gripped the spool of thread in his pocket. “Three years. Esteemed gentleman. Out of her reach. To. be. married.” He contained his wrath with no more than a clawed grasp. Your own family had not noticed your pain, your wish or desire, and he knew well enough you would never raise that melodious voice of yours so subdued and softly spoken to reveal your torment. He did not know enough of you or all he wished to know, but he knew you sufficiently to understand that.

He turned to glare at the empty road before his eyes turned upwards, toward the darkening sky. His mouth turned into a mere line. There is indeed a higher power on my side, bringing me a just cause to call upon her in her hour of need. “I shall take you, and shield you from the evils of the world, little wisp,” he declared under his breath, not loud enough for another soul to hear but for the universe to know.

Your father spluttered. “Surely, you cannot mean my dear girl has had desires for Colonel Moore, sir? He is nearly your age, sir. Not as esteemed, but far above her humble standing in high society, despite my title, my Lord,” he said, seemingly shamed by the very words coming from his mouth as Richard spun on his heel to face the man once more. “A heart holds no restrictions of society or propriety,” Richard drawled harshly, turning to leave. “A match such as that, surely, would please you, Earl.” “Y-yes, sir. No, sir. I mean— Yes, I wish the best for all my children, but one must be reasonable, my Lord,” your father called after Richard as he marched out of the open gates. “And my dear girl would not be parted from me if not for a proper marriage, sir. A proper marriage, with a man who would care for her gentle soul and demure nature, my Lord!” he continued calling out as Richard had begun a rapid march toward his house, fuming and raging on the inside as the world within his vision narrowed to the path before him. You care enough for your daughter to wish her well, yet you do not care enough to remove her from torment. I shall. Without hesitation.

Within minutes, he had returned home, gathered a satchel and exchanged his outer garments for ones meant for riding in colder temperatures. Petunia asked questions he paid no mind to, the housekeeper said not a word as he barked orders at her to ready his horse — swiftly. It was all a rush, a quick succession of events, and then he galloped off down the slippery cobblestone street with darkness creeping in over the December sky. Little wisp, he thought while urging the horse on. I shall retrieve you, and damn you to a life by my side. For he was a possessive man, and you had become the object of his desire, which he had fought so vigorously — to hell with propriety and gentlemanly conduct. You are mine, (Y/n). No Colonel, Earl, or rule shall save you from your fate. You are noticed, little wisp, and now… you shall only be noticed… as mine.

The horse neighed as the city turned to snow-covered fields. An eternity of English country lay between him and his deepest want — but there would be no amount of it enough to deter him. The spool of thread now lay in his breast pocket, pressing against his middle ribs, and there it would remain until the moment he could return it to you and, in the process, take those soft-looking hands in his. Forever. No amount of pretty women could ever tempt him, no silhouette of curves was ever perfect enough to be kept, no flower-picking girl was ever magical enough in the wonder of early summer sunshine — yet you had captivated him so, with a mere curtsey and look. He rode the horse harder into the night as your quiet existence suffocated his thoughts so cruelly perfectly with your soft countenance in the deepest of contrast to his own.

⩤• YOU •⩥

For the first time in five days, you woke up decently rested and comfortable. Four nights had been spent in inns and other lodgings while travelling the eighty-five miles needed by carriage to arrive at your Aunt’s in Fareham, Hampshire. It was a beautiful house, on the smaller side compared to what you were used to, but wonderful.

Walking up to the window, while fastening your robe, you peered out at the wonderland of snow as dawn spread its light over the meadows and forests beyond. Being on the outskirts of town, with plenty of farmland belonging to your aunt and uncle, the views were arresting and smile-inducing. If only for a short moment, before life returned as sleep left you completely, and the reason for your rapt departure from the dark and cramped London rose from its slumber.

You sank into the chair by the little vanity, its built-in mirror reflected the tiredness and pain right back at you. There was no escape. Your heart twisted and throbbed behind your ribs as the mirror seemed to contort itself to flash the image of the man your heart so foolishly desired, with the woman so perfectly matched to him on his arm. You averted your gaze, feeling the hotness of tears threatening behind your stinging eyes. “Forget it. Cast him from your mind and heart, right this instant.” But you had told yourself so before, many times. It made no difference.

Dressed comfortably, in a narrower but still warm dress, you left the guest room and moved down the slim stairs of creaking wood. Finding your aunt already whisking away in the kitchen, you entered quietly. “Oh, Y/n, goodness, you’re as quiet as a mouse, my dear,” she said with a warm smile. “Come, come, let us sort some breakfast for you.” “Thank you, Aunt Mary.” She patted your shoulder as you sat. “You are more than welcome here, my dear. You seem in desperate need of a reprieve. Look at the state of your gentle face. Oh, my sweet child, whatever have they been putting you through, hm?” She tilted your head from one side to the other, peering at you with the warmth of a mother and the honesty of a friend.

You did adore your aunt and uncle, but the journey was long, and the times you managed to spend with them were far apart. It had been nearly two years since your last visit, and it hurt a bit within your chest now that you had returned and saw the changes in their ageing faces and bodies — their life was much more of a burden than that of your father’s.

“I am well, Aunt Mary,” you said gently. “I am treated well by Father and the others.” “Then explain the state of you, child. Your father merely mentioned you would be coming in haste, no word of a reason when it is Christmas time and the roads are in horrible condition with the snow and ice.” She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. “Come on, tell me what has happened.” You lowered your gaze to the empty plate before you. “I… fell in love. Or, perhaps love is not the right word for it. Perhaps, infatuation would be more suitable. Or, even, obsession…” “But my dear, that is wonderful news. Who is the incredibly lucky fellow who’s captured—” You looked up, the sting returning to your eyes. “He is far beyond my demure reach, a most respected and, in most senses of the word, untouchable gentleman of the highest standing.” I haven’t the faintest of chances, and I was aware of it from the start. It is hopeless…

Aunt Mary stared at you, her head tilted forward as if peering from under her brows, and her mouth thinned while puckering slightly — obviously displeased by your words. “My dear, you are a fine catch. Any fellow should be happy to garner such a rare thing as your affection. Is he not all there in the head?” she asked, softening and warming with some layer of pity. “Oh, no, no, Aunt Mary. He is quite smart, quite calculating, I believe, and most certainly of high calibre in terms of academics. He holds quite a position, and is highly esteemed in society. Feared, even, to some degree... But I do not hold such feelings about him.” “Oh, then by the heavens, what is holding you parted from him? He sounds quite astonishing.” “Yes… and I am not.” Your words were whispered, heat crept along your neck and warmed the tips of your ears, just as whatever your aunt had on the stove bubbled over and she gushed while rushing over — effectively ending the conversation.

⩤•⫘•⩥

The house was cold, despite the roaring fire in the main living area and several candles scattered about the rooms that were in frequent use; you were bitterly cold. Perhaps, possibly, it was more something to be owed to your insides rather than the chilly temperature of the room in the cottage-like house. Still, you huddled up under a blanket with your large dress, adding further warmth to your legs.

A rapped knocking came from the door. Your aunt looked up from her embroidery. “Who could that be at this hour?” she asked none in particular as she rose and abandoned the needle. Your eyes remained fixed on the spools of thread, reminding you so rudely of why you were sitting in your aunt’s cosy house, with an ache in your chest no amount of rubbing could alleviate.

You had not burdened your aunt or uncle further with the matter, of course. You had helped dress the house in garlands, had stocked firewood despite your uncle’s protests of the heavy weight of carrying it from the outer barn, and you had cooked while smiling softly — as you most often did. Your aunt’s words of the country air doing you good still echoed in your head, where they clashed with the torrent of suffocated hurt and broken dreams — no matter how hopeless they had been from the start, they had been whole.

“(Y/n)! Look who’s here for a visit!” called Aunt Mary from the hallway, and you rose, folding the blanket swiftly before moving toward the door. “Coming, Aunt Mary,” you called quietly while walking on, only to inhale sharply at the sight of Colonel Moore relinquishing his thick coat to the coat hanger. “Colonel!” you said with a gentle smile, now a bit wider and more genuine. He clicked his heels with a warm grin and bowed with a hint of amusement. “My Lady, the one and only Miss (Y/n), I was unaware of your staying here. I’m pleasantly surprised, my dear.” “Oh, sir, you’re too kind.” You laughed a bit under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Aunt Mary urged Colonel Moore to step further into the cottage while you waited for him to answer. “I was on business in Somerset,” he said. “I am to return to London for further delegation, but of course I must pay a visit on the way, I would not be a gentleman otherwise, don’t you agree, miss (Y/n)?” he said as you all moved toward the dining area. You walked off toward the kitchen to start the kettle while answering. “Quite right, sir. What good fortune we did not miss each other’s paths, I only just arrived last night.” “Oh, yes, why are you here, miss? Ought you not to be with your father for Christmas?”

Warmth crept up your throat, shame warmed your blood, as you had been weak and fled the place so detrimental to your heart. “I was in need of a reprieve from the dark city, sir. I shall remain here until summer returns, helping my dear aunt and uncle as best I can.” “What a kind soul you are, miss. I have never been so at ease as I am in your company, Miss (Y/n).” “Oh, Colonel, I’m worthy of no such high regard in your eyes. I am no more kind than any other.” Colonel Moore leaned back in his chair, smiling warmly, with the dark but greying curls around his quite conventionally attractive face bouncing. “Such a sentiment is exactly why you are more kind than most. And soft, demure, you are quite the little mouse, miss. You shall make for a great wife to a lucky fellow one day, I dare say.”

Your heart stuttered, and your hand twisted the knitted oven mitt in your hand where you stood by the heating kettle atop the wood-burning stove. “Colonel,” you said quietly, averting your gaze and turning while pretending to tend to the kettle. “I do not believe I shall ever marry, I have no such wish.” “Oh, come now, (Y/n),” your aunt piped up. “You have such wishes and desires, but they are merely placed where they cannot be granted, according to you. Oh, our little mouse is such a bashful little woman with no power to her, Colonel. Won’t you speak some sense of her more than perfectly lovely person, so she may gather the courage to speak of who this mystery man of astounding and respectable placing is, hm?” Aunt Mary said with a chipper tone and inquisitive eyes, from what you could tell as you glanced at her over your stiff shoulder. “I know my place and worth in society, Aunt Mary…” Colonel Moore slapped his thighs. “Then you must know that any man would be lucky to place a ring upon your finger and hold your quiet but deep affections,” he said with a too loud and happy voice that contrasted so greatly with the heavy pain within you.

You turned after a moment. “He is to be married, it is too late,” you said quietly, lifting the kettle off the stove. “Even if that were not the case, such a man would not spare me a glance. He has not all these years. It is merely my foolish heart needing to overcome…” You turned quiet and focused on pouring the hot water in the teacups, speaking of your feelings felt too private, and they were not meant for others to hear, when they were never meant to become something more than an errant dream without the slightest bit of hope attached.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: Oh my word… I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS TO PLAY OUT! Honestly, I’m giddy with excitement over these two and how they are going to make this work - like, we’re in a world of chaos here between the misinformed rumours, the false beliefs, the misinterpeted information and now we have so many ppl involved AND HE’S ON HIS WAY THERE!? LIKE?! GAAAAAH.

Erh, well, as you can tell, I’m loving these two and, erm, I hope you are invested in this story as well? 👀

NEXT PART>

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He whipped his head about to move the long strands of hair from his face, hugging himself as the wind tore at his sweater and the chill of winter ate at his thin teenage body, littered with secrets if anyone ever came close enough to see. He was scrawny, lanky, and there was nothing on him to keep him from experiencing the cold biting through the thin layers covering him now that his thrice-gifted and once donated coat kept the chill away from your raised shoulders as he watched you hurry toward the grand carriage drawn by six white pegasus. You were far beyond his reach in every way, yet you had been by his side even when he did not deserve it, when all others kept a distance, and when all others removed themselves.

Still, he smiled gently to himself while his heart experienced a warmth that no wind of December could chase away, even if he knew his coat would be lost until your return from the Christmas holiday. “She will find me then,” he murmured, no matter how silly it made him feel when his voice still squeaked from time to time. But for three years now, he had grown fond of you — nearly liking you, even? I do like her. I like her quite a bit…

⩤• YOU - December 1999 •⩥

The shopping street was full of people, all flying about in a rush to get their Christmas shopping sorted. It wasn’t odd, given it was the first Saturday of December and life seemed to be in a rush to have a grand Christmas, given the last few years hadn’t been either joyous or warm. Last Christmas had been better than the previous two, obviously, but still not good. This year, you were determined to make it all three things. You’d been safe enough back in Sweden, yet something had persistently tugged inside of you to return to England, to Haywood House on Rosing Road in Hartland. You had known of it for many years now, but the courage to return hadn’t taken hold until January, when Yvonne brought it up yet again, as the darkness and danger were no longer so long after the war. This time, she’d asked to come with you until you had settled in, too. Yvonne had stayed for three months, and in that time, you and Maria had become good friends and close neighbours — even if it was a good walk between your estates.

You shook your head, returning to the thought’s of what a wonderful Christmas you’d make for yourself and the servants. There was just one issue with that. You couldn’t quite remember what a good, joyous, or warm Christmas felt like. What it entailed, or what was needed, or what actually made it into a wonderful Christmas.

There was something in the back of your head, though. A sensation wrapped in a red scarf, with an oversized coat skimming your legs, and a dark figure in the background looming tall in hazy lantern light — but you still had no idea what that sensation was or where the weird memory that felt more like an imagined dream came from. It was the last you had. After it, there was just nothing but strawberry red snow in a haze of fluttering snowflakes and terror so shattering thre were no words for it.

“Y/n! Look here!” called Maria, who had agreed to come with you to Diagon Alley — you knew you ought to know the street, but you couldn’t remember ever having been there despite there being photos of it at home. “I adore these!” Maria called further as you moved toward the vendor. “Oh, they’re lovely,” you said, seeing snowglobes in all the colours of the rainbow with all the statues imaginable within. “That one is cute, I love the snowman.” You leaned closer as a snowball flew again within the globe, pushing the cute snowman’s head to the ground before he grabbed it and put it back with a grin of teeny-tiny coal-like stones, and then it happened all over again while you giggled and Maria called you morbid.

“I’ll take this one,” you announced to the vendor after a minute. “There’s so many cute ones, why d’you have to go for the weird one?” Maria asked while you handed over the money and received the snowglobe in a little bag of cotton. You shrugged. “I guess I like weird things, the oddball, the strange one. I don’t know.” “Honestly, you’re such a strange sort of sunshine person. I swear, if you’d have to choose between a bat and a cat to cuddle, you’d take the bat and dress it in a Santa hat.” You laughed loudly. “A cat would never let me put a Santa hat on it, so that’s an easy choice,” you said, letting her hook arms with you. “You’re my friend, so you obviously like weird things too.” “Seriously, I adore you, but I worry,” she snickered. “As any good friend ought to,” you replied while grabbing her arm tighter as both of you laughed and the strange pull in your chest remained as the hazy memory of a dark, tall figure shrouded in swirling snow through low lantern light offered a warmth you weren’t sure of.

⩤• SEVERUS •⩥

A familiar sound so awfully beautiful made his ears ring as his body froze, his hand a mere wand’s width from the door’s handle. He turned around, and there you go, smiling and chatting while swallowed in a coat so large — as if life had done you no harm when it stole his only warmth as it had taken you without so much as a whisper to comfort his broken heart through the dark years.

His eyes followed you through the pack of people, you moved closer and closer, not a hint of any damage being done to you at all, while he moved stiffly and spoke roughly now. Your face wore a sparkling smile, just how he remembered you, and there was nothing with your appearance he could find any fault with. Some part of his cold heart eased at that; something unbearable he’d hidden away since the day you didn’t return.

A searing torment took its place now. You were alright, you were well and happy, and he was ever grateful while his heart broke all over again as you were swallowed up by the rushing crowd. He stood frozen far too long, loosing sight of you long before he realised. Before he could take a deep enough breath to stifle the tremors in his heart, you were once more gone.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: CHRISTMAS IS SUPPOSED TO BE CUDDLY, FLUFFY, AND WARM, PLEX!

Yeah, well, not around here. *insert Sid meme of “they do this every year”* Yes, yes I do 😂👌

We have some secret trauma to unpack, some pain to reveal, and some horrors to overcome in this story - but we’ll get there, a few tears lighter perhaps, but whole and smiling in the end 🙈 I seriously cannot write anything while this song is on without it turning painful and drenched in a sense of loss… Let’s hope the next one will be the turning point for our long-lost lovers 😭

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Watching the lovingly happy couples, well, it was a sour but comforting distraction. No such happiness of love was for you to obtain. Not in this life. This life, your heart was dedicated to one not meant for you. One that did not even spare you so much as a glance beyond the very first meeting when you fell so helplessly, even if your eyes constantly sought him in any and all situations. How silly I am. You adjusted your hands before you, squeezing your fingers together while covered in gloves of leather that creaked ever so slightly. I shall have no such joy. It is not for me, it appears.

You marched on, steadfast in your stride, with the thick winter dress and cloak keeping you warm even as the winds picked up the closer to home you came. A smile tugged on your lips as you imagined him walking beside you, offering his arm as any gentleman would — but there would be no smile or softness accompanying the gesture. No, oh no. The man you dreamt of was not soft, nor was he kind. He was not what other girls wished for. Not the prince charming atop a white steed galloping over meadows, nor the grand knight slaying dragons to save their princess — those were dreams you ought to have had, even if the latter would always be mere fantasy, but metaphorically correct, one could say.

“He would be the evil king,” you whispered to yourself. “The wicked ruler set to dominate with an iron fist and unyielding power in his rule.” It was not a match to your appearance, your timid nature and quietly soft countenance. Yet, despite all things speaking against it, your heart had decided nearly three years ago. That early spring evening, when he attended Lady Canter’s grand birthday celebration, you had fallen helplessly for the one man none would ever hold the hand of. So they said. And now, he is to be married…

A snivel escaped you, and you wiped your nose before forcing a soft smile to grace your lips as you moved up the steps to your father’s second home, a townhouse in south central London not far from the man you secretly coveted. Knowing he will have love, that is all that matters, surely. I had not the slightest hope from the very start either way. Father may be an Earl, but no man such as Judge and Lord Turpin would spare me a glance as the third daughter and fifth child. You chuckled without mirth. Silly heart, why would you do such a foolish thing as fall for such a man… Not that it mattered, you were of no consequence and nor would you ever be. You were to be a flower upon the wall, a quiet shadow, an unproblematic daughter to be married off when convenient — or of gain — for your family.

Stepping inside, the maid welcomed you kindly, but that was the only interaction with any human for the rest of the evening. As usual. You spent your time reading, writing, and drawing — only stepping out of your room for supper and an evening bath before slipping into bed with silent tears sliding down your cheeks. He will be loved. That is all that matters. But your heart had other ideas, and despite being utterly silent in your pain, you could not stop the tears.

⩤•⫘•⩥

Your heart picked up. The basket atop your stiff arm rested against your midsection. The world spun on, moving at lightning speed for a moment, it seemed. Your breath took up lodging in your throat, nearly suffocatingly so. Judge Turpin…

He marched along the sidewalk, all passing gave a wide berth for him — the sea of people simply parted, yet you remained rooted to the spot as he moved ever closer. His stoic face spared not a glance to either woman or man. His black tophat sat firmly, and the grand coat of red velvet with black decorative stitching flapped around his marching legs. But that was not what had your heart in an uproar.

On his arm, clutching it gently, was the most striking woman dressed in matching colours. Her head was held high, her back straight, and there was not an ounce of gentleness to her beautifully carved features. A perfect match… And, the opposite… of you. The basket fell from your arm as it slid down in a numb state. The strings and rolls of thread you had procured were scattered all over the cobblestone with trodden snow and dirt as a shattering sensation crackled within you.

You drew a ragged breath as several eyes turned to you, even the steely glare of the great judge spared a rare glance. The second his eyes connected with yours, you bowed your head and crouched in a rush. You grabbed at the strings, reached for every spool of thread, and threw it into the basket as hot tears burned behind your eyes. You could not cry in public.

You scrambled forward, reaching for the last spool, when a large glove-clad hand got to it first. Your head jerked up, seeing the great judge crouched before you with the thread in his hand and the woman standing tall behind him — disinterest covered her features for the second you spared it a look.

“J-Judge Turpin, s-sir,” you managed to force out meekly. “I-I— Sir, I apologise,” you continued as his eyes never left yours, and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to draw another breath. You had never been so close to the man, never had his eyes locked on you or afforded you even a longer glance until that earth-toppling moment with. “You ought to take care,” he drawled slowly, the depth of his voice wreaking havoc on your senses as warmth burned your cheeks and neck. “You are invisible to others, Miss Y/l/n. Meek, quiet… subdued. Someone less aware could trip on your bent form.” Your head dipped, your eyes closed for a second at the scorching words in the voice of perfection currently shaming you for your true nature. “I apologise, sir… I did n-not mean to be an inconvenience for the great lord and judge, sir.”

He straightened, peering down at you along his regal nose with the smaller eyes — harsh as grey ice — captivating you effortlessly. “A woman, such as you, could never inconvenience a man such as I, miss.” The burn in your chest grew too fierce. “Sir,” you whispered while a silenced cry clogged your throat, and the tears that had burned behind your eyes were let loose despite your protest and quietness. You straightened, forced to offer your respects with a nod and curtsy despite the state of you.

Rising, your teeth grasp your bottom lip painfully before you gave the grand and harsh man of your dreams a final, lost look, just as the unbothered woman wrapped herself around his lowered arm. You rushed from the scene while swiping at your cheeks, barely able to keep from running. Your trembling shoulders and withheld snivels urged you on, and you did not dare look over your shoulder at the perfectly matched couple while your heart splintered into pieces like cracking ice under a great ship.

Once you were out of sight of the judge, you bolted like a startled deer. The basket thudded against your thigh, and your breathing turned ragged between quiet snivels as you stubbed your toes on the uneven ground while endeavouring to remain upright. Your free hand clutched at your chest, feeling the thousands of needles stabbing at your uselessly captured heart. You had never felt such horrid pain in your life, and with the sound of choir-singing floating through the air and entwining itself with the roar of your soul, it became a carol of the fates haunting your every step while it sealed itself further. You were destined for less, much less than the great Judge Turpin — if only my heart could understand. Oh, how the fates have doomed me.

Your home was in sight, and you ran faster on tired legs with twisting, trapping fabric, burdening your muscles further. The cobblestone, covered in snow, granted no aid in your wish to move quickly. The world was too big, the air too thick, the sounds too many, and all you wished to do was hide. To hide, to disappear, to be gone. There was nowhere on earth you wished to be as little as London. I must leave, I must. My heart cannot take another look at the man. I cannot do this anymore. For three years, I have suffered, and now, the one solace of his never taking a wife has been stolen and trampled to death. And I am selfish in my feelings of disdain for the beauty on his arm.

You burst through the door, discarding your basket on the floor in your rush to bolt upstairs, to your room, where you slammed the door and jerked open the wardrobe. You threw your suitcase on the perfectly made bed and began tossing clothes into it. You grabbed blindly, your view obscured by tears and your fingers numb to the feel of the fabrics. “I must away, I must, I must leave. I must leave,” you panted as the world narrowed and all you could see was his steely eyes as his scorching, marking, ripping words of how he viewed you tore your insides to ribbons.

Throwing your nightgown into the suitcase, you slammed it shut, pressing down atop it to close it fully before strapping the buckle tightly. You swiped at your cheeks with the back of your trembling hand, everything was hazy and out of focus, but you couldn’t think about anything but him and the horrid pain. “If I had but stayed at home that night…” Your words were soft and low, a broken laugh leaving your lips the next moment as you grabbed the suitcase and began hauling it down the stairs.

“Father!” you called as you dunked it down by the door, reaching for your thickest winter cloak. “Father!” you shouted louder with a strange flatness to your otherwise melodious voice. “Y/n, my dear, what are you shouting at me for?” your father asked as he appeared from the parlour with a half-finished letter in his hand and a halfway frustrated look. “I must leave, Father. I must away from this wretched place. I cannot remain here any longer,” you said, harsh in words but still the soft-spoken woman you had always been despite your clogged throat. “He is to—” you snivelled “—to be married. My heart cannot— It cannot take it,” you cried, unable to stop the lowering of your head in shame. “He? My girl, who are you speaking of? Is there a man you so desire?” he asked, surprise and confusion in his voice, with a smidge of excitement you could not bear to hear. “Oh, Father, I am a foolish girl with an even more foolish heart. I had never a chance at him, hence I have not said a word about it.”

Your father looked at you, seemingly at a loss for how to comfort his usually demure and simple daughter, who never caused a fuss and always knew her place. “Very well, I shall write to your aunt. You shall go there until summer is upon us once more, and then you return. I shall find a suitable husband for you to remove these feelings so unbecoming of a young lady like yourself. But, tell me, my dear, who has caught your heart so fiercely and for how long?”

You felt the colour drain from your face. You could never admit to your foolishness, your silly heart’s desire, your irrevocably tormented mind’s deepest wish. “You would not understand,” you whispered. “I have held this most foolish desire for three years, and I am ashamed of it, deeply so. Not for him, as he is so grand and most respected in society, but for the stupidity of it, Father. Please, do not force me to sully my name in your mind with the foolish desire of my errant heart. Please,” you quietly begged, stumbling over your words and breathing harshly while your chest seemed to cave in on itself, and a thickness lingered in your mouth in the most foul of manners. Concern was written across your father’s face. “Very well, my dear. Very well.”

You grabbed your suitcase and opened the door. “I shall write when I arrive,” you said while the tears kept marking your cheeks in streaks. “I shall send word immediately, my dear.” In that moment, you thanked heaven for how your father had always been an understanding man, an agreeable man, and a father who never tormented his children with his own wants and wishes before theirs if it could be helped. I have never demanded anything, never denied him, either. Perhaps I have been a good enough daughter through the years to have earned this one reprieve. But to take someone else as a husband— The very thought of your father marrying you off to another had bile cinching the back of your thickened tongue.

Hurrying down the few steps of stone, you pushed open the gate before looking down the street for a carriage to take you to the edge of London, where you would rent a travel coach to your Aunt’s, situated in the town of Fareham, in Hampshire. It was close to four days in a carriage, two and a half for the greatest riders on durable horses. It was far enough to completely sever you from London, and by heaven, you were desperate to escape.

You waved down a passing carriage, asking the coachman if he would kindly take you to the travel coaches. He sneered at first, your tears and snivelling not making for a good impression, it seemed. But he agreed and loaded your trunk on the back of the carriage before he helped you inside and closed the door. As the carriage set off, you broke down crying with the perfect couple at the forefront of your mind and your shattered heart in stabbing pieces, tearing at your insides in a most tormenting fashion — unbecoming to let loose when not in complete solitude. You had no control over it in that moment, though. It hurt.

⩤• TURPIN •⩥

“Richard, won’t you come sit by the fire?” Petunia asked, already seated in the parlour by the angry flames while he stood by the window, watching the world pass beyond the glass. “Cousin, I do not require your company, nor your presence in my home.” Petunia harrumphed. “Well, I am to remain here until my husband arrives for me. It gives me no pleasure being in your dreary house. You need a wife, Richard. One who will brighten up the place with some colour, preferably one you do not frighten half to death by merely breathing.”

He clenched his jaw, stroking the spool of thread in his hand that the most perfect little creature he’d ever had the misfortune of meeting dropped no more than a couple of hours ago. Little Miss Y/l/n, always the quiet and subdued one, a little wisp of softness nearly invisible to all. None notices you, little wisp.

But he had. Three years ago. Oh, had he noticed the sweet little creature so demure and quiet, he had barely heard the detrimental words slip past your lips all that time ago. You addressed me so utterly gently, quietly, with such wide eyes and softness to the shimmer within them… He could not stop the memory from erupting fully. Remembering how you so elegantly curtsied, how your neck had been visible from the deep lowering, and how you had been the only one who dared hold his gaze for more than what was deemed respectful. Yes, little wisp. You may not know it, but you are… certainly, noticed…

TO BE CONTINUED

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: WAAAAAH! Oh my lord- well, yes, this lor din particular, GAAAH I’M SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Seriously, the pairings and stories my silly little brain is coming up with this years is making me feel something extra right now. Life has been so hard, and I’m going to obviously torment the characters for a while, but this is like the best sort of sensation when we know HEA is a guarantee (as if I’m not the one writing all these fics, I mean, ofc I know it’ll end well, but like, yeah, you know what I mean! 😂) Oh my gosh, I can’t wait to continue this story - are you excited for more, too? 🥰✨

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You looked up at the man as he walked next to you along the snow-covered gravel path leading from the forest in the north toward your aunt’s home. The sun peeked through the heavy clouds for a moment, and the smiling man kept talking of potential men who could have captured your heart as the cottage came into view. You hadn’t the courage to ask him to stop, despite the pain slicing within you at each man mentioned that only reminded you of how unattainable Judge Turpin was — none of the men mentioned came close to his standing, his conduct, his place in the world. He is not even an option in outlandishly frivolous jester, in suggestions meant to be taken in the greatest humour…

“…but of course, there is dear old Bartimus Cornwell. Perhaps that old crook has captured your attention?” he said with mischief in his eyes and a humorous sound to his voice, making it all too obvious he, once more, jested about the old banker with love only for hard currency. You chuckled quietly at the absurdity. “Colonel, you’re not being fair,” you said as he laughed loudly and freely. “Toying with me in such a manner, you indecent man,” you continued in an attempt to jest through the hurt.

At times, you wished to be more free-spirited, to be a bit open and take more space in the world, but it was not meant to be so. If I had been louder, more visible, would it have given me the opportunity to— No… do not go there, as it is silly, no matter my personality. I am no match for him. “Miss (Y/n)? All well?” You nodded with a soft smile as he peered at you with his words pausing. “Well, I shall make it my mission to hear you laugh once more before I shall away.” “You’re leaving already, sir?” He nodded with the ever-fixed smile he seemed to be accustomed to wearing. “My bride awaits in London, and from there we shall away to Cambridge after the new year arrives.” “Cambridge?” You both stopped walking, facing each other as you held your hands clasped before you, looking up at the colonel. “That is a long journey, sir. I shall miss your company. We have seen little of you these past years.” “Dear Miss (Y/n), ever so kind and gentle in your requests. I shall miss the entirety of your family, perhaps not so much that ever-nosey sister of yours—” he winked cheekily “—but I shall always remember our times fondly, as how I used to spin you about when you were but a child. How you’ve grown…”

You looked at each other for a moment, the memory of him hoisting you high by your waist, only to spin you as if on a joyous ride, was a fond one for you as well. It had been many years, and you were no longer a lithe little girl to be flung here and there so easily. “For old time’s sake,” Colonel Moore chuckled, and before you had time to react, he had grasped your waist, wrapped in layers upon layers of fabric, and lifted you with a jolt only to spin you around in circles.

You laughed in a giggle, your hands landing atop his narrow shoulders with your gloves and his thick coat separating the two of you. “Louder, miss,” he beckoned as your feet nearly spun straight out and the world flung in a haze around you of whites and greys.

He laughed, and you gave off a giggling squeal as his fingers pressed on ticklish spots along your lower ribs. “Colonel!” you called out in a quite loud voice, for being you, buried in giggles and a fondness only childhood memories could produce. “We shall fall!” you continued as the spinning grew rapid and you both moved over the road in the throes of it.

⩤• TURPIN •⩥

Snow sprayed under the horse’s hooves as the sky darkened, threatening to release a fresh wave of snow as the afternoon came. The cottage appeared on his right side, and he slid the horse to a harsh halt. A glorious sound rang through the air when he made to dismount. His head jerked to the side, and the wind tossed the loose strands of his hair not held by the tophat.

His heart close to halted in its rushed stampede from the hard riding as your smiling face captured him in flicks of time. You were being spun in the air by another man, looking up at you with a blinding smile and fondness. “Wisp,” Richard snarled in a harsh exhale, the depth of his voice mingling with the sudden squeal you let out.

His breath faltered, his aching muscles stiffened, and there was not enough snow during a hundred winters to compete with the chill stiffening his fingers around the reins as that possessive wrath only you could produce grasped his aching limbs. “Colonel!” you called out, and never had he heard your voice so loud or clear. “We shall fall!”

The man spun you faster, and Richard’s molars ground harshly while he threw himself off the horse with a quick swing of his leg before his feet hit the ground with a thud. Remove your filthy paws of wickedness from her. He marched forward, each step a battle not to run, to not give in to a chase of the demure creature he witnessed in the throes of giggles and smiles for the first time in history.

Richard’s jaw clenched anew. He stopped as the two of you spun in revolting closeness. “Release her,” he demanded, the depth of his voice carrying it far despite the low tone. “Colonel!” you shrieked as the man locked eyes with Richard for a second and lost his damn senses, stumbling and losing his hold of the most precious being in the whole of the wretched world.

You fell with a gasp. Richard’s heart spiked. He shot forward, reaching out rapidly. “Offh—” You exhaled at the impact as he grabbed you, pulling you close with unmasked force.

His eyes locked with yours as you half lay in his arms with one of your gentle hands just barely pressed against his thundering chest. Your lips were slightly parted, hard breaths slipped past, which he could not escape noticing. You were the perfect weight in his arms, the perfect shape for them to hold, and your alarmed eyes halted any capability of movement when his insides hardened by restraint — the very same restraint he had tasked himself to exert each day since the first he held your gaze for that one too long moment.

You gulped, removing your hand from his chest in haste and fisting it against your own in that soft manner of yours. How he wondered if those hands would be as soft if placed upon his burning, naked flesh in another setting.

“My-, my Lord,” you whispered, breath stuttering and eyes lowering despite his errant wish for them to forever hold his gaze unwaveringly — without fear. “Miss (Y/l/n),” he drawled through nearly closed lips, feeling you tense in his arms as he began to straighten the two of you. He held no desire to release you, no wish to allow the world to encroach upon your body with an ice storm of air filling the space between his and your body. Yet, once he was certain you stood steadily upon the snow-covered little road, he coerced his muscles to yield in their strained stiffness and release you.

He watched you, from perfectly held shoulders in their subdued eloquence to clutched hands tightly bound with locked fingers clad in leather gloves before you, and there was not a sight of the ever-changing world capable of outshining the beauty he witnessed in that moment. He was certain of that. No amount of future change or glorious history would ever be in competition for his gaze, and that made life unbearable at times — even one such as him, who was cold at heart, sought beauty in the world, and you had stolen the few glories he had thought himself to be the witness of previously by comparison.

Three crunching steps filled the air. “I believe introductions are in order,” the man said, speaking in a stiff yet warm tone Richard had no wish to ever hear again. You touched her so freely. “Oh—” you looked back at the man “—yes, of course, Colonel,” you said, and his spine stiffened at the way you looked up at the man, not far from his age, yet there were no similarities in appearance. No matter your heart’s desire, little wisp, I will not yield in this endeavour of mine. You shall be mine. I shall shield you from the wicked ways of the world… and the men within it… with myself between you and all of it. I will teach you, little wisp.

“Judge Turpin—” you began, but had no time to say anything further. The colonel stiffened visibly, clicking his heels together and bowing his head. “Judge Turpin,” he echoed. “No introduction necessary, I am aware of your legendary court,” he continued with a colder voice, infected by the very noise of fear-laced respect Richard was all too accustomed to now. You never speak with such a sound in your voice. His eyes remained locked on you as you looked back at him, those eyes of seductive submission and quiet beauty brutalised his insides with warmth.

Once more, your eyes held his for a moment too long. “Judge Turpin, s-sir, this is Colonel—” “Moore,” he said lowly. “I am aware of this man.” His jaw clenched, remembering the very reason you had fled London and what the man had caused you to feel — and yet, I find you in his arms, smiling, giggling, laughing… “I am honoured,” he interrupted, and Richard’s gaze slowly moved to the man standing tall a step behind you as he raised his head the little amount needed from your eye level, to the colonel’s, while he at all times peered down.

Silence stretched for a moment as Richard kept his anger from uprooting him. “You ought… not, be...” The darkness slithering up through his throat, making the words harsh beyond necessary as Colonel Moore paled, was not held back. “You take such liberties, Colonel.” Such… unwelcome, despicable, liberties… His mouth thinned to a mere line, and there was no want as deep in that moment as the one to move you physically behind him and sever all possibilities of the lousy colonel viewing you. You were to be for his eyes, and his eyes only. Wisp of mine. Mine, and mine alone. I shall see to that.

⩤• YOU •⩥

The world stood still. Your blood roared in your ears as your heart danced and crumbled at the very same time. You were but a step from the man you had fled London to escape, but a little tiny step from the man who had you in such a vice grip there was no telling if your soul would ever be for another, a mere step from the man you would have given all to be held by — now that his arms had held you tightly, even if only in an attempt to save you from falling, you knew there were no other arms you would ever be prevailed upon to be held by. There was none other. Only him. Only the man who glared with steel for eyes and spoke with the might of a king seeking to lay his desire and wrath upon the world without a care for another. “Liberties? My Lord, I would do no such thing,” the colonel said, but you did not look away from Judge Turpin — who’s glare was now directed at the other man present. “Are you not, do tell, to be wed this very spring, Colonel?” Judge Turpin intoned with severity, and it scratched exquisitely at the back of your head in a manner it ought not. "Certainly, my Lord. I am to marry the most wonderful woman I have ever—” “Silence.” The word was brutal. “You dare speak of another in such a manner before Miss (Y/n)?”

Your eyes moved between the two men as your heart tore in two — one part of it overjoyed with the underlying message of such words being that of care for you, and the other completely shattered at the truth of it never being so. My silly heart, why were you so foolish as to fall for such a man…

“Miss (Y/n)?” Colonel Moore asked, breaking the silence. “Are you—” The colonel turned silent, his sentence interrupted. “You, Colonel,” Judge Turpin began while you staved off your tears, “are a wretched man. A smear upon the world. Men such as yourself, wicked and tainted with deceit, blemish this world. Colonel.” “Judge Turpin,” Moore said, his voice low and restrained, but you did not miss the vibration of fear underneath it, you knew the colonel too well. “What have I done to cause such animosity, sir?” he continued as you prayed for the earth to swallow you whole, to bury your pain and want in the dirt beneath the ice and snow where it would cause no more harm to your heart or soul.

The judge took half a step forward, making him stand right by your side, giving you his profile, and with the mere tilting of your head, you could see his features set in restrained anger. He was powerful, harsh, gloriously so — a stark contrast to your countenance, and it only made the ache penetrate you further. You ought to have stood up for the colonel, ought to have stopped the exchange of words, ought to have spoken up or stepped forth, yet you did none of it. You hadn’t the courage or the right of mind to think of it in that painful moment, bringing forth all the years of torment certain distance and heartbreak created.

“You dare look upon her, when creating such a state as this?” Judge Turpin snarled, and it broke the trance his profile had you in while his hand moved outward to indicate your stiffened body and now trembling shoulders. Confusion swept through you, and then a pain so vile and cruel took over — he does not even know it is him… I have so little worth, he does not even consider that he created… Of course not. Of course not. Of course… not… And none other had ever seen it either, so why, by heaven and earth, had you still had a final shard of miserable hope he was aware of it?

Looking to your right, you saw the colonel stare at you. His eyes sought and appeared to find what they hunted for. A breath lodged in your throat, dread crept from your toes to the tips of your ears — freezing your body but not your pounding heart. “Do not, colonel, please, do not,” you whispered as all colour drained from his face, and he took half a step back as if utterly shocked. Revolted, even.

“So this is your heart’s foolish desire?” the colonel asked you directly, disbelief and breathlessness to his voice. “Miss (Y/n), I never could have imagined… I named so many, yet this is— I am at a loss, miss…” His voice no longer held such a friendly tone, a drip of disgust lingered within it even as his eyes glanced at the man your heart so erratically longed for, and it appeared the colonel knew you too well in turn, too. Please, do not speak it out loud; do not further my torment with acknowledgement. I can still hide from it before him.

The judge let out a hissed breath. “You lay such blame upon her?” he said callously, as if the colonel himself were at fault for the sickness within your heart’s depths that no cure would ever be found for. You knew that now, with the unobtainable man standing tall and rigid before you. “I lay no blame upon her, sir.” He lowered his head. “I feel only sorrow, for Miss (Y/n), and fright. A delicate, and demure woman such as her… to think…” He shook his head in disbelief so grim you had never thought the colonel able to display.

“Colonel, please,” you said softly, nearly suffocating on the ever-growing lump in your throat with the burn of unshed tears stinging behind your eyes. “A marriage is to ensue; I am aware of my doom. I am a coward,” you said gently, a small smile of misery stretching your lips. “I fled London to escape, and yet, my doom seems to have followed me.” Why are you even here? Your eyes flickered to the judge, who still glared at Colonel Moore without sparing you a single glance. I am not worthy, and I am too aware of it for my heart to behave so errantly…

“You deserve more,” Colonel Moore said quietly, that fright and sorrow so evident when you knew his voice in detail.

“Yet I am less,” you replied, quickly wiping away the tear which fought itself free. “I shall not take liberties of a confession where there is no leniency for such a declaration, Colonel. I know my station.” You fought your body’s wish to bend, to fall to your knees and cradle your hands toward your chest to protect the sensitive heart hidden behind your ribs. But it would not have yielded any relief or protection. “Your station…” Colonel Moore said with a dry breath as you lowered your gaze to the snow. “Always so demure, so quiet, so unassuming and soft, Miss (Y/n). I could not have guessed had we had an endless amount of time for it.” You drew a shaken breath. “Thus proving my foolishness, Colonel.”

“Enough.” Judge Turpin stepped forth, grabbing your upper arm with his left hand before pushing you behind his back, making you gasp at the intensity shooting through you upon the decisive contact. “You speak… as if you hold no blame,” he continued in a voice so cold it made you shiver, and his hand stiffened where it still held your arm — your skin burned beneath the layers of fabric while a plea to feel those large hands without any barrier ravaged your insides without your allowance. “Me? I hold no blame in this, Judge Turpin,” Colonel Moore said, taking a quick step back. “I would not be so calloused as to break a gentle heart such as hers so coldly.” “Liar.”

You bit down on your lip, feeling the ruthless strength of the judge through the unyielding grip he now possessed of your arm, and there was no escaping the view of him a mere inch from his broad back, dressed in the darkest of black only deepened by the now falling snow landing and entwining with the fibres of the fabric. The power of his hold clashed with the softness of your own stance, even when stiffened by heartbreak, you trembled with yearning so deep it had your arm hanging in his grip.

You could not focus on the words being spoken between the men when he touched you. The swell of warmth from his moving of your body — as if placing you behind him would protect you from some unseen harm — fought the agony of the closeness he had placed you within. You stood, by his choice, within his personal space where you had seen but one other person be allowed. Do not think of her, the perfection of her on his arm, do not think of it.

“I do not possess the power or equal standing to speak my mind or accuse so freely, Your Lordship,” Colonel Moore said stiffly as tension seemed to taint the very air. “I am not the one responsible for her doom, sir. I would not wish her fate upon any man or woman, to have a heart possessed by a man such as you, it is a sentence as cruel as those you are infamous for.” His words turned into a ringing in your ears as the truth was revealed.

The world stood still. Judge Turpin’s grip turned bruising before loosening to the near loss of it. Your mind screamed for an end to your torment far louder than the thudding steps of Colonel Moore leaving, blocking the sound of everything but your rampaging pulse. “Me?” he said so quietly that, had it not been for the immense depth of his brutal voice, it would have been an impossibility for the word to be heard. “Me?” His hand slid down your arm until it was lost and hung by his side while you barely remained standing. The ground swayed beneath your numbing feet. “End this suffering, please,” you whispered, your voice clogged by an unspoken cry situated so deep within your chest that there was no chance of it gaining breath.

TO BE CONTINUED

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A/N: OH MY GOSH - IT'S HAPPENING!!!!!

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