#regency madness

A Fainting Spell

Lily was not a clutz. She wasn’t. But tonight, she might have had one sip of wine too many, too little to eat and she might have tired herself out just a tad too much with all her evasive moves, in order to stay out of the greasy palms of a certain Mr Snape.

Whatever the reason, the fact was, she tripped while slowly tip-toeing behind Lord Potter to reach the door of the library.

As she fell to the ground she could hear a loud tearing sound. Her dress was ruined, and for a moment she was melancholic as if she’d lost a dear friend instead of a well made piece of cloth. Then all thoughts of her most precious garment being lost vanished, in favour of trying to break her fall. She could hardly manage that, she landed loudly on the floor, and she knew, to her utmost embarrassment, she was most definitely discovered.

“Who... What... Oh, Miss Evans,” the voice of Lord Potter sounded shocked, “What are you doing here? Are you alright? Please let me assist…”

She groaned and carefully pushed her hands off of the ground in order to sit up.

“Please, let me…” she heard him say, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

It was only then that Lily noticed her dress was ripped at a very inconvenient spot, the gash in the fabric exposing her left leg almost from her hip to her ankle.

A loud thump followed the silence, the sound came from the large body of Lord Potter crashing toward the ground. She reacted on instinct, stretching out her hands to break his fall, his bouncy curls falling into her lap, as his torso effectively pinned her on the ground where she lay. She couldn’t manage more than a muffled cry…

What on earth had happened? Was he… she couldn’t fathom the idea of the lively Lord Potter so still and white.

Had he died? Her fingers stroked lips that still felt warm, she waited to feel his breath, it warmed her skin, then she laid her hand on his neck where she could feel a pulse beat steady but slow.

She released a relieved breath, he was alive, thank goodness.

To Seduce

Lily slowly stood and held her breath, surely he must have heard the rushing sound of her dress. Perhaps not, for though she imagined his shoulders tensing, he did not look up.  She would only have to step to the door, just eleven steps or so, and then she’d be free. Free of doing the wrong thing. Free of trapping a man who did not deserve to be trapped. She exhaled slowly. 

His hair was the colour of obsidian stone, and inexplicably, she stepped toward the fire, toward the chair instead of taking a more direct route to the door.  What would it be like to touch it? To run her hands through it? She scolded herself and looked away, taking another step to the door.

Something about Lord Potter sitting in front of the fire was off. What was it that had Lord Potter so downcast? She could not imagine something that would subdue his spirits, he was always a lively presence, perhaps rather loud and boastful on occasion, perhaps one could say he was proud too, but she’d not seen him like this. It astounded her.  The sense that the man was troubled, pulled at her heartstrings, would she be able to help him? To alleviate some of what was clearly pressing on his conscience? 

“I’m sorry, my Lord Potter?” she spoke the words without thinking, “I do not wish to be impertinent, but it seems you are troubled. Is there nothing I can do to help?”