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fenrir-ate-the-cat-jily · 20 days

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The Queen of the Quills - Jily Edition (part 3)

Posting on Tumblr too because this fic's sister is already there.

Reading The Queen of the Quills - Blackinnon Edition will not be mandatory to understand the developments of James and Lily's story, but some details could be shared, therefore, for anyone wishing to fully enjoy the experience, I will leave a small index.

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 1

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 2

Jily Edition - Chapter 1

Blackinnon Edition - Chapter 3

Jily Edition - Chapter 2

This was @athenasparrow's gift for @jilymicrofics ' Exchange 2024, but if you like it and are willingly to reblog, it would be super appreciated since stories like this require quite some time and effort🥰

Plot: James Potter, London's most evasive bachelor, an impertinent libertine, has decided to get married. He has also already chosen his wife, the debutante Lily Evans, a self-confident young woman who has not the slightest intention of being seduced by such a man.A Bridgerton inspired Regency AU.

Words: 5316

At Tuesday night's ball, Mr. Potter was seen dancing with more than one marriageable young lady. Such behaviour can only be described as disconcerting, as Potter typically avoids witches on the marriage mart with impressive perseverance, frustrating all mothers with marital aspirations for their daughters.

The Queen of the Quills, May 5, 1813

By eleven o’clock, all of Lily’s fears became true. James Potter had asked her to dance, and worse, her mother had practically forced her to accept by digging her nails into the strip of skin that the short sleeve of the dress and her right glove left exposed.

“Can you stop, please?” she hissed.

“To do what?” her chaperone asked, feigning innocence.

“To look at me as if you were planning the wedding breakfast!” Lily blurted out, trying to keep the panic in her voice at bay.

The older woman blushed faintly, guilt colouring her cheeks.

“It would be a superb match, and maybe he could even help Petunia.”

Lily had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming that nothing would manage to get her Muggle sister a wizard husband. Nobody, or almost nobody, in the Wizarding World was willing to abandon the comforts that always carrying a wand entailed only for a woman they barely knew. Exceptions existed, of course, but Petunia wasn’t interested in a specific suitor beside Mr. Potter himself, and only because he was unattainable, rather in the aura of mystery revolving around what nature had forbidden her but granted to her sister.

“Did you listen to me yesterday morning, in the living room?” she asked, even though the answer was obviously a no, as she wasn’t doing it now, her eyes glued to the man she wanted as a son-in-law. Lily had to admit that Mr Potter was irritatingly handsome in black rather than the bright colours that were in fashion. He seemed, at least on the surface, to be everything one could want in a husband, with burnished velvet eyes that matches his hair perfectly and classically magnificent lips, but he gave the impression of being incapable of smiling, and if Lily had been shorter, like the girl he was swaying with on the dancefloor, she would’ve considered him too tall.

“His mother is absolutely lovely,” Elizabeth mused, but Lily, who struggled to understand where this was going, didn’t dignify her with an answer.

“I can hardly believe such a gracious and intelligent lady could have raised a son that turned out to be less than the best of gentleman, regardless of his reputation,” she explained, as if it was obvious and not twisted at all. “Now, why don’t you come with me to say hello to Mr. Black? His cousin introduced us over tea and I’m sure you’ll find him absolutely charming.”

Before Lily could protest, her mother was dragging her towards a young man with long black hair, angular features, and hazy grey eyes. When he took her hand, he brushed his lips on her knuckles so lightly that Lily suspected he hadn’t kissed them at all, but that unpleasantness aside, she found his sarcasm rather refreshing.

They went to the lemonade stand, obviously with her mother’s approval, and talked mostly about their respective families, namely what it was like to have a sister who hadn’t attended Hogwarts and couldn’t know most of the things that filled her adolescence, and how he had to endure the endless stories of his cousin’s wedding, which he was unable to be present at because he was in Africa.

“Did you return because you had other ceremonies to turn up to?” Lily asked, immediately hiding behind her glass. Her conversational skills were getting worse every day, but Londoners didn’t seem to notice, or at least had the decency to not treat her like a simpleton.

“I didn’t, although I fear it will soon become part of my duties,” he replied vaguely, but before Lily could investigate further, the previous song ended abruptly and out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Mr. Potter as he handed his partner over to what must’ve been her mother. He approached them at a brisk pace, as if he couldn’t wait to reach her, and even if she already suspected it, Lily realized with dismay that she couldn’t escape her promise. After all, Mr. Potter was the only heir to an ancient family, while she was a nobody from Somerset, and they were in the middle of a crowded ballroom, hardly the place where she wanted to be caught making a scene. It didn’t matter that she thought he was hateful, or that his manners were too direct, cold, and contemptuous, she had to dance with him and refrain from stepping on his feet on purpose, though just the sound of his voice annoyed her.

“We don’t have to converse,” she replied, to whatever question she’d just been asked, but instead of the grudge she hoped to elicit, she got a completely unexpected reaction. Without missing a step, James Potter leaned his head back and laughed loudly, attracting the attention of the nearest couples.

“You hurt me, Miss Evans,” he murmured finally, but his intense gaze still remained delighted.

“I made you thicker skinned,” Lily commented, before she could connect her brain to her tongue. Her sentence implied that she had thought about him before, but above all that she thought of him as tough, which wasn’t true.

“I'm more sensitive than you think,” he replied, and despite her efforts, Lily felt the corners of her mouth rise in a shy smile that froze in place when he insisted on an answer to his question. He wanted to know why she hated him, and Lily choose her words with great care.

“I don’t,” she retorted. “I don’t even know you.”

“Knowledge is rarely a requirement for hatred,” he told her softly, his eyes trained on her steadily. “Come on, you don’t seem like a coward. Humour me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she finally admitted. “I just don’t like you.”

Something in his gaze told her he appreciated the sincerity, but he still wanted a reason.

“If you want me to be frank, then I’ll be, but don’t be offended afterwards, and don’t try to undermine my chances to have decent suitors only because you can’t take a no for an answer,” was her terse premise, and she didn't even wait for him to nod or tell her that in that case he'd rather not hear her thoughts before continuing. “I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would seriously commit to marriage, and I don’t have time to waste, so I’m not interested.”

“Are you calling yourself an expert on men, and on husbands in particular?” Mr. Potter asked, and if Lily wasn’t already mortified enough by his words, and didn’t care about ruining any chance Petunia had of making her selfish dream come true, she would’ve slapped him.

“You know well that I’m not,” she croaked, but immediately regretted it, because her manner seemed to amuse her interlocutor exceedingly.

“I think,” he went on, “that you found it easy to keep most of the men who came to your door at bay, but I fear you made a grave mistake in thinking you could do the same with me.”

Lily’s lips were set in a grim, straight line, but she succeeded in saying she didn’t seek to manage him, only to keep him at a safe distance. She knew of women with uptight morals who hadn’t been able to resist to seduction, and she certainly didn’t intend to ruin herself for a bespectacled rake.

“Which just goes to show, Miss Evans, how very little you know of men. At least of the rakish, roguish variety,” he whispered, leaning in so close she could feel his hot breath against her cheek.

The sensation made her shiver, and he smiled wickedly.

“There is little we relish more than a challenge, and you, Miss Evans, issued me the sweetest one I’ve ever encountered,” he murmured in her ear when the music drew to a close.

It was too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom, being insulted and belittled… Even if she promised herself she wouldn’t do it, she stepped on his foot, hard enough to make him let out a small, decidedly unrakish, unroguish squeak.

When he glared at her, she shrugged: “I’m afraid, Mr Potter, that you need thicker boots.”

His grasp tightened on her arm, and Lily held her breath.

“Before I return you to the sanctuary of the chaperones and spinsters, there is one thing we need to make clear: I’m going to court you, and should I decide that you will make a suitable Mrs. Potter, I will make you my wife.”

Lily whipped her head up to face him, fire flashing in her eyes: “Is it a threat?”

He looked down at her with the confidence of a male who is never crossed.

“A promise, Miss Evans, just a promise.”

-----------------------------------------------

The next afternoon was like any following a major ball. The Evans’ drawing room was filled to bursting with bouquets, each one accompanied by a crisp white card bearing the name Lily Evans. A simple Miss Evans would’ve sufficed, but James supposed one couldn’t really fault a wizard for wanting to make certain the flowers went to the correct sister. Not that anyone was likely to make a mistake on that measure. Floral arrangements from members of the Wizarding society generally went to Lily. In fact, there was nothing general about it; every bouquet that had arrived at the Evans residence in the last month had gone to her, according to the insight their butler gave to James when he asked. One thing that many of his peers underestimated was the amount of information that can be gained in the Muggle world through money. Changing a couple of sikles for a few shillings was the first step to reaching secrets the households in which Muggleborns lived hid behind a veil of stubborn ignorance from the outsiders.

It didn’t take James long to understand why Lily hadn’t attended all the social events of the season: they conflicted with the schedule of Muggle parties her sister deemed of interest, usually held on Mondays or Wednesdays. Petunia had little suitors even in that marriage mart, but the eldest Evans certainly had a better chance of marrying a Muggle than a wizard, hence the Muggle maids and butler. To those accustomed to the sight of them, house elves were beings like any other, but to those who didn’t even know the existence of magic, they would’ve appeared like freak shows covered in rags, certainly not what a gentleman visiting a possible wife would expect from her respectable family.

It must’ve been complex for Mrs. Evans, who was a widower, to lead that double life. With Lily out of the game, she could’ve left all the weirdness of the Wizarding World behind, but for now, she had to adapt, behave around witches as if she understood all their references and show pride in her daughter’s powers. Maybe she actually was happy about her peculiarity he was used to see as the norm, and the strained expression he had caught the previous night was just the manifestation of a certain tiredness. If her daughter behaved as the Incomparable of the season should, James could’ve relieved everyone of that burden, and Mrs. Evans would’ve finally been able to focus more on the daughter who most required her attention and needed her help.

Why Lily didn’t see how pragmatically convenient their union would be for her too left him astonished. James was good-looking, intelligent, had a large house in a safe neighbourhood, perfect for raising a family, and would’ve never stopped his wife from working if she had wanted to. From what Remus had told him, Miss Evans had all the potential to become the next Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, once Mrs. McGonagall retired, or she could take Slughorn’s place, even if the rumours cited Severus Snape as his possible successor. James barely remembered the guy, only how he saved his life from a bad decision Sirius made when he was at his lowest. He should have let him die, since he had turned out to be a first-class racist, and was now associating with people like Bellatrix Black and Lucius Malfoy, people who called Muggleborn scum, Mudblood, and every other insult they heard in their childhood from their hateful parents.

“I like to think I have the last laugh,” said a female voice, starling him. “Most of the flowers make Lily sneeze, so they tend to end up in my chamber anyway.”

Petunia Evans wasn’t a bad girl. Unremarkable, sure, but not ugly. Her bearing was excellent, and both her body and her face were well proportioned. She moved gracefully, and from what James knew she was well-versed in topics and pastimes of Muggle interest, but something about her expression, the way she approached the flowers intended for her sister, made him uneasy. She exuded envy, and seemed capable of unspeakable malice.

“Don’t worry,” she added, when it became clear that James had no intention of answering her. “Roses don’t bother her, although I’m sure she’ll consider the choice trivial. Nice colour, though, a symbol of admiration.”

“I don’t think your presence here without a chaperone is wise,” James commented, studying how the grimace she made as she read one of the notes intended for Lily crumpled her features.

“No one would bat an eye if something happened with one of you,” she replied, nonchalantly tossing the white card to the ground. “You could make me forget, and who knows, maybe you could do something to make it appear like it never happened.”

James shuddered at the idea. She wasn’t wrong, he knew of witches who had pretended to be chaste in order to get a worthy match despite indulging in carnal pleasures over and over again, but they were a minority, and it wasn’t difficult to discern who was capable of doing so with a quick judgment of character. Of course, if Petunia hadn’t been Muggle, she would’ve been part of the lot, and maybe dealt with love potions and similar concoctions as well. James made a mental note never to accept anything to drink or eat offered by the eldest Miss Evans, as a precaution.

“What are you doing here?” asked another female voice, younger and way angrier. In his entire life, James had never been so grateful for an abrupt interruption, or to know that the woman he wanted to take as his wife didn’t consider him a suitable suitor. Obviously, after the ball, he had contemplated the possibility of turning his attentions elsewhere, towards the second, or the third, since Marlene was undoubtedly the second and he had no intention of marrying his dearest friend and depriving her of the love she inexplicably wanted to find, most beautiful lady of the season, but the poor girl lacked brains, and the further he got from the imaginary podium, the worse the situation got. If James Potter intended to marry within the year, and that was exactly his aim, it could only be with the Miss Evans who was currently glaring at him.

“I believe it’s customary for suitors to call upon young women, or did I misplaced my etiquette book?” he asked, a brow raised above the frame of his glasses and the bouquet still safely tucked under his arm.

“I meant,” Lily growled, “how did you get in?”

“The usual manner,” he answered, cocking his head toward the hall. “I knocked on your front door and, amazingly enough, the same butler who alerted you of my presence, opened. Then I gave him my card, he took a look at it, and showed me to the drawing room. Much as I’d like to claim some sort of devious, underhanded subterfuge, it was actually quite aboveboard and straight forward.”

“Infernal butler,” she muttered, and James had to stifle a laugh with a cough. “He’s supposed to see if we’re at home before showing you in.”

“Maybe he had previous instructions that you would be for me,” he suggested.

“I gave him no such instructions,” she bristled.

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” James said with a chuckle.

“I did,” Petunia admitted, but before Lily could lunge at her, probably to pelt her with one of the lovely flower arrangements awaiting her attention on the table, the eldest darted away like lightning, leaving them alone, except for the valet waiting in the antechamber. For James it was like seeing an excerpt of his childhood again, of those stolen moments with the younger members of other families that made him ardently desire to have a brother of his own.

“I'm sorry,” Lily sighed in the end, surrendering to the inevitable obviousness that she should converse with him, if only to keep up appearances and not offend an important member of the Wizarding ton. “We usually act like civilized people, but the mere mention of your name goes to her head.”

“Do you mention me often?” James asked, amazed.

Lily simply rolled her eyes and indicated with a wave of her gloveless hand one of the two sofas furthest from the flowers. As soon as they were out of sight of their chaperone, the stout figure of the footman peered out of the open door, maintaining a polite distance, which would give them the opportunity to speak more freely than they would have done in the presence of Mrs. Evans.

“Is that a musical instrument?” he queried, picking up a long black case off the sofa.

“A flute,” Lily confirmed. “Petunia is taking lessons and why shouldn’t I join in?”

Something told James that she wasn't too happy about having to waste time blowing into something she could make sound perfect with a simple spell, but he didn't want to push it, so he decided to change topic, asking her if she had a chance to befriend the other debutantes.

“I've known some of them since Hogwarts, but even there Londoners tended to keep to their own business, and the few country witches I was close to have already found suitors at home,” she replied, with that honesty that distinguished her and James appreciated immensely.

“One of my dearest friends should be your age,” he added, when silence fell. “I think you could get along.”

“And why do you think so, Mr. Potter?” she asked inquisitively, leading James to wonder if whatever he said would inevitably lead to an argument.

“Because she’s clever, and funny, and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind seeing a friendly face that doesn’t have sideburns,” he replied, finally making his interlocutor smile. “Besides, I’m afraid you have a common enemy.”

“You, Mr. Potter?” she inquired.

“Mr. Pettigrew,” he corrected, glancing sideways at the table with the flowers. He had recognized his schoolmate’s bad taste as soon as he walked through the door, his suspicions reconfirmed by the unmistakable childish handwriting on the decidedly exaggerated note. The fact he even got the recipient wrong, Miss Lily Evan instead of Evans, annoyed him beyond comprehension.

“The man has more hair than wit, a great lot more,” she hissed between her teeth, making James choke on his own saliva. The lad was going bald, but he supposed it was Miss Evans’ way to prove her point.

“Isn’t it considered bad form to insult a suitor?” he questioned. “Not that I blame you, Marlene discouraged him in every way and he keeps trying to call on her. He’s a nice enough fellow, I’ll grant you that, but not someone you’d want to build a boat were you stranded on a desert island.”

Something in James’ words seemed to prompt a strange reaction in Lily, who leaned towards one of the tables to grab a fan she began to wave insistently in front of her face.

“Are you feeling alright? Should I open a window?” he demanded, but she barked she was fine and tried to resume their conversation when a small commotion broke out in the garden – a few decidedly canine woofs followed by a high-pitched shriek. Lily rested her forehead against her fan, as if she was about to have a terrible headache, while James rushed over to see what was happening, only to catch Mrs. Evans trying to ward off a dog that looked too familiar to be confused with a common animal.

“Padfoot?” he yelled from the window, halting the butler who was rushing forward, ready to hit his best friend with a parasol, and attracting the black deerhound’s attention.

“Mr Potter!” Lily’s mother exclaimed, a hint of relief in her voice tense with fear. “Is this your dog?”

It took James less than a second to decide that this would be the perfect opportunity to embarrass, in a totally innocent but undoubtedly funny way, Sirius, so he confirmed, stating he must’ve followed him from home.

“If I’m not overstepping your kindness, could you lend me a leash?” he asked, flashing one of his dazzling smiles. “He’s very fond of me, and he’s a really good boy, but as you may have noticed, not too obedient, and I’m afraid his size might upset passers-by if we go back to my residence with him free to roam wherever he wants.”

“That’s not a dog,” Lily commented, her voice so unexpectedly close she startled him. She must’ve been used to be sneaky to eavesdrop on other people’s conversation, for he hadn’t even noticed she had gotten up from the sofa, much less that their faces were little more than a foot apart.

“And what would that be, then?” he asked, feigning an offense he didn’t really feel. It would’ve been suspicious if he hadn’t been hurt by her words, if that had really been his beloved dog, but in reality he knew well that Sirius’ animal form was quite disturbing for anyone who hadn’t grown up with him.

“It looks like the representation of the Grim in the Divination book,” she replied, her expression innocent and alit with a twinkle James had never seen in her.

“Would you like to meet him, Miss Evans?” James asked, but without offering his arm, as they were in her residence and she wasn’t even wearing gloves. He would’ve liked to rest his hands on hers though, feel if they were as soft as they seemed. They had to be, without a doubt.

“If it’s not too much trouble…” she began, but James didn’t give her too much time to reign her curiosity and led the way outside, where Padfoot was seated happily in the middle of the garden, shedding on the blue-and-white flowers as he grinned up at Lily.

“I think he likes you,” James said, trying to hide the accusation in his tone. Whatever Sirius was doing, it pointed straight to a disaster.

“And he likes you too, Mrs. Evans,” he added, always the gentleman, but Lily’s mother didn’t seem happy at the thought.

“I’m afraid my mother is too polite to say she’s scared of dogs,” Lily intervened, removing the older lady from an embarrassing predicament and at the same time earning herself a dirty look that smacked of a lecture.

“I understand… But I have a little secret to share with you, Mrs. Evans, to keep them out of your way: animals sense fear, and if they’re as affable as this good boy here,” he explained, patting Padfoot between his pointed ears, “they regard your diffidence as something of a challenge. So, when they see you, they simply want to prove they’re friendly and maybe snatch a snack.”

“You are very wise, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, my daughter Petunia shares this foolish fear with me, but Lily loves animals!” she exclaimed, approaching her youngest and being careful not to attract too much attention from what she couldn’t have known was an Animagus.

“Quite a coincidence, then, that Padfoot followed me here. If it pleases you, Miss Evans, we could continue out conversation while we walk through the park, if your mother agrees,” he proposed, making Mrs. Evans eyes light up with joy. Fortunately, she had the good sense to refrain from showing it too much, although she agreed and ordered her daughter to put on her gloves before she could utter a word.

“Wear proper walking shoes too!” she shouted after her, and James saw the thin shoulders of the retreating figure stiffen, as if her intent had been precisely to quickly end their promenade with the excuse of sore feet.

In the meantime, a well-made leash arrived, and Jamed had to invent a poignant story to justify to Mrs. Evans why his dog had followed him there, so far from home.

“We found him when he was just a puppy. I was still in school, so I was away for considerable periods of time, but he bonded with me, and for a while, I insisted in bringing him wherever I went,” he explained, while trying to enjoy the displeased expression on his friend’s canine muzzle.

“You must’ve had a wonderful time at Hogwarts,” the woman commented, but there was a hint of something that James couldn’t recognize in her voice, as if she feared that just mentioning the wizarding school might elicit some adverse reaction. It had to do with her Muggle daughter, he was nearly sure, but maybe she felt like she lacked with the other one; after all, from what he had heard, it wasn’t customary among the Muggles to let young girls travel so far from home, and although the dormitories were divided, everyone took the same courses at Hogwarts, and there was an equal number of male and female teachers too.

“Unforgettable,” he agreed. “The friendships established at such a young age by staying together for so long are almost indestructible, and growing up so close with one’s peers makes even the less fortunate feel not so much alone.”

“If only there had been a similar place for my Petunia…” the woman began, but the conversation never came to an end, as Lily had returned, a sun hat firmly anchored in her hairstyle and short, day gloves to cover her delicate hands.

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Evans, changing her tone so suddenly James wondered how often she hid from one or the other of her daughters the burden that dividing between them brought upon her.

“I guess you want one of your footmen to chaperone us,” James said, as if it were a matter of fact, but the woman waved a hand the same way he’d seen Lily do, and the topic was closed. In fact, although the most bigoted among the wizards still disliked to see young men waking without a chaperone in the company of unmarried women, society was making a rapid progress in eliminating those obsolete preconceptions, and as long as they didn’t enter any infamous lane, there shouldn’t have been any problem.

However, James was keen to point out, as they turned down Milner Street, how much Mrs Evans seemed to value his honour and gentlemanly ways.

“Because she doesn’t know you,” her daughter, who for a few minutes now seemed to have bitterly regretted her choice of wanting to see the dog who had followed him to her front door, quickly replied. On his part, the Animagus in question was strangely well behaved and walked in front of them in a perfect straight line, the leather of the leash tight enough to prevent them from lingering too long, as if it had a goal, or was afraid that if James had too much air in his lungs he might say something he might regret.

“Should we cross over to Rotten Row?” he asked to his companion, but she was rather distracted, her face tipped up to the sun, basking in its warmth, and for one extremely disconcerting moment, James felt a sharp stab of something, a feeling rather different from the lust he was used to.

“Did you say something?” she murmured afterwards, and he cleared his throat soundly, taking sharp breaths in hope they would dispel the sentimental fog from his mind. A big error, he would soon discover, since the only thing he got was an intoxicating whiff of her scent, an odd combination of exotic lilies and sensible soap.

“You seem to be enjoying the sun,” he said, making her smile and turn to him with a clear-eyed gaze.

“I know that’s not what you said in the first place, but yes, I am. It’s been so dreadfully rainy of late.”

“I though young ladies weren’t supposed to let sun on their faces, especially those as fair skinned as you,” he teased, but she shrugged, looking only the slightest bit sheepish as she replied he was right, but it still felt heavenly.

“I do wish I could remove my bonnet,” she added, wistfully.

James nodded his agreement, feeling much the same way about his hat.

“You could probably push it back just a bit without anyone noticing,” he suggested.

“Do you think?” she queried, her entire face lit up at the prospect, and that strange stab pierced his gut again.

“Of course,” he murmured, reaching up to adjust the rim of the bizarre confection, all ribbons and lace, tied in such a way no reasonable man could ever make sense of, least of all fix it without brushing the temple of the lady who was wearing it. Lily held still, but when they accidentally touched, the breath got caught in her throat and she leaned slightly closer, making him feel the heat of her body. He probably was about to do something very stupid when Padfoot let out a loud stream of barks and yanked hard on the lead, jerking James away.

Lily watched with amusement as the dog barrelled forward, moving with even more speed than she probably would’ve ever guessed his long legs could manage. James made a valiant attempt to keep his grip on the leash, but his friend was now barking like mad and running with equal vigour, making it fly out of his grasp and prompting a shriek from Lily, who dashed forward to follow him, despite he clearly wasn’t intent on being caught.

With a weary sigh, and cursing Sirius under his breath, he began to run after her trying to keep a shred of decorum, which she wasn’t interested in, since she kept the hem of her dress way above her ankles, her socks – and calves – in full display.

“Where did he go?” he asked, once he reached her at a crossroad, hands on her hips as she scanned her surroundings.

“I don’t know, it’s your dog!” she exclaimed. “Though he’s maybe after a rabbit, which will make everything easier, since it’s known they always stick to well-trod paths.”

James scowled at her sarcasm, but before he could reproach her, or say they should stop their chasing since Padfoot knew the way home rather well, a shriek very similar to the one he elicited in Mrs. Evans came from their right, and Lily resumed her run, cutting right across the grass toward Rotten Row, the ton’s favourite spot for a stroll. Everyone was going to see them act rather undignified, and he told himself he must really want to marry this girl is he was up to be seen dashing through the park after a hoydenish Miss racing as if someone had set fire to her shoes.

When he reached the grass again, he stumbled for a second, and had to pause to take a few deep breaths before horror dawned on him. They were near the Serpentine, and there was little this specific dog liked better than to jump in a lake, taking as many people with him as he could.

#more regency jily!!!#fenrir fic rec

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