March 30th, 1891 — Minister's Avenue, Wellingtonshire, Hogsmeade

He was feeling elated, bolder than he'd ever felt, prepared to take on the entire world. He checked his watch knowing he'd find it to be well before Miss Lestrange was due to arrive but he was drowning in impatience. This was the day, the day he set in stone the series of events that would lead to Miss Lestrange becoming Mrs. Macmillan and in time the mother of his sons. The sun was shining, the house was immaculate, and Miss Lestrange had somehow grown even more beautiful since he'd last set eyes upon her.

This is the way Charles wished I was starting this thread, but alas, Charles is a jackass and doesn't deserve to be rewarded for starting illegal duels and being too pigheaded to insist on using a weapon he's actually comfortable with. However not all of it was inaccurate. The house was indeed immaculate - he'd planned on having it presentable by the 27th - and the sun was most definitely shining although it was more of a discomfort than anything else in the state he was in. He wasn't supposed to be standing up at all but he'd demanded to be given whatever it took to get him through at least the afternoon functioning as close to normal as possible. He'd refused the most effective potions for pain relief because he was told the side effects would likely impair his mental faculties to some degree. As it was the pain relieving potion he'd taken was very affective, he barely noticed the pain unless he moved too much. He'd also taken something to improve his appearance - make him look less sallow and strung out but there was only so much magic could do about it when he'd already felt exhausted upon waking that morning and he was suffering from a gunshot wound. He looked normal enough but noticeably peaky, but no more so than he might if he'd been working overtime for several days which was precisely what he planned to say if Miss Lestrange asked. Fortunately Macnair hadn't shot him anywhere too noticeable, he could totally get away with this.

Technically he'd lost the duel and shouldn't be anywhere near Miss Lestrange but he hadn't counted on losing at all and damn it he was certain Macnair had cheated! If Macnair couldn't win honorably then Charles wouldn't lose honorably.

"Good day, Miss Lestrange." Charles' voice sounded a hint strained perhaps but otherwise gave no indication that he'd been shot in the stomach earlier. He usually felt a plethora of emotions when he saw her for the first time - desire, admiration, a certain smugness, possessiveness, satisfaction. Right now his chief emotion was relief, followed by diluted quantities of the aforementioned. He raised his arm delicately from his side to extend out for her to take. They were stood on the pavement right in front of his new house, the house he'd bought with her in mind as its mistress. Although he'd been taken in by the street name, the house itself was perfectly large and as smart as any Wellingtonshire home, although it could be a little further away from Bartonburg.

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His pulse quickened at her words which he rather wished it wouldn't, he had an idea that the faster his heartbeat the more he might be likely to bleed through his bandages. On account of what he had planned, on account of where they were, Tatiana seemed wholly appropriate. He held his breath tightly for a moment as she accepted the arm he'd offered; it had just occurred to him that she might accidentally brush against his wound, but then he remember it was the other side of his stomach and he breathed a mental sigh of relief. The movement and shift in weight, however, did make it twinge a little.

"What do you think of it?" he asked, referring to the townhouse they were stood directly in front of.

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Of course she'd realized it wasn't just a random house belonging to someone else, it was not only obvious but she'd never given him reason to think her dimwitted. "Well then." Charles began to guide her towards the front steps, taking them a little slower than he ordinarily would as he had to brace himself for impact with every movement of his left leg in particular.

It felt like scaling a mountain although it was only three steps. If it had been a great many more he suspected he might have broken a sweat which would've been mortifying beyond belief. At some point he wanted to show her the upper floors of the house and although the main staircase was a generous thing with easy, gradual steps there were a great many more of them.

He'd left the door unlocked and was quite glad of it - he hadn't moved staff in yet and he was quite sure he would have fumbled with the key. "Here we are then." He gritted his teeth so he didn't wince as he opened the door. He had to turn away from her to shut it behind them and it was then he stole his opportunity to cringe in pain. He'd have used his wand for such things but he'd seen for himself that he had a subtle tremor that was made quite obvious when he held his wand. "You'll have to forgive the state of it," the 'state' of it being minimally furnished, "it's had a deep clean, fresh paint, and some of the furnishings have been installed, but what it really needs is..." He looked to her with certainty that she knew what he was about to say. "A feminine touch."

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In truth his first thought had been his mother. He'd initially believed a finished house with tasteful décor would please Miss Lestrange more but then it had occurred to him that women liked doing that sort of thing and the prospect of making a home of his new house might be a gift in itself. Plus it would save him from any awkward situations where Miss Lestrange might somehow not care for his mother's tastes (which was crazy but he supposed possible) and save him money on redecorating something freshly installed. "I had imagined that of my wife." He smirked a little at her knowingly.

He wanted to give her a grand tour and he was determined to manage at least the first floor. If he was going to rule out the upper floors he needed to quickly rethink where he'd propose to her. Reluctantly he braced himself and began to lead her off towards a door on the left side of the entrance hall. He tried to tread as lightly as he was physically able but the brief standstill hadn't given his wound enough time to miraculously heal any. "I believe this is intended to be the drawing room although it needn't be." Charles opened the door and waited to see if she would go further in or not. He didn't plan on moving past the doorway himself on account of being economical with his movements but on the upside he could admire her from afar if she did take a closer look.

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Would that he could countenance the thought of tackling the stairs at present, that she'd even mentioned the nursery filled him with all sorts of pangs not least a very real, sharp one but that one was his wound. The library was thankfully not upstairs and he could at least appease her on that count.

Charles shut the door and gingerly lead her down a corridor, past a couple doors, and finally stopped at the third. "The nursery isn't much too look yet, but the library is another matter." He would've opened the door at the same time as he spoke but decided not to risk it in case he accidentally made an unmanly noise of pain before he could stop himself. This time he took a few steps further into the room. "There's an extension charm in place should more shelves be needed." He hadn't moved all of his books in yet but there would likely be plenty of empty shelves left once he had - he didn't have a particularly large book collection as of yet but he intended to buy whatever he needed to pad it out properly. "There's a quaint little window seat tucked away in that corner." He was hoping he'd take that as a cue to explore it.

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To his great dismay she didn't move to investigate the window seat but instead focused solely on him which normally would be exactly what he wanted but he'd hoped she'd step away and give him the chance to retrieve the ring and get himself otherwise composed to finally do the thing. It wasn't as though he needed a lot of time but he'd much rather do it without being watched in case he didn't fish it out of his pocket smoothly enough for his own liking.

It was neither here nor there though for she suddenly had him by the hands and it was unexpected enough that he failed to hold back a small wince of pain. "It pleases you then?" It pleased him very much to be holding her hands but he couldn't truly appreciate the gesture at that moment when he was so distracted. He was starting to feel a burning sensation which he first put down to heartburn but quickly realized it was in the wrong place for that. Hopefully he wasn't bleeding.

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He bitterly resented that he couldn't enjoy the present moment to its fullest, the wound was quickly changing from a not so minor inconvenience to torturous. The sooner he asked the question, the sooner she could go home, and the less likely it would be that he would have to set foot on the staircase. The worry that he might be bleeding through his bandages also did much to inspire him with a sense of haste. She absolutely could not find out that he was injured and she absolutely could not leave without his ring on her finger; everything else was of secondary importance.

"Then perhaps you might be its impertinent mistress." The words shot forth more abruptly than he cared for and would have been more flirtatious had he given himself the chance to think before speaking. Hopefully he hadn't accidentally insulted her. "Not that you could ever be impertinent, Miss Lestrange." This wasn't how he'd planned for it to go but he also hadn't planned on letting Macnair get the first shot in or letting the bullet wound trouble him this much. Now that he had thrust himself into the proposition and the moment was upon him, the rush of adrenaline was enough to momentarily mute the discomfort he felt.

Charles freed his left hand from hers but raised her other hand to his lips to kiss it so he could distract from the rummaging of his lefthand as he sought the ring. The pocket was on the same side as his injury, the bottom dropped out of his stomach when he felt dampness against his knuckles. Fuck. It was slight enough that he wasn't entirely certain he hadn't imagined it but there wasn't much he could do but to hope he had. Thankfully the box itself was black leather and could easily be wiped down but she'd surely notice if he brandished a ring between bloody fingers. As discreetly as he could he tried to wipe box both and fingers off on his trousers where his jacket overlapped, just in case the black he'd specifically chosen to hide blood wasn't as effective as he'd hoped.

Once he was satisfied enough that he probably wasn't going to have blood on his hands, he finally brought the ring box into view and presented it to her. He lowered the hand he still held so that it was in the same position it had been before he'd kissed it so she could withdraw it if she preferred. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a faint, pinkish smear on his hand. Thankfully it wasn't in a place easily spotted from her angle but that didn't mean there wasn't another within her view. Perhaps if he could distract her she wouldn't notice or at the very least wouldn't pay it enough attention to make anything of it. "Tatiana." He stared intently at her, hoping to keep her eyeline from dipping. "You are perfection itself." In his desperation to keep her attention on his face he resorted to compliments, or more accurately the sort of feelings he held for her that he'd ordinarily be too insecure to utter out loud to anyone least of all her. "Had I known it was possible for such a woman as yourself to exist I would have found you long ago. I cannot countenance the idea of calling any other woman my wife; would you spare me that fate, will you marry me?" He'd said way too much but once he'd opened the floodgates he couldn't seem to stop himself.

If he hadn't successfully distracted her from any potential blood on his hands, he'd at least managed to make himself forget.

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If he'd had color in his face to lose he would, at the moment she mentioned his hand, have lost it. He grimaced slightly and then tried to hide it as confusion. There went his proposal, utterly ruined despite the painstaking efforts he'd gone through to arrange it all perfectly. It was possible he could still salvage it but he'd need to think fast and take her mind off his bloody finger.

"My hand?" He withdraw his hand along with the ring box as he feigned ignorance as to what he'd find. How the hell was he going to dismiss this? It was considerably more obvious than the smear he'd noticed elsewhere. Damn. If he was as prone to picking hangnails as I am he'd have a perfect explanation ready and waiting but he probably doesn't do that. "Ah," he muttered as he inspected his hand and stalled for time. "I must have nicked myself on something, maybe a rough piece of wood the carpenter overlooked." He reached into his breast pocket for his handkerchief which was thankfully well out of the way of his wound so oughtn't to be anything but crisp white. "I shall have words with him." Charles hastily wiped his hand. "It looks a lot worse than it is. My apologies, I should've caught that before you had to see it." He'd gotten away with it he thought. He gave the ring box itself a cursory wipe just in case and then tucked his handkerchief back into to his pocket.

The adrenaline was slowly starting to dissipate and with it his temporary obliviousness to his injury. "My mother was instrumental in finding the right ring. It's a family piece, although I've never seen it worn." The implication he was trying to make was that it hadn't been within a hundred feet of Noelle's vile, undeserving hands. Hopefully the ring would once again draw her attention and push from her mind any thoughts of the blood on his hand.

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