May 2nd, 1890 — This Wedding, Wales

This was not the best use of a Saturday, he had to admit, but Thom was finding himself rather amused by the entire ordeal. He had no personal investment in the wedding and had only attended out of obligation; Mr. Hoggle had a business connection to Quality Quaffle and Snitch, and Thom tired to keep his business relationships intact as well as possible. Whether or not the man married, however, was none of his concern. He certainly could not bring himself to care whether the marriage began under inauspicious circumstances, as the bride apparently believed it would. He'd heard rumors of a possibly prophetic dream the night before and a murder of six crows on the balcony that morning, but at this point he wasn't sure what was real and what was merely speculation.

The family of the bride was flitting in and out of the house anxiously, and Thom had taken up a seat in one of the garden chairs to watch them come and go, and to speculate about what they might be doing. Going inside to try and convince the bride to leave her room was understandable, but he didn't understand why so many of them seemed to think they needed to check on the guests on the lawn; their nervousness wasn't helping anything, and it wasn't as though they had anything in the way of useful information to provide.

As he sat sipping his cocktail, Thom saw a pair of shutters fly open on the second floor. "Ho! Look at that," he said, loudly enough that anyone nearby would have been able to hear. "I think that's the bride's room, don't you?"

What was she doing? Trying to get some fresh air? Sending an owl? Or perhaps someone had finally succeeded in breaking into her room and they had opened the window?

(Or it was a servant in an unoccupied room doing some very untimely airing-out, but that wasn't as much fun to speculate about).

  

Weddings were generally flawless affairs, as there were often too many eyes watching for it to be anything but. The bride's family often spent weeks (if not months) organizing the affair and bankrupting themselves in the process. Today's event was no different. It was obvious that the bride's family spared no expense for their daughter. The floral arrangements alone (a detail she always paid great mind to) must've cost them a pretty penny.

And yet, none of the guests had yet to see the blushing bride.

The guests had impatiently waited for what felt like an eternity before being allowed to move about. She had figured the bride's delay was due to shaky nerves or a healthy fear of what was to come. After all, who would assume the bride would refuse to start her own wedding? It wasn't until Freya overheard some women talking about a murder of crows and several other bad omens that she began to suspect anything. If the bride was refusing this heavily, why bother retaining the guests? Surely, her family knew rumors would spread like wildfire after such a bizarre afternoon. Keeping the guests in such close quarters would only fuel the fires that much faster.

Freya parted from Daniel at the refreshment table and wandered back towards the garden where the ceremony was to be held. Too much time had passed for her to believe a wedding would be held today. Not to mention Mr. Hoggle's pride was likely insulted. Who was to say if he would want to marry a reluctant bride? She followed Mr. Pettigrew's* line of sight towards the now open shutters. "Do you think she's writing to someone to come help her?" She curiously asked. Maybe there were no bad omens, only a star crossed lover hoping to flee.

*I figured they know one another as acquaintances from attending similar events. Lmk if you think different!

  

"Oh, Mrs. Selwyn, how scandalous," he said, his tone technically chastising but still rather light for all that. It may have been unladylike to let it be known that one was interested in gossip, but it was hardly a secret that everyone on earth was — and Thom, who had framed news articles in his office at QQS from occasions when his cousin had been beaten particularly badly on the Quidditch pitch, could not pretend to be above petty scandal-mongering.

"The owl wouldn't have far to go, I don't think," Thom speculated, still watching the open window. "If she was having an affair of some sort the bloke would certainly have been invited to the wedding. These things never happen that far from home," he said. Of course he had plenty of experience with extramarital affairs, but his tone was casual enough that he might just as well have been speculating off of the sorts of stories he'd heard in tabloids. "It would be a family friend, or a cousin, or something, and if it's requited he certainly wouldn't have been one of the first to leave."

If that was the case, this was about to get rather scandalous — an owl from the window straight down to one of the guests on the patio would not fail to be noticed by anyone, even those who hadn't yet observed the shutters being thrown open. There was a flash of white and for a moment Thom thought that was exactly what was going to happen — but it wasn't an owl that had appeared at the window at all, but the veil-covered head of the bride.

  

For having commented on her scandalous line of thought, Mr. Pettigrew seemingly had a broad knowledge of affairs. Had she not been wed to the owner of a newspaper Freya might not have thought of the hidden meaning behind his words, but Daniel had told her more than once that there was always something beneath the surface. Not that she would comment on it to him or any other, it wasn't her business. If he was having an affair (or had had affairs) the truth would out itself eventually, just as it always did.

She watched for the wings of the owl only to gasp in horror as the bride itself peeked out the window. "What is she hoping to do?! She won't jump!"

  

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Amazing Set by Stef!

"Well, that would be sensational," Thom admitted as he leaned forward to get a better look. Perhaps he wouldn't have been quite so cavalier about this if he'd had any personal connection to the bride, but as it was he'd hardly exchanged introductions with her. Besides, he didn't think it terribly likely that she'd go splattering herself across the veranda. The excuse that was drifting around about why she wouldn't go through with the wedding was suspicion of bad luck, after all, and that was hardly cause to kill oneself. Even if there was something else at play, like a secret love affair, there was no cause to go to such melodrama about it. It would hardly help her find happiness in the end.

"I don't think she would," Thom surmised. "But you never know. Everyone has such a romantic view of marriage before they're wed," he commented. "About it completing your whole being and making you happy, and so they think if they marry the wrong person they'll miss out on all that. But in truth, I don't think those of us who marry for love are in much of a better position than those who don't, after a few years go by. Do you agree?" He wasn't really trying to have a philosophical conversation on the nature of love, nor was he prying for any insight into her marriage (he could not have cared much less). That was just the way the turn of conversation had carried him, and he'd added the question almost as an afterthought on reflecting that Mrs. Selwyn had, he thought, some relevant experience on the subject of marrying for love and then watching as love turned to... monotony.

"Oh, look, I think she's trying to climb out," he observed as there was a flurry of white lace at the window. "Perhaps you were right." Despite his words, his tone was still nor particularly urgent or panicked. They were hardly the only people who had noticed her at the window there, and if she did try to jump, Thom was sure someone would magically intervene.

  

Romance and marriage had always seemed interchangeable to Freya. It was the natural order of things — one fell in love and soon after they were bound for life in marriage. Only for their happiness to be added to by each baby. She knew men were likely to have affairs, but those weren't romantic ever. They were the primal, vile needs of man, and those women who partook in affairs were an even worst sort. The man'a happiness never came to mind when Freya considered why men had affairs.

If Mr. Pettigrew was right in his opinion, then the deep unhappiness rooting itself in her marriage wasn't like to ever resolve. Freya would be doomed to tiptoe around Daniel and fret and stress constantly. Daniel was a gloomier sort than most, but she had always believed this to be what marriage was. Sacrificing bits and pieces of herself to save her husband from the pit of despair. "I would hope those who marry for love remain happy and whole." She said simply, her voice much quieter than it had been a second previous.

Freya dared not look towards Mr. Pettigrew, lest he see the confusion and heartbreaking thoughts passing through her head. Instead, she remained laser focused on the jumping bride. Someone would intervene, right? The bride wouldn't be left to break whatever bones on the bricks below. "What is she thinking?" Freya added in a shocked whisper. Just then, the bride appeared to actually jump.

Well then.

  

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Amazing Set by Stef!

"Oh!" Thom called out in surprise as the bride lurched from the window, a flurry of white. This bought of excitement had entirely stolen his attention away from what they had been talking about a moment ago, so much so that he barely registered her quiet statement at all. He rose quickly from his chair and nearly spilled his drink in his excitement, but it turned out not to be quite as alarming as it first appeared. The white blur halted and settled into a dress form once again, and he realized that she hadn't flung herself out to her doom, but only to the trellis that lead from her window to the ground, allowing trailing vines to creep up the side of the house.

"Oh, no, look, she's climbing," he exclaimed, gesturing. "What do you think she hopes to accomplish with that? Surely whoever's outside her door will reach the bottom before she does. That dress doesn't look particularly well-suited to scaling walls."

  

Much unlike Mr. Pettigrew, Freya remained still in her seat. Should the bride fall — and Merlin she hoped the bride stayed steadily climbing — she didn't wish to add to the scene by fainting. What a horror that would be.

"Is any dress suited for scaling a wall?" She asked. Then, just as the bride was nearing halfway down the trelis, a shouting man, presumably the bride's father, came barreling out of the house. Freya looked about uncomfortably. Surely, the crowd ought to disperse rather than watch such a scene? Where was Daniel through all this? "He'll have a heart attack if he keeps shouting like that," she commented a bit nervously.

  

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Amazing Set by Stef!

"Well, that would be melodramatic," Thom replied as Mrs. Selwyn began to talk of heart attacks. She had quite an eye for doom, didn't she? She was always jumping to conclusions: the women was writing to her lover, she was jumping to her untimely death, her father was moments from an attack of nerves. This entire ordeal might not have been half so interesting to observe had he chanced to sit by someone else, who didn't conjure up such grim specters. Though it would have still been fairly entertaining regardless, he thought. How many weddings had he been to where the bride had climbed down the exterior wall of the house? None, and he would in all likelihood never attend another.

"You ought to write novels," Thom told her as he continued watching the scene unfolding across the lawn. "Penny dreadfuls, maybe, or gothic romances. Those stories with all the twists and sordid histories coming out bit by bit. You seem to have a mind for it."

  

It didn't seem too melodramatic an assumption, but evidently her thoughts were making leaps others hadn't. Freya frowned at the comment, her arms wrapped tight around herself as they watched the drama unfold. "Perhaps so."

Before the father of the groom could collapse, however, a rather frantic family member came rushing through the garden to escort the gossipers towards the reception area. A wedding wouldn't be happening today, but at least there would be a quality meal provided. "I best go find Mr. Selwyn, good afternoon Mr. Pettigrew."

  

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Amazing Set by Stef!