March 20th, 1891 — Steeplechase Ball, Rowle Residence, Oxfordshire

He'd been unexpectedly busy over the last few days and as such had yet to write to Miss Lestrange to extend the all important invitation. It would probably have to be a weekend anyway thanks to his work schedule which meant next weekend or the one after. Technically he could propose there and then - he had the ring with him for reasons he didn't care to admit to himself - but he thought it would cheapen the event if it was done publicly and at someone else's event for that matter.

Knowing that Miss Lestrange was guaranteed to be in attendance - the hostess was one of her close friends - meant he couldn't help but to think about her from the moment he entered the ballroom. Ordinarily he'd play it cool and skulk around a bit so he didn't seem too eager but he didn't have the patience for that this evening. She was almost his.

"Good evening. I must say you look enchanting this evening, Miss Lestrange." The closer he was to her the more impatient he felt about proposing to her and since he was determined on waiting to do the latter, his impatience seemed to be spilling out into abnormally forthcoming compliments.

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@"Tatiana Lestrange"

  

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She had not yet given Valerian an answer and, to his credit, her cousin had not pushed her for one. Tatiana Lestrange had indeed made her choice, but she had heard the saying act in haste, repent at leisure more than enough times to ensure all of her ducks were in a row before she made any declaration that would entirely change her life's direction. Instead, the debutante continued about her life as usual, and that included attending Ingrid's steeplechase week-end.

"Mr. Macmillan," she greeted with a coy smile, "so kind, as always—I had wondered, when I did not see you at the steeplechase, if you had given Oxfordshire a miss!" Tatiana did not allow her eagerness to speak to the gentleman show.

  

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She had missed him then? "Certainly not." Somewhere amidst the many ducks he'd had to wrestle into a row thus far that month he'd found an unexpected well of desire for her. This was not to say he'd felt no such thing before for he had, he'd simply stumbled across more of it after he'd had no option but to dwell at length on their future together. His mother approving of the entire thing also helped considerably. The idea that she might have been disappointed thinking he wasn't in attendance only made it worse.

"I think we must have been most unfortunately placed earlier." He'd admittedly turned up late after dealing with some unexpectedly arduous last minute new house things but he'd also been somewhat thankful not to have seen her. With the intensity of his feelings as they were - thanks to his imminent proposal of course - he knew he'd have a hard time not talking to her and it wouldn't do to seem like he was mooning after her, even if he was.

He wanted to fill her dance card with his name - or more realistically book his two socially acceptable slots - but he was overly aware of his own impatience and felt it necessary to police himself. He succeeded in restraining himself for a grand total of five seconds. "Might I engage you for a dance or two this evening?" Fuck had he just said engage?

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"Of course," she allowed graciously. "But I wonder if..."

  

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He'd been expecting her to accept and then present her dance card but instead... It seemed as though she was hinting towards something that he was supposed to pick up on before she said it but he had no idea what it might be. "Yes?"

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   Aldous Crouch

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"Mr. Macmillan, might we talk for a moment?" Tatiana asked. "Privately?"

The sooner the matter was seen to, the sooner Tatiana would be able to move her life forward.

  

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This was unexpected. He wasn't sure whether he should be anticipating whatever this private conversation was with a sense of foreboding or eagerness. He had no idea what she could possibly have to say to him in such a context. "Of course." He scanned the room for a moment and then looked back to her. He really didn't want to give anyone the impression that they were skulking off together but as long as they weren't seen hurling themselves into a broom cupboard it ought to fine. "Did you have somewhere in mind?" He assumed she was familiar with the house or at the very least more so than him.

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"The study, perhaps?" It had been largely abandoned since the death of Ingrid's husband and was unlikely to be a place of refuge for the unsociable as the library might be.

Without waiting for his agreement, Tatiana led him from the ballroom and down the corridor. A small bit of wandwork was all that was needed to remedy the lock upon the study door and then they were entirely alone—more alone, the debutante realized, than they had ever been before.

"I hope that I may be honest with you, Mr. Macmillan."

  

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He'd been expecting the garden or perhaps a quiet corner of the entrance hall, not this. Whatever she wanted to say must be important if she was willing to risk someone seeing them. Her words upon entering the study, however, did not particularly put him at ease. Nor did the locked door, although it was a sensible precaution to avoid someone walking in and drawing indecent conclusions.

"I'd hope you'd never be anything but." He didn't mean it harshly but there was a slight edge to his voice hinting at his consternation.

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She doubted very much that that was true. Charles Macmillan wanted a palatable wife, a boring one. Tatiana was not boring in the slightest.

"I have enjoyed our time together a great deal," the witch began, "and find you as charming as you are clever."

Starting out her 'truth' with false flattery was not quite holding to the spirit of their conversation, but she needed to butter him up to accomplish what needed accomplishing.

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   Charles Macmillan

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"And I you..." She was saying nice things so why did his chest suddenly feel tight? She couldn't possibly be intending to seduce him right here at this moment, could she? She wasn't that sort of woman, she'd have tried it long ago if she was. Then why the locked door? Why this and why now? If she was inexplicably about to offer herself then how the hell was he supposed to act like a gentleman? He didn't think he would. He didn't believe that's what she was working up to but if she did then she was clearly not the woman he'd thought and he'd give her what she wanted but he wouldn't be marrying her.

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   Tatiana Macnair

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Tatiana took a deep breath.

"...and you have shown me as much in many little ways," she reassured him with a smile. "But cannot help but worry..." a beat, and then, "cannot help but worry that you have no intention of making an offer."

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   Charles Macmillan

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Charles had never been more relieved in his life to find out he would not be having sex. He'd never seriously thought she'd do such a thing but that didn't mean he wasn't relieved all the same. He could deal with this. The intimacy of the situation and probably the lingering thoughts of seduction found him with an urge to get close to her as they had been on St. Valentine's. "Allow me to assure you, Miss Lestrange, your worry is entirely unnecessary."

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"My worry for my future is unnecessary," she agreed, "but my worry for our future is difficult to dismiss with only the vague promises I have received until now."

  

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If he hadn't already been aware that he was overdue for a proposal he might've been genuinely irritated. Instead he was only exasperated, he didn't want to have to go to the extent of ruining the choreographed spontaneity he'd planned for the following weekend but as far as she seemed to know he might wait until June to propose.

He didn't care for feeling as though he was having his hand forced but it was almost impossible to hold it against her. Except... Had she just said she wasn't worried for her future? What was that supposed to mean? He thought he had an idea but surely not? "What are you saying?" he asked slowly, figuring it couldn't hurt to give her a chance to prove she'd meant something by it or else reiterate that she was merely unconvinced he intended to propose to her.

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She cleared her throat daintily to buy herself time.

"I shall enter the month of April in one of two ways: either the future Mrs. Macmillan, or the future Mrs.—" she cut herself off. She would not throw Valerian under the carriage. "I have received another offer, Mr. Macmillan. I thought it only proper that you know."

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   Ambrosia Selwyn, Cassius Lestrange

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