01
IT WAS WIDELY ACKNOWLEDGED that the Parkinsons were a most odious participant of higher society in the Wizarding world. Though they unfortunately came from some of the oldest magic, many agreed there was a want for better manners, more refined taste, some worldly conversation, and any amount of poise amongst the family that sadly did not improve either upon acquaintance or generation. But if the high rate of attendance at any party thrown by a Parkinson was to be taken into consideration, it was the Parkinsons who actually had the last laugh. It was to such a party that Miss Rachel Englewood had been forced into attendance, accompanied by her flighty if impeccably mannered mother, much to the girl's chagrin. Though not the sort of gathering lacking in favourable company, there remained little to stimulate the haughty Miss Englewood, who found herself having to beg pardon several times over in her conversation with the disapproving Mrs Bulstrode, as her attention was wandering. Certainly, she could not put her finger on what it was that ailed her, but its result was clear. Rachel Englewood was suffering from that most thorough dampener of party spirits: a mixed-up mind.
The infamous tinkle of Sabine's airy laughter drifted towards her, though when she looked up in its direction, she felt a sharp stab of annoyance at the wizard standing beside her elegantly clad mother. For it was none other than Gabriel Corner, he of the imminent proposal. She could not say she had not heard from him since that most disastrous Halloween ball some days prior, but the contact had been limited strictly to that of ink and parchment, which was much easier to ignore than his unfortunately handsome presence here tonight. As if perceiving her disgruntled stare, Gabriel's gaze met her own, and the corner of his mouth picked up in a small smile as he inclined his head toward her in greeting. Trapped, though far from impolite, Rachel returned his greeting with a stately nod and a steely countenance before turning away abruptly. She would not, Rachel told herself, allow his unnerving presence ruin what might, with solid effort and forceful goodwill, turn into an almost acceptable evening. Rachel stalked towards the congregation in the library, rather violently plucking a goblet of pumpkin juice off a passing tray as she went, determined to find any means of enjoying herself.
After entering a sportive if falsely spirited debate about the questionable attire of a few choice guests with the elusive Adamina Greengrass (all too absent from high society gatherings after her marriage), Rachel found herself quite alone. She wandered into a secluded stack of the library and allowed herself a moment or two to let her gay façade slip as she stroked a finger along the spines of some dusty tomes. Playing her old role of social butterfly left Rachel feeling horribly cold.
"Hello," said a quiet voice by her ear, snapping her out of her reverie. Turning, she found Gabriel Corner and his startlingly blue eyes not more than a foot from her. "Miss Englewood."
Fighting the urge to swallow convulsively, she murmured, "Mr Corner," in return, unable to think of anything suitable to say (or even unsuitable, as she was not picky). Rachel sincerely hoped he was not desiring to engage her in conversation. She couldn't allow that. But she need not have feared, because just as Gabriel began to say, "I was wondering if you were go—" Adamina, bless her soul, had reappeared looking pleasantly flushed.
"Rachel, I thought I'd l—oh—I am so sorry, Gabriel, I must intrude for just one moment!"
Cunning witch that she was, however, Rachel allowed herself to be steered far away with an apologetic look as Adamina tittered excitedly in her ear, though about what, she couldn't possibly have said. She last saw Gabriel when several bookcases lay between them, his expression impassive as he watched her retreat.
As the time passed, Rachel found herself moving from crowd to crowd with renewed vigour, smiling too hard at jokes poorly made and greeting too enthusiastically people she openly did not care for. Her fury slowly mounted, as she did not know what caused her to feel so off-colour this night, and it was entirely unacceptable. It was more unacceptable that her mind continued to wander to some of the less desirable guests— particularly those that seemed to want an audience with her very badly.
Three turns at a waltz and two glasses of elderberry wine later, Rachel considered her spirits to be in much higher form than earlier. She perched on one of the chairs lining the trimmed green grass that served as the dance floor, admiring the fairy lights that hovered above. The worries and annoyances that had been earlier plaguing her seemed distant and inconsequential now—she was Rachel Moira Englewood, for Hera's sake. She would do as she pleased, and let no one and nothing affect her actions. Feeling more like the queen she knew herself to be, her eyes skimmed over the dancers, the gossiping old biddies, the gaggle of young witches eyeing some of the older guests, and the men in deep political and business discussions. For all her pretences and bluster, a wave of not belonging washed over Rachel.
Then, from the side, came a shout of laughter and Rachel turned her head in its direction. Rather secluded from the rest of the party, she was greeted with the sight of several small children, mostly girls. They seemed to be shrieking in delight and following the progress of a pair of dancers, a tall, lean gentleman who whirled about with one of the smaller girls perched on his feet in an impressive modification of the dance the older guests were performing. With a start, Rachel realised it was none other than Mister Gabriel Corner of the too-blue eyes and overly-courteous demeanour, playing with the children as if they were his greatest friends. Paying attention to them as no one else at these gatherings ever did, she thought, remembering well what it was like to grow up in this world, as perhaps Gabriel himself did.
As she watched him, she felt a peculiar stirring inside her, something that seemed sad, but also warmed her. Captivated her. Rachel found she could not lift her eyes from this tiny, unnoticed scene that played out unbeknownst to anyone else. Then, as he was always wont to do, caught her looking at him when she least wanted him to. The smile he gifted the little girl still perching her tiny tip toes on his feet still lingered, but she could see his brow crease, a hint of a questioning expression start to form.
Unable to look away, she gave him a small smile, nodding to the squirming girl who was beginning to get impatient with her suitor's growing inattention. A blush threatened to burn her cheeks as Rachel finally dropped her stare, looking hard in the opposite direction. It was to her ultimate surprise that naught but a few heartbeats passed when a hand was offered before her, as Gabriel looked just the tiniest bit hesitant.
"If you will do me the honour of a dance, Miss Englewood?" he asked in that quiet, steady voice.
Completely unaware of what she had just done, Rachel gave him her hand as he led her to the floor. The dance was one she knew well, moving lithely from formation to formation, turning with elegance, keeping fine time to the music. The two did not speak, though Rachel could hardly take her eyes off him, as if compelled to stare directly at him. Unsure, hesitant, yet spellbound, their gazes were locked as they circled and sashayed and bowed. When they touched, he did not falter. Physically, they knew each other well. Not once did she feel uncomfortable, as though Gabriel were trying to take advantage of her, but she was struck by the lack of timidity he showed. Her heart began to keep pace with the thrum of the music.
As the dance dwindled to its conclusion and he twirled her back into place, Rachel could feel his eyes boring into her. His hand was on the small of her back, barely pressing her against his body, but she suddenly felt smothered. It was as if the floor had suddenly tilted up just as she experienced a peculiar lack of air. When the last notes of the song struck, she dropped his hands. He appeared to be saying something, moving a hand closer to her, perhaps to grasp her own, but she couldn't hear him over the fading notes resonating through the night air and the roaring in her ears. No, she broke abruptly away from him and, without a word, weaved as gracefully as possible through the throng of other dancers, desiring to get away, as far away, from that dangerous man as possible.
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