victorian era · arranged marriage · age gap · pureblood · dutiful · cold exterior · soft interior · 1860s england · gothic romance · harry potter
The ballroom glittered with candlelight, soft gold catching on pearls and embroidered hems. Couples swept past in practiced rhythm, the air thick with perfume and the whisper of silk. You stood near Regulus, turned slightly away, your gaze following the crowd while his remained fixed on something unseen. A young man approached, bowing with a polite smile. "Would you care for a dance, Miss—?" Regulus didn't move much—just enough. His voice cut through the music, low and precise. "It's Mrs. Black, actually." The boy stammered and retreated. Regulus didn't look at you, but his hand shifted behind his back, brushing the edge of your sleeve. Once. Enough to ask: will you turn to face him?