Prompt 7: Fairy Dance - Matthew St. Laurent, Fired Earth Music (T2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin
Setting: London & Fareham
Continuation of: (T1) Carol of the Fates
A/N: Turpin time again! WHOOP WHOOP! And Happy 1 week of Rickmas 2025! Day seven already? Gosh, I gotta get a move-on with the writing - seriously, I’m STRESSING, ‘kay? Yeah, I do this to myself every. damn. year. and never learn it seems.
Anyway! Here we go, part 2 of the Turpin serial and we’re going for an absolute ride - especially in terms of beliefs and emotions, so buckle up babe, this is a longer part! 🐎🛷 (was I up until 2am? yes... Am I formatting and posting during my morning coffee? yes... I'll need a nap later but also need to write tomorrows fic xD)
Tags/TW’s: Sorrow, Broken Heart, Yearning & Longing, Possessive Nature, Mutual Unknown Secret Pining, Short-form Slowburn, Self-deprecating Feelings & Thoughts, Emotional Turmoil, False Beliefs, Misunderstood Situation, Historical Vibes/Elizabethan-like Writing, Soft & Subdued/Meek Reader (not weak!), D/s Tendency Hints
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name
Word Count: 4.2k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
⩤• TURPIN •⩥
The spool of thread spun in his hand, rolled and stroked by his rough fingers. The little creature who dropped it had not left his mind for the past three days. He thought of you more often than he cared to admit. Little wisp… where are you hiding? The thought was rhetorical, of course. Richard knew far too well where you resided, with your Earl of a father and the many marriages announced in the paper — all holding your surname but never your given one — these past three years. Four in total, accounting for all the Earl’s children, save one.
“Richard!” called Petunia in that grating voice he so detested. “Tea is to be had!” she continued, and the thought of sitting down for another tea with his cousin had his hand clenching around the spool of silken thread. Petunia was akin to him, similar in fashion and thought, yet far apart in other aspects. She was wilfully demanding where he was calculatingly methodical. She spoke of romance and grand gestures of great expense, where he saw only marked flesh and reddening knees on satin pillows by his polished boot.
One thing, a minuscule one, had latched itself to the membranes of his mind, though. She spoke of his need for a wife — not for the same reasons as the ones that had remained with him, though — and it had been many nights he had sought a broken comfort in the imagines of you by his side. His little wisp, on your knees, on his arm, by his side, in his bed, tangled in his sheets, or bent over his desk most gloriously. Always, unfailingly so, with those eyes of yours holding his gaze for moments slightly too long, yet never was there to be any fear shimmering in them. No matter the dream, no matter the twisted ruin he wished to lavish on you, there was never fear in his image of you so delicately balanced on the tip of his finger, under his touch, within his grasp.
He wasted no breath on calling out as he dressed in his outdoor garments in dark red and black, with his tophat sat firmly on his head, as he opened the door and marched toward Earl (Y/l/n) house, your house.
Richard was a man of reason, a man of logic, a man of restraint and power, yet still he tricked himself into believing the spool of thread in his satin-lined pocket was the only reason for his sudden outing. There was no twisted endeavour of sinking his respected talons in you, surely not. Yet he marched with longer strides as the thought of seeing you in your own environment, within your safe walls of normalcy and comfort, slowly encroached on all other thoughts. He could not deny that as his pace picked up and the spool of thread offered the first and, thus far, only acceptable reason for him to call upon you privately. I shall return what is rightfully hers. No more. Little wisp, you are far too delicate… Still, I will call upon you, tempting myself to madness once more, yet God has seen fit to put you in my path… repeatedly.
He knocked harshly as he had marched up the five stone steps to the smaller townhouse nestled tightly with others of the same drab exterior, the same size and look. Yes, all things about your home were the same as any other on the street — yet still, he found it to be different.
The door opened, and a young maid stood with an agreeable smile, which faltered the second her eyes landed upon him, and her head lowered just after. “Judge Turpin, my Lord,” she said in a shallow breath, as if her throat had caught a lump of distress — not unlikely. "I will see the young Miss (Y/l/n).” He did not dawdle or make a request. “The young miss— Oh, Judge Turpin, that is not possible,” the maid stammered, her hands trembling before her where she held them in front of her thinner dress. “I shall fetch Earl (Y/l/n), Judge Turpin, sir.” She scurried off before the words had fully left her mouth, and he was left to stand on the doorstep. Imbecile behaviour. Leaving a man such as I upon the doorstep? Unthinkable. His mouth thinned, his straight back hardened, and a harshness far more noticeable crept along his features as they tensed.
Rushed steps sounded from within the house as he looked inside through the open door, letting the cold air infiltrate the space. “Judge Turpin!” came the loud call of the earl as he walked along the short hall. “My Lord, what offers us this great pleasure and honour?” the man continued with a cowered, nearly choked voice — with widened eyes showing the reflection of fear his voice had barely managed to shield. “I am calling upon your daughter.” Richard did not let the harshness subside, nor did he allow the intention of his words to be construed into a request. The earl stopped short. “My sweet (Y/n)? My Lord, that is impossible, sir. I am terribly sorry, but—” “You dare deny, me?” Richard spoke harshly; his steely gaze hooked the man fully as the earl gulped and paled. “Bring her forth, Earl.”
The earl and the maid glanced at each other quickly. “My sweet daughter is not here, my Lord. She left in all haste but three days ago.” He arched a brow. “In all haste?” “Y-yes, my Lord. She was quite distressed. I fear she is long gone.” Distressed? My subdued little wisp of the greatest countenance? “To where?” “Hampshire, sir. I do not dare state a time for her return, my Lord.” “Where in Hampshire?” Earl (Y/l/n) tensed further, a seemingly impossible thing. “F-Fareham, sir. To my sister’s humble home. She seeks sanctuary for a broken heart among the—”
Richard’s arm surged forward, taking hold of the cravat around the man’s throat a second before ripping him forward, closing the distance as the man’s eyes widened with terror under his glare. “Who. hurt. her?” he snarled, the words barely audible as rage coiled in his blood. The man gulped. “I do not know, sir. She… my sweet daughter would not speak his name. She said it had been three years, and she hadn’t a chance with the respectable man. She proclaimed herself foolish, her heart worse so, and refused to sully my view of her with the man’s name. That is all she spoke, sir. I would not force it out of her.” “Three years?” “Y-yes, sir.” “Respectable man?” Richard’s hand hardened further as his muscles locked up. “Yes, sir. Most— Most respectable, according to her. Out of… reach, sir. She is but the youngest daughter of an earl, so the man must—” he struggled for a breath “—be highly placed… within s-society.” The earl drew another harsh breath, nearly wheezing as the cravat tightened around his throat.
A moment passed with Richard and your father locked in their position. Richard’s brain strained with a cascade of memories as he sought any hints of who the wretched man could be. She belongs to me. None other. There shall be no other. None shall distress my little wisp, make her flee her home, make her suffer for three— “Three years…” he murmured under his breath as the grip of the earl’s cravat loosened and the man stumbled backwards, rubbing at his freed throat. “A respectable man, out of her reach, who suddenly is to be married…” he continued as your face filled his head.
Every longer gaze he’d felt, every second he had admired you from afar in secret, and every time he had greeted you when attending the same events of higher society, without so much as a touch ever occurring between him and you. He was mesmerised by you, as if you had performed a fairy dance, wanting and yearning, yet never had he felt the desperation to take what he wanted so deeply before. Now, another man had claimed his wisp’s heart and driven you away. He would not stand for it.
“My dear (Y/n)…” the earl began as Richard’s rage and possessive nature grew to a storm of bound wrath. “She is my jewel, a most sweet and demure girl, not a fancy or a flirt. I have never seen her in distress, sir. And speaking of it here, with you, Judge Turpin, I must confess myself uncomfortable, sir.” Richard knew the man could not dismiss him, he would not be dismissed — not even from another’s property. “You shall procure me the address of—” “Father!” came a warm female voice. “Colonel Moore has written to us!” it continued from another room within the house, annoyingly flimsy in tone.
They all quieted as steps echoed from within the house. “Oh, wonderful news, Father! The dear Colonel will arrive at Aunt Mary’s home late afternoon, the day after tomorrow! What a pleasant detour before he arrives here as planned. That will surely make her happy—” the steps grew louder as your sister entered the hallway with the letter fixed in her gaze “—she so adores Colonel Moore, Fa—” Her sentence was cut as she raised her gaze.
Richard glared at her, his harsh face tightened as he contained the need to bark at the young woman whose husband now joined up behind her, both finding themselves in his steely glare. “J-Judge Turpin,” they echoed as she curtsied and he bowed deeply. “Who is Colonel Moore?” he asked in a mix of a drawl and a snarl between nearly closed lips. “A family friend, sir,” said the earl carefully. “He has been a companion most welcome for many years. Quite the esteemed gentleman, and a good fortune with proper family ties, sir. He visited more frequently before he became engaged; he is to marry this spring,” he continued with a respectful lowering of his head.
Richard’s chest tightened, his pulse roared, and the idiocy of the family before him, not understanding this Colonel Moore was obviously the reason you were so distraught, darkened his gaze. The chill of the December air that had been flowing into the house through the open door held little to the coldness he was consumed by in that moment. You, his little wisp of dreams and haunting yearnings, were soon to be faced with the very man who had claimed your heart and then crushed it. Wisp of mine… Yes. Mine.
“Judge Turpin?” asked your father, his voice unsure as he took half a step back and bumped into the quivering maid. Richard’s eyes snapped to him. “You simpletons.” Callousness dripped from his voice as he gripped the spool of thread in his pocket. “Three years. Esteemed gentleman. Out of her reach. To. be. married.” He contained his wrath with no more than a clawed grasp. Your own family had not noticed your pain, your wish or desire, and he knew well enough you would never raise that melodious voice of yours so subdued and softly spoken to reveal your torment. He did not know enough of you or all he wished to know, but he knew you sufficiently to understand that.
He turned to glare at the empty road before his eyes turned upwards, toward the darkening sky. His mouth turned into a mere line. There is indeed a higher power on my side, bringing me a just cause to call upon her in her hour of need. “I shall take you, and shield you from the evils of the world, little wisp,” he declared under his breath, not loud enough for another soul to hear but for the universe to know.
Your father spluttered. “Surely, you cannot mean my dear girl has had desires for Colonel Moore, sir? He is nearly your age, sir. Not as esteemed, but far above her humble standing in high society, despite my title, my Lord,” he said, seemingly shamed by the very words coming from his mouth as Richard spun on his heel to face the man once more. “A heart holds no restrictions of society or propriety,” Richard drawled harshly, turning to leave. “A match such as that, surely, would please you, Earl.” “Y-yes, sir. No, sir. I mean— Yes, I wish the best for all my children, but one must be reasonable, my Lord,” your father called after Richard as he marched out of the open gates. “And my dear girl would not be parted from me if not for a proper marriage, sir. A proper marriage, with a man who would care for her gentle soul and demure nature, my Lord!” he continued calling out as Richard had begun a rapid march toward his house, fuming and raging on the inside as the world within his vision narrowed to the path before him. You care enough for your daughter to wish her well, yet you do not care enough to remove her from torment. I shall. Without hesitation.
Within minutes, he had returned home, gathered a satchel and exchanged his outer garments for ones meant for riding in colder temperatures. Petunia asked questions he paid no mind to, the housekeeper said not a word as he barked orders at her to ready his horse — swiftly. It was all a rush, a quick succession of events, and then he galloped off down the slippery cobblestone street with darkness creeping in over the December sky. Little wisp, he thought while urging the horse on. I shall retrieve you, and damn you to a life by my side. For he was a possessive man, and you had become the object of his desire, which he had fought so vigorously — to hell with propriety and gentlemanly conduct. You are mine, (Y/n). No Colonel, Earl, or rule shall save you from your fate. You are noticed, little wisp, and now… you shall only be noticed… as mine.
The horse neighed as the city turned to snow-covered fields. An eternity of English country lay between him and his deepest want — but there would be no amount of it enough to deter him. The spool of thread now lay in his breast pocket, pressing against his middle ribs, and there it would remain until the moment he could return it to you and, in the process, take those soft-looking hands in his. Forever. No amount of pretty women could ever tempt him, no silhouette of curves was ever perfect enough to be kept, no flower-picking girl was ever magical enough in the wonder of early summer sunshine — yet you had captivated him so, with a mere curtsey and look. He rode the horse harder into the night as your quiet existence suffocated his thoughts so cruelly perfectly with your soft countenance in the deepest of contrast to his own.
⩤• YOU •⩥
For the first time in five days, you woke up decently rested and comfortable. Four nights had been spent in inns and other lodgings while travelling the eighty-five miles needed by carriage to arrive at your Aunt’s in Fareham, Hampshire. It was a beautiful house, on the smaller side compared to what you were used to, but wonderful.
Walking up to the window, while fastening your robe, you peered out at the wonderland of snow as dawn spread its light over the meadows and forests beyond. Being on the outskirts of town, with plenty of farmland belonging to your aunt and uncle, the views were arresting and smile-inducing. If only for a short moment, before life returned as sleep left you completely, and the reason for your rapt departure from the dark and cramped London rose from its slumber.
You sank into the chair by the little vanity, its built-in mirror reflected the tiredness and pain right back at you. There was no escape. Your heart twisted and throbbed behind your ribs as the mirror seemed to contort itself to flash the image of the man your heart so foolishly desired, with the woman so perfectly matched to him on his arm. You averted your gaze, feeling the hotness of tears threatening behind your stinging eyes. “Forget it. Cast him from your mind and heart, right this instant.” But you had told yourself so before, many times. It made no difference.
Dressed comfortably, in a narrower but still warm dress, you left the guest room and moved down the slim stairs of creaking wood. Finding your aunt already whisking away in the kitchen, you entered quietly. “Oh, Y/n, goodness, you’re as quiet as a mouse, my dear,” she said with a warm smile. “Come, come, let us sort some breakfast for you.” “Thank you, Aunt Mary.” She patted your shoulder as you sat. “You are more than welcome here, my dear. You seem in desperate need of a reprieve. Look at the state of your gentle face. Oh, my sweet child, whatever have they been putting you through, hm?” She tilted your head from one side to the other, peering at you with the warmth of a mother and the honesty of a friend.
You did adore your aunt and uncle, but the journey was long, and the times you managed to spend with them were far apart. It had been nearly two years since your last visit, and it hurt a bit within your chest now that you had returned and saw the changes in their ageing faces and bodies — their life was much more of a burden than that of your father’s.
“I am well, Aunt Mary,” you said gently. “I am treated well by Father and the others.” “Then explain the state of you, child. Your father merely mentioned you would be coming in haste, no word of a reason when it is Christmas time and the roads are in horrible condition with the snow and ice.” She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. “Come on, tell me what has happened.” You lowered your gaze to the empty plate before you. “I… fell in love. Or, perhaps love is not the right word for it. Perhaps, infatuation would be more suitable. Or, even, obsession…” “But my dear, that is wonderful news. Who is the incredibly lucky fellow who’s captured—” You looked up, the sting returning to your eyes. “He is far beyond my demure reach, a most respected and, in most senses of the word, untouchable gentleman of the highest standing.” I haven’t the faintest of chances, and I was aware of it from the start. It is hopeless…
Aunt Mary stared at you, her head tilted forward as if peering from under her brows, and her mouth thinned while puckering slightly — obviously displeased by your words. “My dear, you are a fine catch. Any fellow should be happy to garner such a rare thing as your affection. Is he not all there in the head?” she asked, softening and warming with some layer of pity. “Oh, no, no, Aunt Mary. He is quite smart, quite calculating, I believe, and most certainly of high calibre in terms of academics. He holds quite a position, and is highly esteemed in society. Feared, even, to some degree... But I do not hold such feelings about him.” “Oh, then by the heavens, what is holding you parted from him? He sounds quite astonishing.” “Yes… and I am not.” Your words were whispered, heat crept along your neck and warmed the tips of your ears, just as whatever your aunt had on the stove bubbled over and she gushed while rushing over — effectively ending the conversation.
⩤•⫘•⩥
The house was cold, despite the roaring fire in the main living area and several candles scattered about the rooms that were in frequent use; you were bitterly cold. Perhaps, possibly, it was more something to be owed to your insides rather than the chilly temperature of the room in the cottage-like house. Still, you huddled up under a blanket with your large dress, adding further warmth to your legs.
A rapped knocking came from the door. Your aunt looked up from her embroidery. “Who could that be at this hour?” she asked none in particular as she rose and abandoned the needle. Your eyes remained fixed on the spools of thread, reminding you so rudely of why you were sitting in your aunt’s cosy house, with an ache in your chest no amount of rubbing could alleviate.
You had not burdened your aunt or uncle further with the matter, of course. You had helped dress the house in garlands, had stocked firewood despite your uncle’s protests of the heavy weight of carrying it from the outer barn, and you had cooked while smiling softly — as you most often did. Your aunt’s words of the country air doing you good still echoed in your head, where they clashed with the torrent of suffocated hurt and broken dreams — no matter how hopeless they had been from the start, they had been whole.
“(Y/n)! Look who’s here for a visit!” called Aunt Mary from the hallway, and you rose, folding the blanket swiftly before moving toward the door. “Coming, Aunt Mary,” you called quietly while walking on, only to inhale sharply at the sight of Colonel Moore relinquishing his thick coat to the coat hanger. “Colonel!” you said with a gentle smile, now a bit wider and more genuine. He clicked his heels with a warm grin and bowed with a hint of amusement. “My Lady, the one and only Miss (Y/n), I was unaware of your staying here. I’m pleasantly surprised, my dear.” “Oh, sir, you’re too kind.” You laughed a bit under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Aunt Mary urged Colonel Moore to step further into the cottage while you waited for him to answer. “I was on business in Somerset,” he said. “I am to return to London for further delegation, but of course I must pay a visit on the way, I would not be a gentleman otherwise, don’t you agree, miss (Y/n)?” he said as you all moved toward the dining area. You walked off toward the kitchen to start the kettle while answering. “Quite right, sir. What good fortune we did not miss each other’s paths, I only just arrived last night.” “Oh, yes, why are you here, miss? Ought you not to be with your father for Christmas?”
Warmth crept up your throat, shame warmed your blood, as you had been weak and fled the place so detrimental to your heart. “I was in need of a reprieve from the dark city, sir. I shall remain here until summer returns, helping my dear aunt and uncle as best I can.” “What a kind soul you are, miss. I have never been so at ease as I am in your company, Miss (Y/n).” “Oh, Colonel, I’m worthy of no such high regard in your eyes. I am no more kind than any other.” Colonel Moore leaned back in his chair, smiling warmly, with the dark but greying curls around his quite conventionally attractive face bouncing. “Such a sentiment is exactly why you are more kind than most. And soft, demure, you are quite the little mouse, miss. You shall make for a great wife to a lucky fellow one day, I dare say.”
Your heart stuttered, and your hand twisted the knitted oven mitt in your hand where you stood by the heating kettle atop the wood-burning stove. “Colonel,” you said quietly, averting your gaze and turning while pretending to tend to the kettle. “I do not believe I shall ever marry, I have no such wish.” “Oh, come now, (Y/n),” your aunt piped up. “You have such wishes and desires, but they are merely placed where they cannot be granted, according to you. Oh, our little mouse is such a bashful little woman with no power to her, Colonel. Won’t you speak some sense of her more than perfectly lovely person, so she may gather the courage to speak of who this mystery man of astounding and respectable placing is, hm?” Aunt Mary said with a chipper tone and inquisitive eyes, from what you could tell as you glanced at her over your stiff shoulder. “I know my place and worth in society, Aunt Mary…” Colonel Moore slapped his thighs. “Then you must know that any man would be lucky to place a ring upon your finger and hold your quiet but deep affections,” he said with a too loud and happy voice that contrasted so greatly with the heavy pain within you.
You turned after a moment. “He is to be married, it is too late,” you said quietly, lifting the kettle off the stove. “Even if that were not the case, such a man would not spare me a glance. He has not all these years. It is merely my foolish heart needing to overcome…” You turned quiet and focused on pouring the hot water in the teacups, speaking of your feelings felt too private, and they were not meant for others to hear, when they were never meant to become something more than an errant dream without the slightest bit of hope attached.
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A/N: Oh my word… I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS TO PLAY OUT! Honestly, I’m giddy with excitement over these two and how they are going to make this work - like, we’re in a world of chaos here between the misinformed rumours, the false beliefs, the misinterpeted information and now we have so many ppl involved AND HE’S ON HIS WAY THERE!? LIKE?! GAAAAAH.
Erh, well, as you can tell, I’m loving these two and, erm, I hope you are invested in this story as well? 👀
NEXT PART>
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