June 17th, 1892 — Opening Poppy's Debut at Dashwood Hall, Surrey

Poppy Dashwood was… nervous, to say the least. She stood, primping, in front of a large, three-sided mirror on a small pedestal in her bedchamber at Dashwood Hall. This room was one of her favorites; it was decently large, allowing sufficient breathing room on the worst of days when it felt like the world was caving in, and the elaborate moldings made her smile. She had used to trace them in thin air as a child, making up patterns as she hung, upside down from her bed. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror now, considering all those childish games and memories, Poppy couldn’t help but think it was the end of… something. She was becoming a real woman tonight: a marriable, ready-to-be-processed-and-packaged debutant. The thought made her empty stomach flip in on itself a touch.

Poppy knew she was ready, theoretically. She knew and looked the part, with a gorgeous white dress made exclusively in the latest fashion from Paris specifically for her, and the right hair dressings and shoes. (Uncomfortable, but such was life.) Still, as she gazed at her perfect reflection, Poppy only saw a child looking back - bright eyes scared of what was to come. She frowned a little bit and raised her chin. There was nothing to be scared of. She was in complete control tonight. Her dance card would be filled, her conversation pleasant, and her skills as a debutant tested only to be found perfectly gracious. She was nothing if not determined, and that nasty little hellion in the back of mind would not ruin her tonight. With this determination set and doxies fluttering around her ribs, Poppy stepped off the pedestal and exited her room to join her mother downstairs.

The veritable assembly line of guests had not yet begun. The doors to the manor house were still closed but Poppy could hear rumblings all about. Servants moved last minute items left and right and the butler awaited his signal by the door. Poppy fell into place beside her mother, and Georgiana fussed a touch as the longest seconds of Poppy’s life seemed to pass. She tried to smile and not squirm away; anything her mother had to do or say now would only improve her chances of seeming presentable. (If Georgiana Dashwood was good at anything, it was being an impeccable socialite.) Finally, a nod was given and the doors were opened. Families were introduced and Poppy sucked in a deep breath as the first face to greet her was - thankfully - Atticus Foxwood. His grin settled something in her stomach and Poppy returned it.

As the two families exchanged pleasantries, Poppy blushed a touch as she was congratulated and made the appropriate gestures and response. It was the first encounter of many like for the evening and she strapped in for the remainder. (At least she’d started on the right foot with friendly faces.) About an hour and some later, the last of the guests had arrived, she’d been presented, and at last the first blur of faces, names, and polite gestures was through. Poppy let out a small breath as her mother gently patted her on the shoulder, pleased. Next came the opening dance of the ball. At least this Poppy was prepared for.

It had taken a fair bit of deliberation that week for her to decide who to open the ball with; would it be Atticus, her dearest, closest cousin, or… Langston, the brother she’d been saddled with by blood. Georgiana had explicitly forbidden Poppy to ask her opinion, but in the end the brunette was sure her mother was pleased. (Atticus was the spawn of an Alderton after all.) For Poppy however, the decision had been difficult. She’d wanted for the longest time to use this opportunity to reach out to Langston. They hardly talked as it was, and she hated the strange divide, the gap between them. Poppy had fond memories with Langston as a child but somewhere in her growing up, they’d been diluted by societal opinion. She still hoped to steal a dance with him at some point tonight, but the safest bet had simply been Atticus.

Atticus Foxwood was the one person in this world who knew, aided, and abetted Poppy more than she could ever hope (save for maybe June). He was her rock, her savior, time and time again. On this night, at this time, Poppy knew he would be there as always, holding her up and showing her in her best light to all the potential suitors out there. He was the one who deserved to be by her side, and as she took his hand and offered him a nervous little grin, Poppy felt more comfortable than she had, all evening.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

There was something disheartening about growing up. Atticus could remember when Mama and Papa had first introduced him to Basil, tiny and swaddled in a blanket. He had been so tiny, so fragile. He had been two, but he knew right then and there that he would protect his little brother with his life. (A feat that proved to be difficult as they aged, and despite what his brother actually thought, everything Atticus did was for him.) He’d felt the same overwhelming protection for the cousins that came after Basil, although it had been Poppy he’d become the closest to.

Poppy who had toddled after him when she’d learned to walk. Poppy who had to come to him in an upset when she was nine over something her governess had said, although he never quite figured out what. Poppy, who’d written to him the same time he’d written to her, both excited they shared the same Hogwarts house. Atticus had never wanted a sister - Basil was enough of a handful - but somehow, Poppy had wiggled her way into his life, under his skin and basically became one anyway. And now here she was, finally debuting. Atticus was having a hard time discerning her from the little girl she’d been for so many years, although he would be lying to say he wasn’t proud of the woman he’d watched his cousin turn into.

When Poppy had asked him to escort her for her first dance he’d been unsure. He loved his dear cousin with all his heart and wanted the absolute best for her, but that was reserved for her father, or her brother, of which he was neither. He knew of her odd relationship with Langston, just as she knew of his strained relationship with Basil, and in the end he’d given in to her request - after all, it was her debut, and Atticus was honored to step into the role as a paternal figure. (More a pseudo older brother than a father because he wasn’t old enough to be him by any means, nor was he ready for the thought hat one day he'd have a daughter who would be debuting.)

He waited just beyond the doors of where Poppy had been getting ready, having laughed a handful of times when he’d heard Aunt Georgiana fussing rather loudly at something that had happened prior to the guests arriving; if anyone was going to ensure the night went perfectly, it would be her. When she finally emerged, Atticus grinned at her. She looked stunning, a picturesque debutante in a white gown. Her introduction was made, pleasantries exchanged as she was introduced, and he watched her handle herself with grace with a swell of pride in his chest.

Finally, the first dance was upon them, and Atticus held his hand out for his dear cousin to take. She seemed nervous, and he merely offered her another smile as he tugged her toward the dance floor, where he paused to allow the music to start. Finally, the music began to play, and he settled his hand very lightly against her waist. “I’m proud of you, you know.” He murmured softly. It was odd to think he’d be a chaperone to her now to meet a future husband rather than to just meet her friends. His goal tonight was to ensure she shined in a light that would make potentials suitors lineup at her door. (Although, given how elegant his dear cousin was, he didn’t have to do much.)

“If you find yourself overwhelmed, find me. We just won’t tell Basil or Tillie.” Atticus smiled softly then. He knew, even if she needed one break it wouldn’t become a habit. Sometimes being the center of attention was a lot - but if anyone could handle it with poise and grace, it would be his cousin.

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Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy couldn’t help but smile as Atticus gently held her around the waist. It wasn’t like they’d never danced before, or practiced this waltz a thousand times. She was used to his holding her, to his being the one to hold her. But tonight something felt different about it. It felt almost as if by Atticus holding her now, and opening this ball, anything that followed had the potential to be something so much more. He was the last barrier into the real world, the marriage market, and it both terrified and excited Poppy. She held onto him for dear life.

The music started the steps came naturally. Poppy was an avid, graceful dancer; she learned quickly and didn’t tend to make mistakes with her diligence. (That said, focus was quite another thing.) This time however, her focus was entirely set upon the task at hand. She daren’t break eye contact with Atticus to look at the guests. She knew all of them were solely focused on her, taking her very measure. Instead, she gave her cousin the warmest, most genuine mile she could manage in responce to his comment. “You’ve always been there for me, as a brother,” she conceded, gently - earnestly. “Thank you for that.”

Poppy wasn’t sure if a simple ‘thank you’ made up for all the times Atticus had pulled her out of messes, or all the times he’d saved her from herself. She just knew in this moment, here and now, she could not be any more open and honest with him. He was the older brother she’d always wanted, and Basil too - despite his reluctance. She knew she’d be in good hands this upcoming season with Aunt Viola in London, and with Atticus by her side. Now all she needed was to survive this night and not make a muck of things. Then the real games began.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

They’d danced the waltz a thousand times; the first had been when she was much younger, her bare feet on top of his shoes as he whisked her around the room. Her smile had lit up the room and her laugh had echoed the halls for days. A Christmas party, if he recalled, when Poppy had snuck down well after the guests had left. She’d been sneaking ever since, into parties and places she had no business being, but there wasn’t anything in the world that would stop Atticus Foxwood from protecting his family. But he knew that Poppy would protect her reputation in a way she hadn’t before - there was much more at stake than just being a student who was having fun.

Now she was expected to be a young lady, and as they began to dance, his face softened. She was always a graceful dancer and picked up the steps quickly; Atticus knew she would watch the other young ladies around her and decide which habits potential suitors were attracted to. Out of everyone - Anthony, Tillie, Basil and the rest of the extended family, Poppy was the one he worried about least when it came to carrying on the family name. (Although, he wasn’t certain if Anthony didn’t have a bastard son somewhere out in the world he hadn’t bothered to tell anyone about. Edmund didn’t count - he wouldn’t ever be a Foxwood again, if Atticus had anything to say about it.)

“Ms. Dashwood,” He teased, keeping his eyes trained on her. “I will always be there for you. When are married and a mother; I will always be there.” It would be odd to step aside for a husband, but Atticus knew he had to, and he would. As long as he provided himself to be good enough for Poppy. “Although, I’m afraid you’ll have to hire yourself a nanny. I’m far too old for that.” And hopefully would have some of his to chase after, in the times he saw them.

It was easy to move to the music and keep up conversation; he’d done it a thousand times over. “Is there anyone in particular you wish to dance with? I’ve already told Basil he owes you at least one.” And there hasn’t been pushback from his brother, perhaps because he knew Atticus wouldn’t expect anything to come from it.

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Poppy couldn’t help the slightly love-struck look on her face as she gazed at Atticus. There were not enough words to express how comfortable, how small she felt in his arms, like the toddler still tripping after him in mud across Dashwood estate. How many times had she tried to keep up with him and Basil when they were children only to find herself face-first in a puddle or tripping over her too-long petticoats? It was always Atticus who had picked her back up, who stopped the game of tag to check she was alright. Poppy wanted to hug him, to thank him properly for always looking after her. Instead, she had to hold back the tears threatening to pool as he emphasized he would always continue to be there, through marriage and through children.

A short laugh escaped her as he mentioned needing a nanny and the action caused a single tear to break free and fall on her cheek. Poppy quickly blinked the rest back and tried to school her face. “I’m sure whatever children I have will adore their uncle Atticus,” she replied, quietly. But there was still much to pass before that was even a remote possibility! As Atticus held her upright through another turn, Poppy felt herself grow a touch in confidence. He asked then if there was anyone in particular she wished to dance with and instantly the first face that flashed into her mind was… Kristoffer Lestrange. He was here. That much Poppy knew, he’d been in the greeting line. She instantly forced the thought from her mind however as a blush threatened to taint her pink in front of all these people! (Mortified, she was successful in keeping the look at bay but likely not before Atticus noted her embarrassment.)

“Basil never has a problem dancing with family,” she replied instead. “It’s eligible young ladies he shies away from,” Poppy teased. Then, knowing she would be called out if she said nothing else, Poppy quickly thought through the list of potential suitors she’d seen and could match a name to. “Endymion Dempsy,” she started casually. “He has a pleasing countenance, I suppose. Or Beckett Longbottom.” Another ‘pleasing countenance’ if she ever saw one. (Though with that one his rear was the most appetizing, though Poppy wouldn’t know anything about that of course.) She made a very conscious effort not to mention Kristoffer Lestrange. Not that… there was anything wrong with him of course. (His rear was the one she really wanted to pinch.) But he was not of marrying age. And she knew that. He simply wasn’t a viable option.

Then, seizing the moment to flip the tables on her cousin, Poppy grinned conspiratorially. “And you?” she queried, teasingly. “Are you ready to be the most charming gentleman in the room and sweep my two new friends off their feet this evening? I expect you to dance with them both, Atticus. For me.” She added gently.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Ah. So there was a gentleman or two that had caught his dear cousin’s eye. Poppy had looked embarrassed, albeit briefly, and Atticus almost chuckled; it wasn’t as if any of the crowd was close enough to see her blush, and even if they had, what would come of it? If anyone was daft enough to call out her blush they weren't worthy of dancing with her. Atticus smiled at her and nodded quietly. Of course Basil had no problem dancing with family - they weren’t eligible ladies for him. He worried that if he didn’t remind his dear brother to dance with even family, Basil would spend his time hiding elsewhere until everyone forgot he existed. Atticus could only hope that one day while he was dancing a woman would catch his eye. In the meantime, he had to ensure his brother didn’t get rusty.

Turning his attention back toward her, Atticus hummed quietly as he nodded. He knew of both of them and outside of Dempsy being perhaps too friendly, he couldn’t think of anything outwardly wrong with either candidate. “Well, I’m sure either will be pleased to dance with you, and shall you need a chaperone for anything further for either gentleman after tonight, I would be happy to accompany you.” Most certainly because he wanted to make sure Poppy picked someone suited for her. He knew she wouldn’t share every detail of every encounter - not that Atticus really cared for those details to begin with, but he at least wanted to see her interact with someone who could be her eventual betrothed.

Then she was grinning and he was frowning at her. “My dear cousin, when I am not the most charming gentleman in the room.?" (And this was where karma decided that he would fail to make a positive impression on Estelle Malfoy, unbeknownst to either of them.) “But I promise, I will dance with both of them, for you.” It had been a sore subject for both of them, and while he appreciated Poppy’s efforts, Atticus wasn’t sure if he wanted to fill her head that she was the reason he met his future bride. Why, he’d never hear the end of it!

“Although, you have to remember tonight is not about me. It is all about you.” Atticus murmured. She was not going to turn the tables on him just because it was her debut. He’d have his eyes on her all night, even if meant making a few young ladies angry along the way, were something to arise.

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Poppy Dashwood

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   Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy could see Atticus sizing her choices up and she held her breath a little at the thought. Would he recognize there was a name she was holding back? If anyone could, it was the big brunette in front of her, but luckily he didn’t seem suspicious of it. Instead, he conceded that the two she had named should both be lucky to dance with her and that he was willing to chaperone anything further. Poppy blushed again at the thought of ‘further.’ What would it be like to chat, escorted, on a promenade through Padmore Park? Or to actually begin courting, officially, properly? Poppy hadn’t exactly thought about it before and the idea settled like a pit in her stomach. For now, she resolved to simply be as agreeable as she could to all of the gentlemen who approached her. Surly someone would find her amusing enough for a second conversation, right?

Grinning then at Atticus’ next comment about being charming, Poppy nodded as he acquiesced to dance with her two new acquaintances. It had been a bit of a sour spot some months ago when she’d first brought it up but they were well past it now. In fact, Poppy hoped Atticus had actually had time to think about all she’d said that afternoon and let some of it trickle into that thick, lovable skull of his. He was always too worried about everyone else to let someone care for him/. It was high time he let Poppy, or his new wife, take some of the burden!

“Thank you,” Poppy finally replied, to all of Atticus’ comments. She knew he would always be there to look out for her, lest something go wrong. Still feeling the overwhelming emotion of gratitude this whole dance had illicited, Poppy sucked in another breath. “Thank you, too, for being the older brother I’ve always needed.”

The waltz started to round out to the end then and Poppy was glad. Any more of this and she’d be a blubbering mess in Atticus’ arms and then nobody would want to dance with her. Dropping into a curtsey as the last few strings of the melody sounded, she waited to take Atticus’ arm to be led off the dance floor.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox