Atticus rubbed his temples with his fingers. He’d come off cross and he knew his dear cousin was only trying to help. This was no different from him helping Basil along, although his manners were much more brash - at least she was vetting his supposed ladies while he just flung any woman who as much didn’t breathe too loudly at his brother. But Basil needed more help than he did, because at least he went out to meet people that might lead to something, or entered mama’s antics whenever she got to talking too much to her friends who had single daughters.

He could understand how someone could cross a line out of love. Sighing, Attics looked up at his cousin who seemed almost frightened of him. He cared for Poppy deeply and he hadn’t been seventeen in years - sometimes it was difficult to put himself in a childish mindset where these actions were justified. He took another deep sip of his tea before he turned his attention fully back to Poppy. “I know… I know you had good intentions Poppy, and while I appreciate your efforts, telling me almost two months later seems a little… suspicious.” Atticus arched an eyebrow at her. He’d allow her the opportunity to explain herself. She could have owled him instead of spending the past two months vetting women on his behalf without his knowledge.

He took another sip of his tea to keep from sighing. He knew an unamused expression still danced across his face, and he tried a forced smile. “I do trust you, Poppy, just as I expect you to trust me for any potential future suitors.” Atticus had high expectations for whoever she married - what kind of family he came from was important, although he expected his cousin to not settle for anyone.

“Tell me about them.” He finally said as he laced his fingers together on the table. “If you are to meet my potential wife before me, I feel as if I should go in with the upper hand when I meet them.”

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Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy frowned at the word ‘suspicious.’ She’d told him hadn’t she? What would have been suspicious or underhanded would have been introducing them blindly and not telling him at all! Trying to smooth ruffled feathers though, Poppy lifted her chin and didn’t deign to respond.

She took another sip of her tea then, for something to do, and listened as Atticus talked about her suitors. She felt her cheeks warm. If he only knew… Poppy had plenty of ideas of her own prospects and what it might be like, in turn, to have someone vetting for her. She didn’t adore the idea, but she knew it was a necessity to a degree. She trusted Atticus more than anyone else in her family to vet with her best interests though, and she was hurt he didn’t think the same her. She wasn’t a mere child anymore! Far from it in fact. She was of marrying age and would soon be out; Atticus could marry someone of her standing and age right now if he wanted to badly enough! (She balked at the very idea, but it was still true.)

Perhaps she was being overly sensitive. She’d known he would be annoyed about it, and she’d plunged on regardless because Poppy knew it was for the best. She really ought to just ignore his complaints and move on, managing him like a child just as he managed her. Setting her cup aside and deciding to do just that, Poppy tucked the letters away gracefully back into her bag.

“Well, I believe you’ve already met Ms. Blackwood,” she said. (Aunt Viola had written to her about that exchange already and Poppy had set it aside as complete.) “As for the others, both Ms. Malfoy and Ms. Mountbatton are lovely in their ways. But I shan’t like to give you preconceived notions. I have asked mama to invite them each to my ball in June, and you can meet them then. After you’ve made up your own mind, then I can share my experience and urge you towards which I think might be the better match.” She raised her head defiantly then, daring him to protest. She, like any other concerned woman in his life, has as much a right to opine about his relationships as the next-- if not more, since she would be the one saddled with a beast lest Atticus make an unfortunate choice. “I think if you give them an honest chance Atticus, you might well find your bride very soon.”

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Atticus narrowed his eyes at his little cousin, unamused by her words. Had it been anyone else, minus Mama, he would have gotten up and walked away. He hated when people interfered in his life! He had a plan, most of which involved ensuring the rest of his family members were happy in their own right before he worried about his own. He would manage, one way or another, to carry on the Foxwood name and he certainly didn’t need help from anyone. While he understood where Poppy was coming from, she was certainly throwing a wrench into his life plans.

A sigh escaped him as he massaged his temple with his fingers. Brown hues closed as he found Poppy’s eyes searching him for answers he didn’t have. After another beat of silence, his eyes opened. “Of course you know me. But I’m afraid you don’t know what kind of woman deserves the Foxwood name.” Poppy knew him better probably than Basil did; they talked a lot, some superficial, some personal, although he'd never outwardly expressed his wishes for the kind of wife he'd imagined. Perhaps at some point Poppy had either realized it and decided for him, or at some point had misconstrued something he'd said. Atticus frowned then. “Well, perhaps not deserves. But more so, I don’t think you truly understand what kind of wife I want, because I’m not even sure myself.” Or what kind of woman he wanted to share a bed with, but he wasn’t going to voice that to his cousin. He had a list of things he didn’t want - he didn’t want to have to entertain her or be by her side constantly. She couldn’t be boring because that was dreadful and he might throw himself off a balcony before trying to converse with that forever.

And, most importantly, she had to love owls. Merlin would peek her eyes out if she didn’t love him, and Atticus wasn’t sure if he’d stop him.

With another sigh, the brunette picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip to gather his thoughts. When Poppy said she’d been upset, he hadn’t expected any of this: Basil or the Witch Weekly. What other secrets was she hiding, and how many was she prepared to spill today? “I do appreciate your efforts, and I promise I’ll meet them. Why don’t you tell me about them?” Maybe that would make them both feel better.

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Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy recoiled from Atticus as if she’d been slapped. “You don’t know what kind of woman deserves the Foxwood name.”

He… he couldn’t mean that, surely? Blinking rapidly and trying to pull the look of surprise and hurt from her face, Poppy closed her mouth which had fallen slightly ajar in the moment, and tried to school her features. That… sentiment stung. It stung so much that Poppy felt tears begin to threaten again. If anyone knew the type of woman who deserved the Foxwood name it was most certainly her!

Poppy was as much an adopted sister to the Foxwood brood as she was a first cousin. She’d been toddling after Basil and Atticus her whole life, especially the latter. She was her Aunt Viola’s favorite (self-proclaimed, perhaps, but it was obvious if she did say so herself) and even Mama seemed to think she had as much a right to be a Foxwood as anyone else! If Poppy Dashwood didn’t know the type of woman who ‘deserved to have the Foxwood name’ then surely Atticus was deranged. Or delusional. Potentially both.

Doing her best to keep from saying as much, Poppy dropped her hands into her lap and looked at them. When he continued on to say that not only did she not know the kind of woman who deserved to be in their family, but also that she didn’t know what kind of woman he’d want, Poppy finally snapped her gaze back to him, sharply. By now tears were pooling and she couldn’t help them.

“Don’t I?” The brunette replied scathingly. “I know that you don’t tolerate anything less than the most respectable woman, ideally someone from an upperclass family of means with little to no scandal. I know that she has to be intelligent enough to carry a conversation both with you and the other feckless boors you surround yourself with, enough at least to advance your interests. She must also be genteel, well-mannered, and self-sufficient enough to not need constant maintenance and - most importantly - she has to get along with Merlin. Lord knows you won’t tolerate anything less, though between the two of you Merlin is the better judge of character so I haven’t a doubt he’ll like all of the ladies I’ve interviewed.” Poppy pulled her teacup and saucer closer.

“And no, I won’t tell you about them Atticus Foxwood. You can learn for yourself what you need, since you evidently don’t need the meddling of a well-meaning-” sister “-cousin.” Poppy picked up her tea then and took a delicate sip, as if she wasn’t lividly fuming under the collar. How dare he!

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Atticus sighed. Of course she’d taken his words in a way he hadn’t meant, and now both of them had their tempers flaring. He leaned back against his chair and frowned at her, wishing he could take back the words he’d said. He couldn’t backtrack (again), because he’d certainly just tried that and look where he got him. Poppy was not only shocked by his words, he’d upset her even further - he was here to make her feel better, soothe over the emotions that troubled her and instead he’d gone and made them worse.

Atticus hated it when women cried.

Poppy shifted and he picked up his cup to take a sip from it. He didn’t have anything else to say on the matter, not until she’d finally picked her words. If there was one thing Atticus was good at, it was picking his words carefully. (Even if Basil would disagree with him, sometimes his brother was too far under his skin for him to care how much his words hurt.) Tears welled in her eyes but her words came out sharp, and true.

Atticus Foxwood was picky about his future bride, but only because he’d found the perfect one, gotten down on one knee to beg her to marry him, and through some miracle she’d agreed. She wasn’t anything special: lower class, poor enough that her dowry was downright laughable, and average looking enough that she would never catch the eye of someone looking for beauty. But he’d loved her with every fiber of his being. And look where that had gotten him. But she was a well-kept secret.

He pursed his lips together, unamused. “I’m sorry.” The words almost killed him. He settled the teacup back onto the table. “You have definitely paid attention, and I can’t say I am able to argue with any of the points you just made, even if I disagree Merlin is the better judge of character. If a woman gave him food and a pat on the head, why, he would marry me off to her in an instance.” He’d ignore her calling his friends boors, because one day she’d probably wind up marrying one - Atticus would keep that nugget in the back of his mind to bring up when Poppy wasn’t about ready to tear his head off.

“Mama tricked me into tea with a woman a few weeks ago.” She was a fine young lady, but… “It is you, Tillie and Basil I worry about.” More so the latter of the two, especially Basil. He could only hope Tillie would conform within a few years once she’d gotten the rebellious nature out of her system. He wasn't sure Basil would ever let go of his academics long enough to marry someone, let alone bear any children. Atticus’ lips twitched into a smile. “I promise, Poppy. I will be fine. I appreciate your…efforts. Please think I do not.”

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Poppy Dashwood

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Still seething, Poppy watched Atticus carefully and willed herself to stop crying! It was infuriating, this habit of hers to break out into tears whenever she was angry. It made her look so fragile, and there was nothing fragile about Poppy Dashwood. (Not really.) She dabbed at the corners of her eyes like there was simply something blowing in them instead of these wretched tears betraying her, and then settled her gaze to refold the napkin in her lap as Atticus apologized.

Well, at least he’d done as much.

“Of course I’ve paid attention!” she snapped, in an albeit harsher tone than she’d intended. Swallowing it, Poppy tried again. She looked up to meet his big brown eyes with her own. “You always worry so much about everyone else,” she sighed. “You always stand up strong and tall and protect us - all of us -” herself, Basil, Tillie “but sometimes I worry that all of that concern for us will seep into your life-choices.” She leaned forward to place her hand delicately over top of his. “I… I don’t want you to choose a wife based on what’s expected of you, or for us,” Poppy offered, gently. “I want you to marry someone that will make you happy.”

And there it was. Most of it, at least. Poppy did want Atticus to marry for love, even if she didn’t want that for herself. He deserved it! He, anyway, was a man and could afford to do as much. If she herself couldn’t for her own unnatural reasons, at least Atticus could. Besides, he was everything she’d be looking for this upcoming season too - wealthy, powerful, upperclass and non-violent - what woman could resist falling in love with him? Especially when one added the extra layer of just how sweet he could be, when he wanted to. (Poppy tried to remind herself of that in her moment of fizzling anger. He could be sweet, she knew he could, even if he was also an idiot other times!)

Taking in a deep breath, the brunette deliberated a moment. She’d never actually mentioned to Atticus that she didn’t want to make a love match, or what her own criteria was for a suitor, but now didn’t seem like the right time. She wanted to emphasize that his love match was important to her for this reason but it would only blow up in both their faces - she knew it would. Filing that tidbit away for another evening, perhaps one where he just needed a small push, she let out a deep breath. “I love you, Atticus,” she said meekly. “I just don’t want you to be unhappy.”

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Atticus frowned. Out of everything he expected to come out of Poppy’s mouth, this was at the bottom of his list. Her eyes met his, and all he could do was frown at her. He knew exactly what he wanted in a wife: pretty, well spoken, and most importantly, someone he didn’t have to entertain. He could wave her off toward her own hobbies if they eventually found they didn't get along. If that meant he spent little time with her, as long as she bore their children, so-be-it. Love was a concept that he didn’t envision for himself. Not at first, and if anything, maybe after they’d form a friendship, the stars would align and he’d fall in love.

But, he didn’t expect it to happen. By the end of the season he had every intention of proposing to someone and hoped that she would say yes. Atticus knew he’d be used just as much as she would - wealth, power, family, there wasn’t much protection he couldn’t offer someone, and outside of her not liking who he was, he didn't see much of a reason as to why anyone would turn down a proposal. He would fund her lifestyle and as some sort of courtesy toward her, he wouldn’t step out on her. Her whims and desires would be met as long as they were reasonable; but would he be happy with such a match? Time would tell. But love, Atticus wanted to laugh but hid it by picking up his teacup and taking a deep sip from it, wasn’t something he’d bank on. Falling in love took a long time, and he felt like he was running out of it.

(Whether or not he’d admit it, Atticus had every intention of being a doting father.)

Finally he sighed as he reached out to take his cousin’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I know. Thank you. I’m not. I won’t be -” He cleared his throat. Poppy didn’t have to know he had every intention of picking a wife based on what was expected; if he’d been allowed to love, he’d be married already. But that had been a disaster. “Now, is there anything else you need to get off your chest? I feel like it’s the perfect time to unload anything else.” Atticus smiled softly at her as he pulled back his hand.

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Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy was not pleased with the response she received from Atticus. He was being dismissive and trying to change the subject. For a moment she debated letting him. It didn’t seem like he was willing to go much further, and from experience, Poppy knew any more pressing would only result in both their tempers, and her tears, flaring again. This was hardly the place to illicit such a response and so, reluctantly, Poppy supposed there was nothing more to be gleaned by beating this horse into the ground. She would circle back in a few weeks, once the idea had settled in, and they would revisit the topic. Atticus Foxwood would not get away with dismissing her so easily.

Pulling her hand back and taking a small sip from her now cold tea, Poppy settled the thing gently back in its saucer with a click. She tugged her wand free and subtly gave it a small wave to re-heat the cold pot before pouring herself another tasse. She didn’t have anything else pressing to unload upon Atticus at the moment; at least nothing she wanted to share with him. She was perfectly satisfied with sharing her more juvenile, giggling things with Beryl, June and Ida. “No," Poppy replied simply. “I think I’ve shared enough for one afternoon.”

As they settled into an easy silence, Poppy wondered what all could be filtering into Atticus’ mind. He was sometimes as simple and uncomplicated as the recipe for a befuddling potion but other times could be as tricky as extracting a tooth from a screeching, adolescent mandrake. He was so serene in that moment that it almost made Poppy nervous. “Tell me your thoughts,” she inquired, holding his gaze. “It makes me anxious on the rare occasion I feel we are not aligned.”

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Atticus hummed quietly as he flicked his gaze up to meet his cousin; most of the time they were insync. He could read her like an open book, just as she could with him; he wasn’t entirely sure why - or how - he’d gotten as close to Poppy as he had, simply because their gap was significant. Perhaps he’d wanted to protect in her ways he’d failed to protect Basil. Blinking slowly, he couldn’t help but smile at her.

Atticus folded his hands on the table, forgetting about the tea and the scones for a moment. “I’m not angry, if that’s what you're thinking. Just… surprised at your forwardness. But for you my dear, I will be the utmost gentleman to the women you have taken your time to converse with on my behalf.” He sighed, and glanced down at the table for a moment as he collected his thoughts; he didn’t want to snap at her again, not when she didn’t deserve it. “Next time, although I hope there will not be a next time, please run it by me first.” A courtship, a proposal, he wasn’t sure what his goal at the end of the season was, but it was certainly… something. He paused once more.

A slight grin stole across his features. “And if your prospects are floundering next year when Lonely Hearts comes back around, I am returning the favor of writing in.” Although Atticus wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or not.

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Poppy Dashwood

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Poppy almost scoffed at Atticus’ confession but she refrained, knowing he would not confide in her if she did. There was nothing forward about her scheme! Meddlesome, perhaps, but not forward. She had just as much right as anyone else to have an interest in Atticus’ future wife, especially considering she would be forced to spend just as much time with the lady as he! She refused to concede to his demands, instead taking another sip of her tea and accidentally burning her tongue. Poppy hissed a little and set the thing down with a clatter she didn’t intend. Then, bringing a hand to cover her mouth she frowned.

“I dare to hope I’ll be engaged by then,” she said dismissively. “But, I suppose fair is fair,” a small smile broke out over her face and with that, Poppy decided the topic was ceded. “I’ve burnt my tongue,” she sighed. “Shall we be off to see if I can’t find Basil something to apologize formally? Maybe some pumpkin pasties, if we can manage?” Poppy gently pushed the tea cup away from herself. If there was anything she wanted to do this afternoon after her conversation with Atticus it was to find something memorable for her other cousin. She still felt horribly about what had happened but at least… she’d managed to unload her major concerns. She did feel a touch better, she supposed. Now all that remained was clinging to Atticus’ sleeve for physical comfort as well as verbal and she knew she’d be right as rain, soon enough.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox

Laughing quietly at his cousin’s remark, Atticus nodded as he stood up from the table. Then he offered Poppy his arm as he smiled at her. “We can check Honeydukes to see what he has. If not, I’m sure we put in a special order with a bakery for a pumpkin pastry. Basil will be thrilled with the effort, nonetheless.” He knew she felt guilty over the matter, and well, he’d spend the whole day finding something for his brother if it made her happy.

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Poppy Dashwood

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Nodding at her cousin, Poppy too stood and delicately replaced her napkin and things. Then, smoothing her dress, she accepted the arm that was offered to her and curled into it. The scent of Atticus alone was reassurance enough that everything would be alright. Even if he was cross with her, even if he was concerned, everything would be alright because she had him to support her. “Thank you,” she replied, all sweetness and delicacy.

Thank you for always helping me and being the brother I always needed.

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Atticus Foxwood

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© Fox