June 1, 1894 - London, Foxwood House

Poppy was... nervous to say the least, penning this letter as her Aunt Viola gently encouraged via significant looks and the occasional hum of support from where she was arranging a bouquet across the room. Poppy blew a curl out of her face and gave the parchment a tap or two with her small fingers. Where to begin? Was it rude? Was it presumptuous? What if he'd moved on, as he rightfully ought to have-- and what if, worse, he thought her so terribly assuming--

"I can't!" Poppy slapped the quill down and nearly toppled the inkwell startling Basil who sat beside her reading the Daily Prophet. (Her cousin had graced his family with a brief visit these first few days after graduation, much to all their welcome surprise.) He frowned at her and shook out his paper, making a point not to respond. "Oh darling, you can," Aunt Viola cooed instead. She swept with all the grace of a great lady across the room and settled in the armchair just to the left of where Poppy was attempting to pen her fruitless inquiry at the bureau. "If she can't, then we needn't force her mother," Basil clipped, half-paying attention from where he scanned an article about voting rights. Aunt Viola clicked her tounge impatiently. "You keep out of this Basil Foxwood, until you've brought me home a wife and the news of grandchildren!" At that, her cousin paled. "Er-- on second thought Poppy, best you do as Mama says, hm? She does know best in these things!" And with that, he folded his paper and scampered from the room. Poppy rolled her eyes and draped herself over the bureau.

"Poppy, dearest, just be your genuine, sweet self. Mr. Valenduris will understand the need for space. He's a fine gentleman from a good family. It's worth at least sending a missive, to see if there may be anything to discuss?" Pale grey hues turned reassuringly in her direction and Poppy bit her lower lip as she sat up and studied her aunt's face. "You liked him once, didn't you? That is a feeling worth perusing."

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Mr. Valenduris,
Dear
Esteemed
Mr. Valenduris,

I beg your indulgence in this note so out of the blue but I had hoped to apologize for the distance--

I have written to your sister

I have returned to London and I wish to see you just this past fortnight from your esteemed Italy and I find myself wishing for someone to relive the experience hoping to meet with you. I have brought back a small trinket which reminded me of our shared stories some months past.

Might we meet for tea?

Ms. Dashwood

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Cassian Valenduris & thier muse song (;w;)

  

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© Fox

Their correspondence was always something Cassian enjoyed, even when it had started to dwindle. Miss Dashwood endeared herself with her charm and wit that teased him through neat cursive, and how she recalled some of his favorites he had forgotten he even admitted. So when he found the familiar address in his pile of mail, he hastened to retrieve it before all the official business that scattered itself across his desk.

If he squinted, which he did, he could make out the words I wish to see you from under a decisive blot. From a different mouth, or someone else’s pen, those words made his blood run cold. But when Poppy wrote them they felt only natural, and Cassian felt wanted, in the plainest, most basal way. He felt warm. And while circumstances seemed intent on drawing them apart, his patience felt rewarded by this letter.

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June 2nd, 1894
Miss Dashwood,

London has been missing its radiance until this past fortnight, and now I know why. If you’re not too weary from your travels, perhaps I may come call for tea on Saturday? I have something for you too.

Sincerely,
Cassian Valenduris

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   Poppy Dashwood

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eyecandy by fox<3

June 2, 1894 - London, Foxwood House

When his response came across at breakfast that next morning, Poppy was as nervous to open it as she’d been to write. She held the neatly folded parchment and smoothed her thumb over the front, memorizing the way Cassian’s neat, professional hand scrawled out her name. This could well enough be the last time she saw it. The sense of profound loss that accompanied that thought had Poppy frowning and she bit her lower lip. Aunt Viola politely ignored the moment, choosing to give Poppy privacy instead by tittering with Basil. (“That Adebayo girl is quite lovely, darling. Won’t you come to the Applegate debut with us and just see if there might be anything between you?” “I already have a previous engagement that evening, Mama, with my publicist. This latest article has caused quite a stir and we are attempting to determine how to best present some of the findings. Not to mention that she’s a student of mine.” “Oh tosh! They were all your students once, dearest! If you go by that standard you’ll never marry at all!”)

When at last Poppy mustered her courage, it was only by excusing herself from the escalation at the table. (Basil had no reservation to inform his mother that he would be happy to remain a bachelor in perpetuity.) Curled in what was now very firmly her room at Foxwood House, and a comfortable, reassuring one at that, Poppy unfolded the parchment. The words there managed to lift her spirits immeasurably.

A smile split her features and Poppy felt a swell in her chest. Flatterer, was her first thought, tinged with a keen embarrassment. But more than that, the reassurance was a weight off her shoulders. He still wanted to see her, too! Not to get too ahead of herself, but it was a good sign, right? And he wanted to visit Saturday. There was so much to do! She had to get her favorite of the new dresses she’d purchased abroad pressed and readied! And perhaps she could try something new with her hair! Oh goodness, there would not be enough time to learn a new enchantment for the skirts but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to look too pressed—

Poppy quickly pulled a piece of parchment and carefully crafted her reply.

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Mr. Valenduris,

I would be delighted if you came by Saturday. Perhaps we can have tea in the garden.

until then,
Ms. Dashwood

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Cassian Valenduris & thier muse song (;w;)

  

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© Fox