September, 30. 1892
In the light of a new day, with more of his wits than he'd had the evening prior, Basil read the concern in Ms. Victoire's letter and he felt embarrassed. It had been rather spur of the moment, his whim. Still, he was pleased to be able to talk to her Saturday. There was simply something about Ms. Malfoy that managed to settle Basil's nerves. She was charming and sweet and best of all, expecting nothing of him. He could almost be himself with her, at least insomuch as he could shelter his sails behind her when he needed to and be met with understanding. It was unusual for him to find such solace in an upperclass peer, female too, but welcome nonetheless.
Dear Ms. Malfoy,
How about London? I can come to you. I'll even bring a firelight and some pumpkin pasties for your sacrifice.
It has felt like a rather extended absence, hasn't it? I'm doing about as well as could be expected. A lot of new responsibility, but I've mostly managed.
I am excited to see you, Saturday. There's been a lot weighing on my mind and frankly, seeing you is all that has kept me afloat.
respectfully,
Basil Foxwood
Basil Foxwood