31 December 1892 - Sugarplum New Years Eve Gala, London (sometime shortly before midnight)
New Years Eve. How had a year passed already, so quickly? Poppy wasn’t sure how in the blink of an eye so much had changed without her even really realizing time was passing. She’d graduated, debuted, and nearly started courting a gentleman (or was hedging that way, she imagined?) all in the span of twelve months. This time last year she’d been… sneaking out after curfew into the Prewett’s gala. (Throwing her guts up into a bush as Atticus chided her.) Now, on this last evening of 1892, she was making pleasant chatter with society types she had real, respectable connections with, even made some friends. Not everything had changed however; Poppy had still spent a good portion of the night tucked into Juniper’s side scheming away and giggling as they swapped war stories of the past few months. (It had been some time since they’d caught up.) (Now, as her champagne ran low and the girl felt a pleasant spinning in her head, she was determined to relive one experience from last New Years Eve she had not been able to shake all year.)
Setting aside her empty glass, Poppy smoothed the folds of her dress with a grin. This was one of her favorites, chosen specifically for this evening to make a statement. The fabric was a soft blue that hugged her curves. The off-shoulder neckline, Poppy’s favorite, had a shimmer to the lace that scooped around pretty little florals that decorated her décolletage. Only a slight enchantment had been placed upon the florals to encourage them to glimmer in the spirit of the festivities. (If they happened to attract attention, well, that was not her intention.)
Poppy didn’t know where Atticus had run off to, but having a chaperone much more interested in his future betrothed than his charge was quite convenient. Especially as she passed a searching glance over the crowd in the utterly fantastic candy-landed ballroom. Poppy was in the mood for mischief. Already a few champagne glasses in, and with midnight fast approaching, the brunette sought out one particular face. She knew he was here. She’d spotted him over the shoulder of one of her suitors earlier in the evening but hadn’t managed to make eye contact and plead for rescue… (Now that had been a terrible dance. Mr. Pouska had stepped on her toes the whole time!)
Ah-hah~ Hazel eyes glimmered as they landed on the very object of her fascination. Poppy wasn’t sure why, precisely, she’d decided this was the moment to seek out Kristoffer. She supposed she was ready for a relief from the chaos of the evening. He was… comfortable to her at this stage. A friendly face in the crowd. (A bit of a far cry from where they’d been this time last year.) Smiling to herself, the debutant selected a new glass of champagne off a passing tray and made her way over to the gentleman.
Bumping into him gently from behind, Poppy clicked her tongue. “Seven years of schooling and you still don’t know how to look where you’re going, Ms. Dashwood!” she mimicked in as deep a voice as she could manage without sounding ridiculous. To her credit, Poppy did not spill her drink all over either of them this time. Instead, she laughed her tinkly little laugh as she rounded to face the gentleman properly, mischief alight in hazel hues. Would he remember, she wondered?
© Fox