31st December, 1892 — Sugarplum NYE’s gala, London
Next year, he was resolved. Next year, he would marry. But if he married, it would not be to just anyone, no, it would be to –
Miss Dashwood, of course. Why not? Endymion had met her at her debut this summer, and had called her a kindred spirit then. Indeed, every conversation they had shared since had been perfectly pleasant, so why had this never crossed his mind before? She was perfect. How had he not known it at once? And – well, if she was perfect, then it stood to reason that she was equally, undoubtedly, perfect for him.
At any rate, it was obvious to him now, having handed his empty glass away and looked up and caught her eye nearby – what eyes! – that there was no one else on earth for him. Poppy, red: consolation. (There it was: she was his consolation.) Poppy, white: Sleep. My bane. My antidote. (The bane and the antidote. That sounded like love, entirely.) How could he have been so stupid not to see it until now?
He felt – dazed, and delirious, and deliriously happy all at once. He had not taken his eyes off her, but his feet had begun moving of their own accord, a few swift strides to find himself before her. “Miss Dashwood,” he breathed, half-overcome just by being so near her. “I’m so glad to have finally found you.”
Miss Dashwood, of course. Why not? Endymion had met her at her debut this summer, and had called her a kindred spirit then. Indeed, every conversation they had shared since had been perfectly pleasant, so why had this never crossed his mind before? She was perfect. How had he not known it at once? And – well, if she was perfect, then it stood to reason that she was equally, undoubtedly, perfect for him.
At any rate, it was obvious to him now, having handed his empty glass away and looked up and caught her eye nearby – what eyes! – that there was no one else on earth for him. Poppy, red: consolation. (There it was: she was his consolation.) Poppy, white: Sleep. My bane. My antidote. (The bane and the antidote. That sounded like love, entirely.) How could he have been so stupid not to see it until now?
He felt – dazed, and delirious, and deliriously happy all at once. He had not taken his eyes off her, but his feet had begun moving of their own accord, a few swift strides to find himself before her. “Miss Dashwood,” he breathed, half-overcome just by being so near her. “I’m so glad to have finally found you.”
