June 19, 1892

The letter is sent anonymously, stuck just inside the door frame of the Dashwood home; Poppy Dashwood’s name is written across the center of it, with no return address. The letter isn’t dated, but the paper is faded, as if written years prior. The bottom of the letter is ripped off, as he’s not ready to divulge the secret of his identity. He is, however, ready to admit his crush.

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Ms. Dashwood,

What shall it profit me to know
Your heart holds many a Romeo?
Why should I grieve, though I forget
How many another Juliet?
Let us be glad to have forgot
That roses fade, and loves are not,
As dreams, immortal, though they seem
Almost as real as a dream.
It is for this I see you rise,
A wraith, with starlight in your eyes,
Where calm hours weave, for such a mood
Solitude out of solitude;
For this, for this, you come to me
Out of the night, out of the sea.

If there is a time in which you’d like to reply, place a letter under the flower point near the entrance of the Ivy Leaf Tea Room, and I will find it. If you don’t, I will accept that too.

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Poppy Dashwood

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   Poppy Dashwood

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[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]

June 19, 1892 - Wellingtonshire, Dashwood Home

Poppy wasn’t sure if this note had been here long and she’d just failed to notice it or if she’d managed to just miss the delivery. It was odd to think that her siblings or the staff wouldn’t have caught it sooner if it had been sitting, so she supposed it must have been recent. Tugging the little scrunched up paper with her name scrawled across it, the girl wondered what it could possibly be.

Upon reading the note, an anonymous love letter it seemed, Poppy felt her heart skip a beat. Who could it possibly be from? Her debut had passed… only a few days ago? It couldn’t possibly be from one such suitor already. She’d only met each gentleman for a dance or so. Unless it was from… of course not. That was a silly thought. Poppy frowned. Perhaps it was one of her friends playing a trick. She wouldn’t put it past Beryl to think anonymous notes were funny. Then again, not even Beryl would be so cruel as to play with someone’s heart strings in this way. Poppy sighed a little dreamily as she tucked the note into her bosom and made her way up the stairs to craft a reply.

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Dear sir or madam,

I appreciate the loveliest of sonnets but I am so disheartened not have seen a name. Your talents are worthy of taking credit, but I shall respect your will for anonymity.

I shall be in London for this my debut season and thusly shall not be able to take correspondence to the Ivy Leaf in Hogsmeade; I hope this owl finds you well enough! If you should like to reach me again, feel free to send post to the following address enclosed. It is the Foxwood residence where I shall be staying.

adieu,
Ms. Dashwood

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Clifford Hillicker

  

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© Fox

June 20, 1892

Cliff scrunched his face in confusion. He hadn't actually thought that Miss Dashwood would write him back and his talents. Ha! He had Algae to thank for that, because he'd spent some time mulling over some of his disgusting love poetry books to help him pick out the perfect one to send to her. And his name? He wasn't going to give her his name. This was a bad idea overall, yet...

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Miss Dashwood,

I don't want to share my name just yet, as what's the fun in that? I suppose... whatever you wish to call me is fine. I will sign my letters with a name of your choosing.

London for your debut, that is exciting. I'm sure you will do great and have suitors lining out the door. I don't know the Foxwood home, but I should have no troubles finding it, or at the very least, an owl will not. An owl to find me works. It's not as if I live an adventurous life where I am hard to find.

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Poppy Dashwood

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   Poppy Dashwood

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[Please feel free to hit Cliff at your leisure; he probably deserves it.]

July 24, 1892 - London, Foxwood Home

In the chaos of her debut and everything that happened afterwards, it was not until a few weeks later that Poppy finally remembered to owl back her mysterious note-sending courtier.

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Dear sir or madam,

Alright then; will you at least deign to give me a hint? Is it sir or madam, or neither?

I find it rather hard to believe someone who has taken up the practice of secret notes has nothing exciting upon which to recount. Please, do enlighten me a little as to your hobbies. What is it you enjoy in your leisure? Other than writing elegantly worded flirtations that make a young lady blush.

adieu,
Ms. Dashwood

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Clifford Hillicker

  

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© Fox