Very Truly Yours, Simone

3. the second letter

Simone did not find out more after Mr. Cavendish was called for the next act and he hastily said goodbye before he could even answer Web's question, and after Web returned to his earlier demeanor and ordered the three of them to go outside and into the carriage.

As her luck would have it, Simone did get in trouble. But as she would later find out, it was a fated trouble. Web, in his rare frightening air (because most days, he was a very charming man), forbade her, Lydia, and Gale from exiting any doors in the villa that was not their own. In short, they were confined to their respective bedrooms for a week. Their meals and bath were delivered to their doors on time and the servants could not talk to them.

"And I don't want to hear any complaints," Web said after them as they strutted up the stairs, growling at each other.

"What's going on?" their grandfather's voice asked from somewhere.

They paused, hopeful, but then Web said, "Go on. Upstairs in your room. Now." And as they climbed, they heard him relay the situation to their grandfather. If they hoped the earl would intervene, they were left disappointed.

On the first day, Simone enjoyed the peace and quiet. Through the thin wall that separated her room from Lydia's, they read books to each other. As for Gale, Lydia, who was between his and Simone's rooms, complained about his pacing. "He's now practicing his waltz."

By the second day, they were looking out their windows that faced the street, counting the passersby, even calling out to Roxie and Freda's nanny to wave hello. The woman, under Web's orders, ignored them with a disappointed shake of her head. Gale later joined them through his window, reminding them of their promise. "You are yet to introduce me to Pauline Baker, cousins. I'm not going through this week-long suffering for nothing."

On the fourth day, Lydia was immersed in painting, which left Simone to do nothing but write letters. She wrote a dozen to their friends back in Abberton, one or two to their tutors, and even another one for Daniel Cavendish.

She told him about her boring week, how she practiced painting her face and curling her hair, her reading progress, and her love for his acting. She did not blame him, of course, for the punishment she endured for going to his play. And she also relayed that she was glad he was her brother's friend. As she thought of how she should close her letter, a gush of wind blew through the street-facing window, carrying her letter with it.

Now, that would have been no trouble at all if her desk was not facing another window, but it was. And the said window was open, and that's where the letter went.

Out.

Then in.

Into the window opposite hers.

Daniel Cavendish's window was never open. Never. Ever since he moved in, it was always closed. But today it was.

And to her horror, he had not heeded her request to transfer to a different room because he was there, picking up the letter.

Simone, in her horror and embarrassment, docked down and hit her forehead on the edge of her desk. She cried out in pain.

"Are you all right?" His voice was still the same. And it still sounded magical.

Simone opened her eyes, hand on her forehead. He was at the window, holding her letter. She nodded.

"You're bleeding."

"Hm?" Oh, stupid! She should at least say a word.

"You're bleeding," he repeated, his brown eyes both concerned and amused. He was wearing a brown waistcoat over white shirt. Truly, he did not need anything else. His words did not register as fast as it should have until he said, "Goodness, go find something to stop it."