Dear, Miss Violet. ✔

Chapter 29

Simon watched Violet go.

He did not run after her, or even call out her name. 

Because he knew what she felt, and he new that what she felt was something one shouldn't feel.

So he just watched her go. Or run.

Lord, but she was trying. If Simon hadn't been so absolutely vexed, he would have definitely laughed just looking at her.

He noticed that she was quite petite and barely had the strength to bear so much anguish all at once, coupled with her reflex action of running away.

Violet barely ran 8 feet before stopping to catch her breath. She did not look behind, and after around five seconds, she resumed her run, again stopping after successfully running another 9 feet.

Simon had a weird urge to burst into laughter, but he knew that it would be highly improper and she'd never forgive him. But for God's sake, the woman couldn't run for her dear life.

He knew that dresses were supposed to be heavy, but any other woman would've easily outrun her irrespective of the dress mass.

After about another 45 seconds, when she was completely out of view, Simon looked down at Jonathan.

He knelt down next to him, adjusting his cravat. 

Jonathan's left eye was turning bluish-black and his slightly parted lips kept moving. Maybe he wasn't fully unconscious.

But just the sight of him, the bloody sight of him- It was enough to set Simon afire.

So he came closer and punched him once again squarely in the jaw. Jonathan reacted with a spit, and his face fell to the left.

Simon stood, brushing his breeches. He looked down at him one last time.

"Bloody blazes."

Simon woke up the next morning, seized with an inexplicable need to bury himself in the pillows again. He was exhausted, probably more emotionally than physically, but still, he had no interest in following his routine for once.

But he had some work to do, some tedious estate work which required his immediate attention.

So he completed it and cleared his desk, drinking from a glass of plonk.

He hated the cheap wine, but nothing relieved the pain in one's heart except for pathetic plonk, he'd discovered.

Violet must have felt extremely aggrieved, the previous night. And he hated that she'd felt so much. She was disturbed by Jonathan, she looked tired, and-and-

Simon drew in a long breath.

She had expected anonymous to show up, and he hadn't.

He looked at the desk, assessing few blank sheets kept atop it.

Should he write to her?

Simon kept his glass of plonk aside, heaving a sigh. He had to write.

So he took out his quill, and with an unrecognized emotion in his eyes, he started writing..

Dear Miss Violet,

I know you're angry with me. You wish to stop your correspondence. 

You wish to stop receiving letters from me.

But, but I'm bound to write to you. I love you, I truly do, I've always felt extreme affection when I even think about you.

When I so think about the love that runs deep in the violet depth of your eyes.

I want to feel that love, but at the same time, I can't, I REALLY CAN'T HAVE YOU.

I'm helpless.

So I beg you, I literally BEG OF YOU to stop looking for me.

Yesterday at the party, I saw you looking out for someone. And I know that it was me, who you were so desperately trying to search.

I know, because your eyes, those violet depths in them, kept moving back and forth in delicate movements, as you tried to mask your features in normalcy but failed miserably.

You looked utterly hurt and confused and uncomfortable.

And I beg for your forgiveness. Yes, I'm a coward, and yes I fear love, but dear lady believe me, there's a reason behind it.

Please stop looking out for me, and please don't ask me who I am.

If time permits, I shall reveal my identity, or I shall not.

But please let's keep this correspondence going.

Because nothing gives me more satisfaction than seeing your letters and talking to you.

You are so precious, so very beautiful that you have captured my entire heart, and you're ruling it ever since.

I love you, I shall always do so, but I beg your pardon, don't ask me who I am.

I am looking out for you, Miss Violet. Or shall I dare say, the queen of my heart?

Yours truly,

Anonymous.

Simon smiled wryly. He loved how 'anonymous' could confess more to Violet than he ever could.