Absence Makes the Heart.... DraMa

15 June 1923
Paris, France

Drago,

Dearest Dragomir,

I blame you for this. As is our usual dynamic. My Grandmother has become unbearable. Hence, the scratches at the top of the page. Apparently nicknames are unbecoming of a lady. Thankfully she has been called away, so I can write what I want now.

She is over the moon about our "marriage." Yes, she actually used air quotes. This might be partially my fault, since every time she calls you my fiancé I remind her there has been no proposal and no ring, so she's not allowed to say such things. It has become a point of contention, and she hates having to clarify to the sales staff, so now she just chuckles and goes on spending my grandfather's money.

I think I've been fitted for enough dresses to clothe half of Paris. Apparently I need evening gowns, afternoon dresses, walking dresses, luncheon dresses, tea dresses, garden party dresses, and at least three hats that cost more than my entire Hogwarts wardrobe. I asked whether anyone really needed that many hats and was told that the question itself was "deeply provincial." I don't entirely know what that means, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't a compliment.

We've spent almost every afternoon being paraded through drawing rooms, attending teas and luncheons with women who discuss marriages, charities, flower arrangements, the weather, and who was or wasn't invited to whichever gala happened last Thursday. I've been forced to smile so much that my cheeks have begun to ache.

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I was told this morning that for the next three weeks I will be participating in an intensive etiquette training.

She conveniently made it sound like a prestigious honor. I'm pretty sure it's actually a punishment.

Three weeks of learning how to host dinners, entertain guests, write invitations, remember who outranks whom, and somehow hold an interesting conversation without ever saying anything particularly interesting.

Honestly, it sounds exhausting.

I'm trying to think positively. Truthfully, I know these are things I'll need one day. I suppose I'd rather learn it now than embarrass myself later, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy it.

And I’ve been informed that there will be no boots. High heels only. My toes already hurt.

Again, I’m pretty sure this is all your fault.

I miss you........

There. I admitted it.

No one here argues with me over Russian vocabulary, tells me I'm already crazy, or mysteriously appears wherever I happen to be hiding. Paris is beautiful, but it is considerably less interesting when there isn't an annoyingly persistent Russian wandering into my day. I keep expecting you to appear out of nowhere. You've become so good at finding me, that it almost feels strange when you don't

Tell me everything going on with you, as long as it doesn’t involve what types of fabric are acceptable for specific occasions.
What does your father have you doing? I hope for your sake that it’s more exciting than doily placement and acceptable hem lengths.

I suspect it is.

Yours,
Matilda

P.S. My scar has been the topic of discussion at every appointment. Finally, much to my grandmother's happiness, she was able to commission stockings that are magicked to hide the scar completely. I guess it’s for the best.

XOXO
Indie Flower

Sunday, 17 June 1923

Dear Matilda,

I think I like it when you call me ‘Dearest Dragomir’; I will take that blame. Perhaps you will get used to it too, the way you got used to the idea of me. I know it; don’t deny. You are a terrible liar. And do not worry. You will have your proposal and your ring once you admit that you want it.

I will be looking forward to seeing you in all your new dresses. You deserve pretty things, though I am sorry it has to be with your grandmother. Do not stop bothering her. It’s the least she deserves. But you can stand up to her; you know that. You are cleverer than her and stronger. You will finish this course with top marks, then you can be the best wife in public, and then complain about everything to me in private afterwards.

It is how I repent for this being all my fault, Sunflower.

I miss you too. I have not been told I am annoying for a long time, although I suppose your letter just did. I will come find you once you are home again, I promise.

My days are busy. Father has me doing business for Argentum Memoriae, taking me along to appointments and meetings to learn. It would be boring to you; I will spare you the details. Besides that, I am training more to be in shape for Auror training. You have made too many treats.

Do not worry about hiding your scar. You can show it to me in private, too.

Yours,
Drago

19 June 1923
Paris, France

My Dearest Insufferable Russian,

I attended another luncheon today. Lady Beaumont spent twenty minutes explaining the proper way to accept compliments. I spent the entire time wondering what you would say if she corrected your table manners.

I would pay a large sum of money to see this.

I think you'd smile politely, wait until we were outside, and then mutter something in Russian that would absolutely not be appropriate for polite society. It made me laugh in the middle of dessert. She then scolded me for my behaviour.

She informed me that "young ladies should never laugh so loudly in company."

Obviously, this is all your fault.

My grandmother has reached a new level of insanity. She tried to put me in an orange dress. With ruffles.

Orange…

I know you’re a man and oblivious to things like color theory, but I hope you understand the gravity of this situation. I looked like a carrot. A very expensive carrot, but a vegetable all the same. She is insufferable.

I noticed you conveniently assumed I wanted a proposal. How very presumptuous of you. Do you expect me to wake up one morning asking for a ring? I would think you know by now that my stubbornness is neverending. In fact, thanks to the etiquette training, it’s far more refined.

Your daily activities sound very boring. Which sounds wonderful. Nothing sounds more amazing than being alone in my garden, only to be interrupted by a certain someone. It’s been weeks since my fingers dug in to the earth. I never realized how much I'd miss the greenhouse until someone decided my summer should consist of polished silver, embroidered napkins, and deciding which spoon belongs with which soup.

I also discovered something rather unfortunate, you’ve ruined libraries for me.

I found a lovely little library with a reading nook in the city a few days ago. It was quiet, comfortable, and had a window looking over a courtyard. I sat down with a book and immediately looked up because I was convinced you'd appear out of nowhere to sit with me. You didn't. It was terribly disappointing.

I've also caught myself turning around every time I hear someone speaking Russian. So far, not one of them has been annoyingly tall or inclined to play with my hair while pretending to read.

Frankly, Paris is lacking in properly trained Russians. You should do something about that.

And before your ego grows any larger, no, this letter is not evidence that I miss you more than you miss me. It just means Paris is far less entertaining without someone around to argue with. Don’t read to much into that statement. I refuse to elaborate.

Sincerely,
Your Carrot Sunflower

P.S. I love the nickname more than I probably should.
XOXO

Friday, 22 July 1923

Dear Matilda,

You mentioned you wondered what I’d say if Lady Beaumont corrected my table manners. Fortunate for me, my table manners are impeccable and wouldn’t need any correcting, as you know. Besides that, you have made me an expert in handling insults. Nothing can break me anymore.

Though perhaps I would tell her ‘Zakroy rot, staraya ved'ma’ and explain it means ‘Thank you, ma’am’ in Russian. I'm sure you would like that.

I will take the blame in advance, should this make you laugh in inapproproate settings again, Carrot.

While you noticed that I assume you desire a proposal, I noticed you wish for my annoying and insufferable company quite often. It almost sounds like you are in denial, dear. You are contradicting yourself. Maybe the lack of dirt and plants has meddled with your brain too much. It is time that you come home.

When you do, I want to show you the greenhouse at Harewood; I have had the elves clean it up and plant a few things. I think you will like it. Work is becoming more demanding, so it would be nice to have an hour to walk and listen to you rattle on and on about soil and light conditions. It would be a nice change.

I miss you, Sunflower, and I will make sure you have plenty to argue about once I see you again. No need to read anything into your statement; I know what it means.

Yours,
Drago, your favourite Russian fiancé

---

Zakroy rot, staraya ved'ma - Shut your mouth, old hag

24 June 1923
Paris, France

My Dearest Male Suitor,

First of all, I would like to formally object to being called Carrot. I will tolerate Sunflower. I even find it... acceptable. Carrot, however, feels very targeted.

Secondly, when see Lady Beaumont again, I intend to repeat your delightful phrase. I will smile sweetly and thank her in Russian exactly as you've instructed. If I’m disowned from society after, I expect you to accept full responsibility. Again. As is tradition.

I have five days left of the etiquette course. Apparently, by the end, I will be able to host a twelve-course dinner, introduce dukes to ambassadors in the proper order, seat guests according to rank, and identify seventeen different forks without embarrassing my family… Or yours.

If any of these skills are actually helpful remains to be seen. On the bright side, I can now descend a staircase, in heels and a gown, without bringing shame upon generations of Nordstroms.

I'm sure you are very relieved.

Your greenhouse sounds far better than anything I've learned these past weeks. I miss the dirt beneath my fingernails. I miss fresh herbs. I miss greenhouses. I miss you standing next to me in them.

That sentence got away from me, please disregard.

THIRD, I object to your accusation that plants have meddled with my brain. My brain was questionable long before I met you. You just chose to encourage it.

I’m excited to visit Harewood. I have a picture in my head of what it looks like, but want to see it for myself. I imagine it to be a lot like our Sweden Estate, but more opulent. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

Not soon enough. Sorry… Quill slipped. Ignore that too.

You also wrote that I deserve pretty things. Thank you. Reading that made me blush. I don't think anyone has said something like that to me before.

And before your ego inflates to the point of explosion, I still say that you are entirely too confident for someone with no competition. You are my favourite Russian fiancé by default.

Congratulations.

Come find me soon.

I don't like waiting this much.

I'll be home before you know it.


Yours (despite your constant need to call me vegetables),
MATILDA

P.S. The striked out bits are not meant to be read. I expect you to follow the rules. You’re a rules guy. This shouldn’t be difficult.

P.P.S. Burn this letter after reading.

P.P.P.S. Actually don't. I'd be sad if you did.

Tuesday, 27 June 1923

Dear Carrot Sunflower,

Objection denied.

Let me know how Lady Beaumont will react, though; I am looking forward to it. Should the unlikely happen and they do expel you from society, I will come by and set them straight again. I am certain the skills you learn will come in handy soon enough; if you like, I can create as many opportunities for you to show off as you like.

Once we are married, you can host dinners and galas every weekend. I’m sure you would love that.

And in between, you can dig through the greenhouse. Only a little while longer, and you will be back home. Then the plants can keep making you crazier. You may want to get those checked out, by the way. Perhaps they emit fumes, meddling with your brain and confusing it into thinking I’m annoying and insufferable.

There will be a garden party at Harewood on 14 July. I shall show you everything then; I believe invitations have already been sent out. I did enjoy your family’s estate in Sweden, though I will say I enjoy ours better. I’m certain you will agree once you see.

I am glad to see you admit that there is no competition, Sunflower. We are getting dangerously close to you admitting you like me.

Work is keeping me busy, so I apologise for the delay in my responses. Father is keeping me involved as much as he can, it seems, and business is growing. There is a lot of travelling involved, long hours, but I promise I do not forget about you.

Yours,
Drago

P.S. The next time, put the notice not to read the struck-out bits at the top of your letter. It’s too late now. I’ll read them anyway, though. I like them.

P.P.S. I miss you; you will see me sooner than you think.

29 June 1923
Paris, France

To My Undefeated Hide-and-Seek Champion,

It’s done. The three weeks of hell quality instruction has ended. I fear that after such intense training, you may not recognize me at all. I managed to get through an entire conversation about napkin rings without laughing.

I’m a changed woman.

As though posture, conversation, table settings and proper introductions weren't enough, they informed us a few days ago that we would all be receiving "a complete refinement." I assumed this meant another lecture. It did not.

Apparently, becoming a proper lady now includes a full body makeover. I tried to explain that the fingernail polish would be instantly destroyed when I got back to my garden. Instead of conceding, they added another layer of some magical top coat.

My fingernails are now, apparently, indestructible. I suspect they are stronger than dragon scales.

Then they cut my hair. I nearly cried. Not because it looked bad… Actually, it looks quite nice, but it's shorter than I would have liked. I’d tell you more, but it will be more fun to see your reaction in person.

They kept saying they wanted to "enhance my natural beauty." I wasn't aware it required six stylists, twenty seven hairpins, enough face powder to stun a Hippogriff, and far to many opinions on my eyebrows.

Honestly, I’m a little insulted.

They also insisted I learn "day makeup," "afternoon makeup," "evening makeup," and "formal gala makeup." I had absolutely no idea there were that many categories. I still don't know all the differences.

Sadly, I don't think I ever will.

Maybe I’ll finally be able to hide from you.

...Though knowing you, you'll probably find me anyway.

The only thing keeping me going is that I will be home soon. I miss proper gardens, fresh air, persistent Russians, and conversations that don't involve the correct placement of a water glass.

I’m very excited to see the greenhouse at Harewood House, although I maintain mine in Sweden is better. You are welcome to be wrong. Actually… Go ahead and read that last strikeout… twice.


Until You Find Me Again,
Matilda

P.S. One day I'm going to write something under a strikeout that isn't true. You'll never know which one it is.

P.P.S. It wasn't the one about you being wrong.