Dear, Miss Violet. ✔

Chapter 27

Lord Simon, Earl Watford, had an infamous reputation in London society. 

People stayed away from him, as if he'd just contracted the plague. It hurt him deep down, but on the surface it barely mattered.

But this night, he thought, for once- that it mattered.

When Violet was there, by his side, everything mattered.

His charm, his personality, his attitude, everything. Every damn possible thing he could think of.

And when he'd danced with her! It had been magical. Surely there were at least a dozen others who danced with him, but Simon couldn't take his eyes off her.

How, for the love of God, could someone be this beautiful?

Violet looked at him too. Her eyes would meet his, every time they took turns. The music seemed to flow amidst them, encircling them and blessing them. The overtones in the music shot through his body and sparked like current, and all he wished was to just follow the current and sway with it. 

Simon had always been a graceful dancer. 

He loved dancing and he loved music. He loved having to set an equilibrium between the two, and then following them as they filled his body with a desire so delicate and yet so magnificent that it had the power to renew his lost feelings. The lost feelings that were killed. Murdered.

He couldn't resist but marvel at the fact that Violet had awakened those feelings in him. Simon for once felt like his old self. Young and charming.

Yes, people still looked at him with disdain, even as he danced, but Simon didn't mind it much.

Yes there would be rumors, but nothing could be far from the truth. 

And the truth was that Simon felt happy. Internally. Just happy. And purely satisfied.

Simon Siddell, a man whose life had been turned upside down merely a few years ago- his life now felt that it was restored.

And only one person had done this.

Miss Violet.

Simon looked at her. The dance was over, and she'd walked off to the back of the ballroom, watching the new batch take over.

She looked a little queasy. Simon narrowed his eyes. In about fifteen seconds she'd gone utterly still, and only her eyes seemed to move back and forth. 

It appeared as if she was searching for someone.

Simon sighed. It was the anonymous man. How could he forget?

He gulped. He was so utterly baffled for a moment.

He kept looking at her. More like observing her.

She was just so delicate. Like a flower, which felt small exertions with an amplitude enough to affect it's movements.

She scrunched her nose twice, heaved three sighs in a row, raised her left brow twice, her right brow thrice, and winced once.

After her series of facial movements, she looked down for merely three seconds before closing her eyes for around five seconds.

She was contemplating something for sure. And she looked so flushed and uneasy that he could wager that she felt claustrophobic and confused. And a tad bit angry. Maybe he was just imagining the anger part, but surely her lips curled now and then and her brows came together in what looked like a mix of exhaustion and slight ire.
She just look tired, and Simon could not fathom why.

Her eyes seemed so lost and blank, that for a moment Simon thought of going to her and asking her if she was alright or not. Because she clearly looked not.

But Simon held himself back. He did not want rumors to spring yet, and surely did not want London society to think that he was courting Violet, or probably had some affair with her.

They both already had conversed a lot for the eve, and he'd received more stares than usual.

Dubious and prying stares.

So he just kept looking at her. After about 3 minutes, she heaved a final sigh and walked toward the washroom.

Simon waited. For fifteen whole minutes. And when she didn't show up, worry started clawing in his gut. 

He knew that women took longer, but still, deep down he knew that something wasn't quite right. She'd looked too distressed.

There surely was no way he could check upon her himself.

But he knew that at the end of the corridor that had the ladies' washroom, there was a balcony too, which was easily accessible via the corridor adjacent to the former one. 

He knew that there was a one-third probability of her walking off to the balcony, with the other two-third being either staying in the washroom or coming out to the ballroom, because there was no other room in that corridor.

And Simon just wanted to take his chance. That one-third chance.

He looked ahead. One just had to walk through that adjacent corridor,  and take a right turn to reach the balcony.

Simon smiled. It wasn't the first time that his memory had favored him.