Dear Maurice,
The flowers that you sent were enchanting, my darling. Wherever did you find such an exquisite winter arrangement? The colors look brilliant and dazzling in my boudoir. I placed them gingerly in my Grandmother’s antique pewter vase in hopes that she would not scold me if she finds it missing from that special cabinet she keeps under lock and key.
You must have overlooked the card that usually comes with flowers sent in such a romantic fashion. No matter, my dear Maurice, I knew they could only be from you. No other gentle man that I know has such thoughtful and tender romantic ways. I would feel less graceful if I neglected to send a thank you card, but dear Maurice, you forgot to tell me the forwarding address in Paris. I shall have to await your return to the states to thank you in person.
I was enchanted by the notion that you picked each flower personally and asked the florist to fashion the arrangement to perfectly compliment my boudoir. You only visited that one night Maurice. How observant you are, my love!
The purples represent our passion of that night while they match the brocade draperies hanging from my bedroom window. We spent hours just lying together gazing at the moon’s light upon the lake outside my window. What an enchanting night it was, Maurice. I shall remember it forever.
Do you remember the perfume that I wore on that night? You said it reminded you of lilacs in early spring once the dew moistens them just before the dawn. Lovely. Delicate and fragile yet with a subtle appeal. That is how you described my perfume and the boudoir gown I wore that night. Both the color of lilacs and the smell made you hungry with tender passion, Maurice. I quiver at the memory and I long to feel your breath on my neck again the way that you kissed me that night.
Will it be long before you finish your business in Paris? I could pack a trunk to join you so you could extend business and pleasure in one of the most romantic cities on earth. I would bring the lilac boudoir gown and the perfume. I’m blushing because I thought about buying one of deep crimson as a more daring companion to the first. You would like that, wouldn’t you Maurice?
Once you told me that your secret desire is to make me blush the color of crimson and secretly watch my eyes while you take me in the deepest throes of passion. Do you remember those passionate words that you whispered in my ear that night, Maurice? I shall not forget.
Something like butterflies tickles me deep within these days. I think it is just the emotion of being in love with you, my darling. And the longing to be close to you yet you are so far across the ocean and we cannot touch, except by our hearts.
Yes, I am certain that is all that it is. Mother made me some chamomile tea to settle my fluttering stomach. Maurice, I can barely eat this past week. It’s dry toast on my breakfast table and I do well to finish the full portion. Do you suppose I am lovesick, Maurice? Are you feeling it, too?
Grandmother told me it would pass or she would fix me her remedy for the vapors. She told me that women often get too sentimental and it upsets their dignities, if you know what she means. Aunt Vanessa whispered to Mother something about me being too young to be left alone in such a delicate condition. I am uncertain what condition that would be, Maurice. Do you think she has drank too much of Edgar’s wine that she imagines my condition delicate?
It is no matter. I have the beautiful flowers that you sent and the memories of the lilacs and the lake in the moonlight. I shall endure until you return or send me a letter of love poetry like the beautiful sonnets you recited that night. I feel a little melancholy so I shall bid you a good night and pray that your return to me will be hastened by destiny.
With all my love I remain,
Infatuated with my darling Maurice.
Sophia
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