From a fanfic meme on tumblr, Anonymous asked for some kind of drabble, with the only prompt being "Charles Blake." Set in my Seasons universe of Mary/Charles. The day after Rose's ball.

Birdsong drifts in through the open window along with the scent from flowers in the garden below. A note of rose brushes against him, and he smiles in his reverie, thinking how that is far too obvious for her. No, she is all citrus and spice, with just the hint of evening blooms rarely seen.

The sheet of paper remains blank before him, and another hour passes as he tries to find the words to write. Words that are not quite formal, but not as open as what his heart is impatient to share.

"Let battle commence," indeed. He is tongue-tied to find ammunition for an opening salvo.

If he had believed she already occupied his every waking thought, oh the surprise he had been in for as they parted in the early dawn. The scent of her, the graceful sway of her on the dance floor, the rich tone of her voice, that coy smile she would give only once the sparkle and challenge in her eyes could grow no more. She had cast some spell on him, so that even in dreams he was no longer alone but instead wrapped up in her charms. His mind imaged the feel of her skin under his fingertips, the taste of her on his tongue.

Sighing, he rakes his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. A more vivid imaging of that simple movement jumps unbidden into his mind, and he has to shake his head and laugh. How well she has him at the end of her string. If only … if only he could capture and occupy her thoughts as effectively as she rules his.

Picking up his pen once more, he lets the words slip out, perhaps more intimate than appropriate, but trying to hold back is of no use.

My Delightful Mary,

Having passed on my formal thanks in a note to Lady Grantham, I need to share my more personal thanks for your company and conversation into the small hours of the morning. I hope the expected success of Rose's season means you will be in town a few more weeks, and in attendence at social events where we can see each other again.

Whether certain revelations about me will be a hindrance or a help, I have no idea. Only know, all I have ever told you remains. Do give me a chance. A chance to hear your voice again, perhaps another exhibit, or if I really dare to be bold, dinner at my club.

Believe in me,
Faithfully Yours,
Charles

Mary struggles to hold back the smile she feels blooming at the corners of her mouth. His words, his hand alone is sending tingles up and down her spine, emanating and returning from that very spot at the small of her back where his palm had rested, had guided her, in their near endless dancing that night. He is making her flush as she goes back to read his note for a third and a fourth time, trying to hear what is unsaid in so intimate a note.

"Mary?"

She looks up, fighting to pull her most cool and neutral expression in place. The salon is too close with family as tea-time approaches, and her mother's blue eyes sparkle at her.

"Is that from Mr. Blake? What did he have to say?"

She carefully refolds the note, slipping it back inside its envelope with the subtle engraving. Distinguished, unassuming, hiding much, just like him.

"Just thanks again for a lovely ball, and more congratulations for Rose." She nods at her cousin's eager expression and the smile that grows larger with Mary's words.

Conversation resumes, Mary not pulled into any of them as his note seems to grow warm in her hand. Excusing herself with a nod, she slips upstairs, needing a moment alone with his words, her memories, the unrelenting thoughts that are a constant tickle to her heart. So much truth he captured, if only she was brave enough to open her eyes.

She knew she would believe.