The next day, I’m more relaxed in my morning routine. Iris told me she would provide the makeup (saying it’s part of the uniform), so I just use a moisturiser. There’s no need to get there early for tailoring, so I wander a bit before heading to the café and only get a little lost along the way. Fortunately, the café is along the road following the river, making it easy to find….

Lottie and Gwen have mass to attend and I start work later than I used to, so I’m not disappointed to not see them. That said, I wonder if I can find my way to their house after work. It’s not dark enough yet that I have to hurry back to the school.

No, I probably shouldn’t get myself lost that late in the day. I’m sure I’ll run into them again and can ask Lottie to show me the way.

Anyway, I get to work and it’s more of the same. Terri goes to church with her older daughter’s family, which was why she wasn’t around last Sunday (nor today), but she put aside some makeup for me and Iris tries to insist on helping me put it on, only for me to, ultimately, say, “Look, I can do this myself.”

Rather than angry at my outburst, she looks sad and timid, wringing her hands and tucking her head against her shoulder, unwilling to look at me. It’s a sorry sight, but I won’t give in.

Well, she perks up by the time I’m done, telling me it’s better than what she can do. I… weren’t you just upset because I wouldn’t let you do it?

Whatever.

The day goes quickly. It seems that, when ladies from my school come, Neville assigns them to me if I don’t already have a table. If I didn’t know better, and I’m not entirely sure I do, I would say he’s doing it on purpose to tease me, but he hasn’t said anything that suggests he knows who I really am. No one has recognised me so far, and that includes Ladies Challock and Lenham from my class (and their two friends from another junior class).

At the end of the day, he pays me my two shillings for the weekend and gives me my employment contract. Reading through it in front of him is a little nerve-wracking, but the only bit I see that’s “unfair” is that, if I am fired for cause (being rude to a customer, overly clumsy, etc.), then I forfeit my pay for the month. Nothing unreasonable, really.

I’m only working weekends and the payday is the last Sunday of the month, so eight to ten shillings, depending on what day of the week the month starts on. Since he’s hiring me to help with the extra customers from the school, he’s fine with me not working during the winter break. (“Oh that’s perfect,” he says.)

Though I worried I might need a guardian’s signature or something, he never asks for one, only mine. Everything wrapped up, I head back to the school still in good light.

Monday comes all too soon. Between homework and work, I didn’t really get to do as much sewing as I’d have liked since the club on Friday. Ms Berks got me all excited for embroidery and I haven’t made anything yet. Well, I guess I’ve thought a lot.

Evan, still living up to his “title” as the bashful prince, follows me to the clubroom after school. It all follows the same pattern. Ms Berks turns up a minute or so after us and then she sits in a corner, reading. He clumsily practises sewing, and I teach him another chant when he pricks himself. It’s almost unfair how easily he picks it up. I mean, he has that super talent for it, so I understand why, but it’s still unfair.

In one of the lulls while we are both sewing, I pause to see how my pattern looks, and my gaze slips to him. I… don’t really know anything about him, not unless it comes from Ellie’s memory of the book. With Cyril, I was thinking how strangely distant the two of us were. With Evan, I don’t really know if “distant” is the right word, even saying that sort of implying we’re on the same plane. I mean, our “relationship” is entirely based on me dragging him here. We’ve not really talked.

However, that’s something easily changed, right?

“Lord Sussex?” I say, almost cringing at how weird it sounds when it’s just the two of us (and a good-for-nothing teacher).

He fumbles the needle, not impaling himself but dropping it on the floor. A thud follows as he reaches down to get it, head colliding with the edge of the table. He doesn’t cry out, but his eyes water—so adorable.

“Y-yes?” he asks, rubbing his forehead.

I would feel bad about being the cause of that if I wasn’t so satisfied by finally seeing him teary-eyed. Of course, I would never make him cry on purpose, so this is a welcome turn of events. It’s only after a second I remember I was going to ask him something.

“Do you have any friends in our class? I don’t see you talking to anyone,” I ask.

I’m sure his eyes look wetter now than before I said anything.

“No,” he meekly replies.

I click my tongue. “You don’t consider me a friend?”

He tenses up, a predictable yet no less rewarding sight. Wait, I was going to try not to tease him, wasn’t I? But this much is fine, isn’t it? Friendly teasing.

With those sobering thoughts, I say, “Well, if your parents worry, do feel free to tell them I am your friend. I will even write a note if you’d like.”

“That, um, thank you for the offer, but that won’t be necessary.”

Though he had a hesitation, he otherwise speaks clearly—his upbringing kicking in. For me who is only a woman, what he went through as the heir to a peerage is unimaginable… is what I would say if I didn’t have a brother going through similar and whom I often spoke with.

Ah, this is something I’ve not spoken about much. In this world, women are certainly second-class citizens, but we’re still citizens. In Crown Cities, women over twenty-five (compared to men over twenty-one) are given a vote for mayor—except that wives are expected to vote the same as their husbands and so married women have no vote while married men have two votes.

I think the author wanted there to be historical gender discrimination, but didn’t really know what that meant or didn’t think about it too much (or just showed it poorly), so it’s not quite as bad as “women are property”, but not much better.

For commonfolk, unwed women are allowed to own property and such, but getting married brings everything under the family “estate” and the husband legally controls that. Culturally, the historical expectations are there—stay at home and raise children, look after the house—and there’s pressure for young women to marry in their late teens.

For the upper-class, while inheritance of titles does go to sons, it’s only preference. That is, the oldest son inherits, or the oldest daughter if there are no sons. And a woman who inherits the title is fully recognised as a duke (or dukess as it’s awkwardly called, duchess being the term for a duke’s wife). Titles can only go from parent to child (or grandchild), so uncles and cousins can’t claim it, but they can act as a steward if the dukess is underage or otherwise untrained for the position.

Otherwise, a father’s estate is equally split between his children. It’s just that, if a daughter marries, then she leaves the family (in a legal sense) and is no longer entitled to her inheritance, beyond sentimental things or special requests. Dowries or bride prices aren’t really a thing, but, if the groom’s family isn’t in a great financial situation, the bride’s family may contribute to the wedding.

I’m getting a bit boring. Basically, as far as money is concerned, women can have it until they’re married. Women are expected to be housewives or socialites. It’s not “can’t leave the house without permission” bad, and we’re equally protected under the law in most cases, even a few extra laws for abuse and such, but it’s far from equality.

Stifling for someone who can so easily imagine a world not quite perfect, but one where many women had fought for all these little rights that add up to a certain freedom—or something less poetic.

In the mean time, Evan has returned to trying to sew. While he’s good with magic, he’s still clumsy. I guess his body probably feels so weird, having shot up the last few years, you know? I’m mostly done growing. From Ellie’s memories, I remember something about girls having better fine motor skills and boys better gross(?) motor skills, or was it upbringing….

“Lady Kent?”

I break from my thoughts, hearing him actually say my name surprising. He’s only really responded to my questions before. “Yes?”

“And you?”

It takes me a moment to remember what we were talking about. “Oh, I won’t be needing a note of friendship from you either, but I do appreciate the offer.”

His voice isn’t flustered when he says, “No, not that.”

Ah, I suppose he’s not strange like me and would offer to write out those kinds of notes. So then he’s rather asking about my (lack of) friends. I don’t particularly think over my words, saying them as they come to me, idly sewing as I speak.

“Near enough all the ladies here bullied me in some way or another at our last school, so they ignore me for the most part now.”

What face he makes, I don’t know, but I hear his softly asked, “What?”

“Don’t think poorly of them,” I say, thinking I may have sounded harsh. “It is… almost inevitable that girls that age make mistakes. Between leaving home, puberty, the constant socialising, these things happen and I simply had the misfortune to stand out for the wrong reasons.”

The silence settles thick after that, disappointing to me as I hoped to ask Evan a little more. Instead, I think back to the book. If I’m remembering correctly, he only became popular after Violet did something…. He wrote a letter to his little sister during a break, and Violet took it from him, reading it aloud. Rather than everyone laughing at him, the ladies swooned, and clever prince Gerald stopped her, reprimanding her for the invasion of privacy and making a scene. It was then that Eleanor stopped seeing Evan as “scary” and instead as “gentle”, and thought better of the stern Gerald.

Well, I don’t need to hear what he has to say to his sister to know he’s a pushover. Not to mention, I don’t expect Violet to do something like that, not in this world.

Nothing more is said until the four o’clock bell. We quickly tidy up, expecting to be hurried out by Ms Berks. Yet, when I look, she’s still sitting there.

As I go to leave, she says, “Lady Kent, a word.”

Evan also stops, but goes out when I gesture for him to carry on.

Just me and Ms Berks now, she closes her book with a clap, laying it flat on her lap. Then she looks up at me. My first impression of her was of a young and feminine teacher, gentle at heart and gentle in tone—only to find someone sharper and, in a way, childishly selfish. I mean, this club only exists because she doesn’t want to go to staff meetings.

However, I’m reminded of that first impression now.

“How are you?” she asks, her tone sweet.

“If it’s about what I said earlier, there’s no need to worry. They aren’t bullying me any longer and I’m not upset about being ignored.”

She clicks her tongue, stands up. “Come see me tomorrow after school. The Senior Lily room.”

“I have magic class.”

“After that, then.”

I could probably decline, but, really, I’m interested in what she wants me for. “Yes, miss.”

She says nothing more as I leave.

Well, that’s something else to look forward to tomorrow.