Once again, life settles into a rhythm. Lady Horsham comes to the club on Friday and I work with her on braiding. There’s no hair ties with elastic in them, only ribbons and clunky hair clips and hair pins for keeping hair in place, as well as combs and a few other bits for decoration. That makes it trickier for some styles. You could use a slip of ribbon to tie the hair near the head and then braid, but it generally doesn’t look good (in my opinion).

Anyway, she has the hang of braiding now, so it’s just helping her get a good feel for how to start it off. I mean, it’s pretty straightforward to braid once you actually have the bunches.

Evan is making good progress of his own, diligently following the pattern I half copied, half designed. It’s tempting to have long stitches, or to go the other direction and have as short stitches as possible. Either way can make it end up looking “bad”, more so the long stitches as that looks flat and boring, while short stitches just look bumpy. It’s easier to see than describe. But I say all that because he’s careful, having taken my suggestions to heart.

Over the evening, I finish up the dress pattern and plan to double-check it over the weekend, cutting it out on Monday. I’d like to not do that in front of Evan, but I don’t want to inconvenience Ms Berks too much. It’s the end of the month, so I’ll be getting my pay, which means more fabric for dresses. I really want to have two for now (one for each workday), so I can do the next dresses in bulk without any rush.

Or something like that. I do have a tendency to overthink and such.

Saturday, I come into town a little early with (maid) Len and stop by Lottie’s house. I didn’t say anything last week, but I think she’s sort of read my mind, her and Gwen waiting there rather than in town. Maybe it’s because of the chilly weather, not all that pleasant to go about in icy rain—even if it is only spitting.

“Ellie!” Gwen says, slamming into me.

“Hullo, Gwen,” I mumble, lightly ruffling her hair.

When she steps back, her eyes linger on my dress. She only saw it after my work last Saturday, but she utterly adored it, the little bean she is. Made me want to get her measurements and turn the pink fabric into something for her instead, but I managed to calm down those thoughts.

That said, I reach into my handbag (not the one I use for school, but one I sewed myself from leftover curtain fabric) and pull out a small flower I also sewed. “For you.”

“Weally?” she asks. Her hands come out to touch it, only to recoil as if burned, and then they creep forwards again.

Oh that lisp! “Of course,” I say, growing impatient and just putting the flower in her hands. “It’s nothing but a trinket I made with spare fabric.”

“I love it,” she says, cupping it in her hands and holding them to her heart.

Where’s the nearest bakery? I need to get her something sweet.

While all this is going on, I look up and catch Lottie gently shaking her head with an amused smile. Some things don’t change.

Rather than wander around town in the rain, we stay at the house. I listen to Gwen’s reading homework for Sunday school and look over her cross-stitching (it’s getting better every week), and Lottie makes some tea, cleans up around the house. When the rain breaks, though it’s a bit early, they walk me over to the café.

Iris, Neville and Terri are here already (as always and as expected), so I can get changed and have my makeup put on. (I think I can probably do it just as well as Terri now, but it’s nice spending that little bit of time with her.)

Before I go out to help set up, (café) Len arrives. She says a brisk hello coming in, goes straight to the changing room. Everyone else sort of busy, they greeted her back but were fairly distracted.

But I wasn’t.

Following her in, I sit down on the bench there. She turns to look at me, gives me a smile, and then goes back to getting out her uniform from the locker.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

She doesn’t exactly still, but she stiffens for a moment. “I’m fine.”

I’m… not good at this stuff. No experience. When I spoke with my mother, what did she do? What did I want her to do?

“If it’s something you want to talk about, I’ll listen,” I say.

She doesn’t speak for a while, carrying on changing. I watch for a little bit, but don’t stare, fixing my gaze to the door at the side.

The oldest of us waitresses, she’s also the tallest (not tall, but a normal height for women) and very much gives off a womanly impression. There’s her large breasts, usually downplayed by her choice of clothes. Although not chubby or plump, she has places she probably wishes weren’t so easily pinched, and there’s a touch of muscle to her arms that shows at times, something common to these girls who help out with the washing and such around the house growing up.

All things considered, it’s a rather envious figure, so it’s not at all surprising she has a fiancé, more surprising that she isn’t yet married. I guess she is young. Nineteen, it wouldn’t be shocking for her to have a child, but twenty is the age where it’s sort of expected—Lottie and my mother, for example. No need to rush into marriage if there’s no plan on having children just yet.

Her personality (as far as I’ve seen) is also warm and kind. She’s certainly easily admired, and she’s so sweet on her fiancé that I’m sure their relationship is something to be envious of too.

Yet life’s never so simple, is it? Happiness not a sum of positives and negatives.

“I just, um, had a small fight with Rob,” she quietly says.

That’s the aforementioned fiancé Rupert. (Rupert is apparently just a posh equivalent of Robert, I think, hence Rob for short and not, like, Rupe.)

“Are you okay?” I ask. I’m not too worried, she’s not skittish like he hit her or anything like that, but I am still worried.

She shrugs. I wish she turned around so I could see her face, but I guess it’s easier for her to speak like this. “It’s just a silly thing. His, um, boots have a hole in them, so he wants to buy new ones, but we don’t have the money for it. Except, I have the money I’m saving for the wedding.”

Even though she can’t see, I nod along. And I’m stuck for what to say, what to do. Are we close enough that I can give her a friendly hug? Do I just rub her back, or pat her shoulder? All I really know is not to offer her money. I’m here for… emotional support. Set the thoughts bouncing around her head free so she doesn’t have to listen to them all day.

I guess I have to be honest. “Do you need a hug, or anything like that?” I ask.

She giggles, sounding a lot more elegant than when I do. It’s similar to my mother’s laugh. “No, I just need to vent, but thanks for the offer.”

“Okay,” I say. It’s a little relieving, really, because I don’t know how to hug well either.

After a few seconds, she carries on talking and her voice sounds less shaky now. “I know I’m silly, that he really does need new boots, but if I don’t put up a fight, I’m worried the wedding money will… drain away. The money I’ve worked so hard for.”

I pick at my braided hair, nervously thinking what to say or do again as the silence drags on. “Do you need a hug now?”

She laughs for a moment, and then finally turns around with a smile on her face. “D’you need a hug?” she asks.

“To be honest, I kind of do,” I say. “I’ve not much experience comforting people and it’s actually quite hard.”

She holds out her arms and beckons me over, so I go over and she embraces me. “There there,” she murmurs, rubbing a small circle on my back. Really, she’s already got the whole mothering thing down.

Shortly, she releases me. I take a step back and let out a long breath, feeling better already. “How are you?” I ask.

She dries the corner of her eyes, smiling, and says, “Much better. Thanks.”

That she looks and sounds it, there’s no point me saying I did nothing. “Any time.”

With one last smile, she walks out the room, saying, “Well, let’s get to work.”

Money can’t buy happiness, huh?

The classes, strictly speaking, are the upper-class who are actual members of the peerage (and their immediate family); then there’s the middle-class who own property; and lastly the working-class.

But class doesn’t exactly translate to money. Even if the barons lead a good life, they have to closely watch their expenses or they can well end up having to sell their own title, and their luxury is far less indulgent than that afforded to royalty. I guess I’m closer to the royalty end, but my parents are fairly ascetic compared to most dukes and duchesses—probably because my mother isn’t all that social. No need to show off if there’s no one coming over sort of thing.

Middle-class, I mean Iris and her family are and they’re working hard every day. Lottie technically is as well, her husband owning the grocer store, but they rent their house (and rent out the flat above the store). Pete and his wife owned the bakery and worked hard too.

At the other end, there’s the close relatives of peers who own manors or whole streets, living off rent money and investments. A life not too different from barons.

I thought Len was fairly well-off for commonfolk. Working here, it’s not exactly a natural level of etiquette. As I’ve said before, I’m lucky in that I grew up learning it (just from the other side). Like Lottie is passing on her “accent” and mannerisms to Gwen, I thought Len probably had a mother who worked as a maid, probably also had the looks and personality to meet a good man.

But I think I’m wrong. Or rather, I shouldn’t discount Len’s accomplishments. I’m sure she’s worked hard to become such a capable waitress here. I’m sure she gets upset yet holds her tongue, smiles when she feels sad.

Most us are trying our best to be happy, aren’t we?

I manage to focus by the time service starts, going about my job to the best of my own abilities. The sky mostly clears, no more rain, so the day ends up busy, a handful of ladies from the school coming.

Seeing Lady Challock and her friends, and Lady Yalding and her friends, makes my heart beat quick for all the wrong reasons. I do my best not to show it, and I don’t notice them paying me any more attention than usual.

Then comes the end of the day, changing out of the uniform and into our normal clothes. Back in the green dress, I’m given another round of scrutiny.

“Come on, is there anything you can’t do?” Annie asks, her arms crossed in a mild huff.

I giggle, an avalanche of thoughts filling my head. “Well, there’s cooking,” I say, that seeming like the most fitting.

“What? No way. Really?”

It’s hard not to laugh at her reaction. “I suppose if I have a good recipe, I can probably follow it decently well, but I don’t have as much experience as I really should.”

Rather than make of fun me, she merely has a smug smile that shows how happy she is to have “beat” me at something.

“And here I thought you would be the perfect wife.”

Ah, and a surprise attack from Iris. When I look over, she just grins at me, the prat. “It’s fine. Is there a man who would hate having bread and spread for breakfast and supper every day?”

A resounding, “Yes!” is the answer from all four of them, and then we all break into giggles.

This happiness… isn’t something that comes to those who wait. To be able to laugh with my friends, to make jokes and tease each other, to comfort them and confide in them, is all because I did what I wanted to do, was true to myself rather than society. Evan, Julian, the little conversations with the other princes, memories I wouldn’t have if I obeyed the unwritten rules.

I know it’s a fleeting happiness. That one day, we will all go our separate ways. My status will be revealed and I’ll have to quit here; I’ll graduate from the school and no longer have the chance to see the princes so easily. Even Lottie, when I leave here, will surely come to forget me.

And that’s why I have to make the most of this precious time I have.