The week carries on in a strange mix of lessons, more draining than usual. At least the water magic class is the same as usual, no exam, so I can take it easy. Remembering last week, I sit on the back row. Sure enough, sleepy Leo soon joins me here. We say our greetings and then a few more things before Ms Rowhook arrives, but don’t talk about anything important. “How were your classes?” and similar.

He’s certainly quite “dreamy” in more ways than one. I thought he flirted with Eleanor because he only just woke up at those times, yet it seems he has a sweet tongue—almost the opposite of grumpy Cyril.

“You have changed your hairstyle,” Leo said. (I’ve started leaving my fringe loose so I can clip it back with Evan’s gift.) To notice something like that, either he likes me or is rather observant; luckily, I know it’s the latter. And I think that’s the sort of thing which makes him popular. Unlike most of the other princes, he already has his admirers.

Anyway, I’m starting to feel like he’s a naturally flirty person. I can’t say I agree with how lightly he says such things, but ladies should have, like, some defense or resistance to honeyed words. Don’t coddle us so much we mistake etiquette for romance, you know?

Well, I don’t know, maybe I’m trying to be soft on him after being so hard on clever Gerald and happy Miles (and grumpy Cyril). Whatever. It’s not that important as long as I’m being on the fair side. I mean, it’s hardly like what I think of them matters to anyone but me.

After the lesson, we talk a little more while waiting for the room to empty. Then we go our separate ways.

It’s not really something I notice much, but Evan is pretty good at “walking” me back to the dormitories. The girls’ dormitories are off to the one side of the main school building while the boys’ dormitories are far off on the other side (just past the reference building). And it’s not that I ask him to or anything, but it’s etiquette.

That all just came to me since Leo left me to walk back by myself. I don’t mean that as a mark against him, more a mark in Evan’s favour (not that it’s a competition or that I’m worth competing over).

My mind goes to funny places with how tiring these last lessons before the exams are.

Since I’m not revising and there’s no homework (and there’s no bonfire), I have plenty of time in the evening for sewing. Though I mostly work on the dress, I put some work in on Gwen’s Yule present and (when feeling cross-eyed from being so focused on embroidery) I go over my latest pattern for Friendship. Really, that in particular feels kind of pointless. I’m not artistic to begin with, so I don’t know how to make art “better”. It’s also quite emotionally draining as I’m constantly reminded of that cringey moment with Ms Berks. I’ll never forget those words—hers or mine.

Wednesday is more of the same and Thursday passes quickly too. I see sneezy Julian and we chat a bit, but it’s just that bit before and after the lesson. He doesn’t seem to hold a grudge for the letter I sent his sister, yet he doesn’t mention it so I don’t bring it up either.

Finally Friday and Friday means embroidery club! It’s funny how excited I still get despite sewing pretty much every day. Evan and I get there promptly and settle into some light studying for geometry (our second exam on Monday).

A little into the hour, Cyril arrives with a knock on the door. I thought it might be Lady Horsham at first, but the little window in the door gives it away as soon as I look over. (She’s probably studying with Violet and friends.)

“Do come in,” I say loudly.

So he does, stepping in with a sort of naturally grumpy expression. I guess that’s his neutral look? “Hullo,” he says to us before greeting me and Evan by name.

“Lord Canterbury,” I say, politely bowing my head, and Evan follows suit.

And then it’s rather awkward. You know, I don’t think I told Evan I invited Cyril…. Oops.

Cyril just stands there for a second before I get my thoughts in order and say, “We are studying today if you would like to join us, otherwise feel free to use the other table.”

He slips into an annoyed look. It’s quite funny, really, again reminding me of how he was as a child. Quick to pout and stomp, words rough and rude. Night and day from how he usually acts around me these days. I guess it’s because Evan is here (and Ms Berks), putting him on guard. At the bonfire, we didn’t say too much—did he look annoyed then? It was hard to tell at the time, his face in shadows.

“I shall,” he says, walking past us to the other table.

Well, let him be grumpy prince if that’s what he wants.

While he gets out his writing things, I talk trigonometry, Evan’s notes becoming a dense mess of identities and such. I do try to keep my voice down so we don’t disturb him. Cyril does his writing, we do our studying, and the hour soon ends with the ring of the school bell. As we pack up our things, I catch Ms Berks’s eye. She looks, well, amused. What was it I said at the start, that I brought Evan to be our mascot? That really didn’t pan out at all, huh. One lady sometimes comes to see me and now I’ve brought in another guy who doesn’t want anything to do with us.

And I wonder if that really was any better than sitting in the library for Cyril? I thought it would be nice for him to have some company, even if we don’t talk, but he didn’t look all that comfortable.

Oh well. He’s a big boy, he can make his own decisions.

Speaking of uncomfortable, it’s a little strange once we leave the room and I’m flanked on both sides as we walk. One friend is great, two tricky, three complicated. I’m reminded of that thought. Cyril clears his throat and so I look to him, but he says nothing, and then Evan takes a deep breath, and so I look to him, but he just lets out a long breath.

Come on, you guys are teasing me, right? I’m sorry for thinking you might get on, just go back to being loners.

“Nice weather,” I say.

It’s really not, the only thing going for it that it’s not raining at this time, otherwise overcast and cold. However, you can’t complain about the weather unless it’s raining or unseasonably cold, can you?

Cyril makes a sound of disagreement without actually saying anything.

Seriously, if you two are going to be like this, why didn’t you just leave me to walk by myself?

Grumbling aside, I do want them to get on. Really, I do. Do I? I do.

“Say, do you two have anything in common?” I ask aloud.

Cyril snorts at that. “What sort of a question is that?”

“A rather desperate one, if I am honest,” I say.

He gestures as if he doesn’t know. “Other than you, I couldn’t say.”

Well, I suppose that much is true. “Your favourite dessert?”

I can’t see, but I am quite sure Cyril rolls his eyes at my question. However, Evan answers without delay: “Cake.”

“Oh that’s a good choice,” I say. “Lord Canterbury, do you not also like cake?”

Unable to give a straight answer, he says, “Well, it would depend on the type of cake, would it not? I am not overly fond of carrot cake or pound cake.”

Carrot cake I understand, but pound cake… I guess he has only eaten posh pound cake that includes lemon or orange juice. Beth would bake it for me as simple as the name suggests: a pound of butter, eggs, flour and (since there’s no sugar) grated nuts, then with jam to sweeten it.

“What type of cake do you like then?” I ask.

It’s a silly conversation, I know, but it works even if I have to be the sort of middle-woman, going between the two of them as they talk about cake.

Of course, it’s not long before we reach the path to the girls’ dormitories. (I don’t expect them to walk me to the front door.) Without me in the middle, they stand farther apart as if I was glue. I guess I was.

“Lord Sussex, you should ask Lord Canterbury about me,” I say, giving them one last push. “As my cousin, he knows some interesting things and we even had dance lessons together.”

That’s the sort of embarrassing thing I’d like to know about Evan, so I’m sure he’s the same. Learning to dance is always clumsy at the start, isn’t it?

Funnily enough, Cyril doesn’t look too happy at that reminder, or maybe he doesn’t appreciate my meddling. Never mind, what’s done is done. Heading back to my room after a hasty goodbye, I think it’s quite unfortunate I’ll have to wait until Monday to hear how it goes.

The next morning, I head into town with Len, Tuton as bustling as always at the early hour. I want to make the most of my time with Lottie and Gwen, so we have a cup of tea and chat, only heading out when it’s time for my job.

As usual, I’m the first to arrive (other than the Thatchers), but Iris is unexpectedly only now getting changed. She’s always been dressed in the uniform by the time I get here before today. However, this ends up not exactly working in my favour.

“Oh, what’s that you have?” she asks.

I pause, looking in my hand as I’m not thinking what I’m doing. “A gift from a friend,” I say—Evan’s hair clip. I guess I just put it in this morning by habit.

She shuffles over, practically cooing as she inspects it. “Wow, it’s wonderful,” she whispers. “May I?”

I place it in her hand for my reply. She pretty much brings it to her eye and runs a finger over the ornate top bit, feeling the floral pattern.

“Quite the gift,” she says, and then her admiring eyes turn suspicious. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be a boy, no?”

Laughing her off, I say, “He’s only a friend, but his family is rather well-to-do.”

“That’s good, I’d like my husband to be my friend and rich too.”

She gets me with that, another giggle the only sensible reply I can give. “I’ll introduce you if I have the chance.”

It’s a funny thought, Evan getting toyed around with by Iris. She’s a good person, so I wouldn’t worry about him getting taken advantage of, but she certainly has a strong personality (much like her mother). And being a good person, she hands me back the hair clip (I put it in the locker with my dress and coat and handbag) and she says nothing of it when the other girls come.

I mean, I wouldn’t hate her if she mentioned it, but it’s not like I want to be the centre of a girly chat or anything.

Work, the day, the weekend pass without anything else unusual happening.