Rather than stay up late, I let Violet retire to her guest room early. (It’s still a sleepover if we don’t share a room, right?) Then, in the morning, we prepare for the tea party. With Georgie to help, we try on dresses and do up our hair and makeup—Clarice making a special appearance to add some light touch ups, very much a master of beauty, and perfume.

Of course, Violet is stunning. Her dark hair and pale skin gives such a nice contrast and the boundless confidence she has only amplifies her aristocratic features. While I certainly scrub up nicely myself, I’m surely no match, not to mention I do try to downplay myself somewhat. I wouldn’t want Evan and Julian to fall for me from a single look. When it was just Cyril, I didn’t worry, but better safe than sorry.

Speaking of Cyril, oh he tries not to look when we come down, yet you can’t not look at Violet. Since we’re staying inside where it’s warm, our clothes are light and a bit more comfortable, less formal than for, say, a ball.

So begins the story of Violet and Seven Princes. I giggle at that thought, my humour helped along by the nervousness in Cyril’s eyes that settle on the wall behind me and Violet. “Good morning, dear cousin,” I say.

He politely bows his head, and then turns back to his book. “And to you and Lady Dover.”

Though I try not to tease him when it comes to me, Violet is certainly not me. “Say, what do you think of Lady Dover?” I ask, leading the two of us to the couch next to Cyril’s armchair. “Have we not polished an amethyst to a perfect shine?”

Squirming in his seat, he glances over before returning to the safety of paper. “Yes.”

“Oh did you hear that?” I ask Violet in a loud whisper.

She lightly slaps my shoulder, muttering, “That is quite enough,” before she says to him, “Thank you.”

I pout, looking down at my knees. “I just want to tease you both, is that not fine?” I grumble.

After a click of her tongue, she says, “Try to refrain from being so childish, would you?”

And Cyril laughs (despite clearly trying not to). I pointedly look over at him and ask, “Is something funny?”

He goes to shake his head only to think better of it, running a hand through his hair instead. “It’s just, you two are rather close.”

Feeling a bit petty, I ask, “Jealous?”

This time he does shake his head. “No, I would say envious. I can only wish to have a friend who is to me like you are to each other.”

His words sit heavily in my head, resonating with a memory I can’t quite recall, sure someone said something similar to me. Was it him, or Evan? Wait, wasn’t it Evan about Cyril?

Interrupting the moment, my mother appears in the doorway with a gasp, quickly followed by warm compliments as she comes over to inspect me and Violet. So it becomes a morning like any other but for Violet beside me. She’s perhaps a bit quiet, and I keep in mind what she said last night, trying to keep her involved yet not making her the centre of attention. Once breakfast finishes, that task is much easier, the two of us along with Cyril going to the parlour room to check over the preparations for the tea party. (Well, I only bring Cyril to tell him a bit about Evan and Julian. I do want them to have fun even if I’m not there.)

It’s not an overly fancy affair, the guests fellow nobility but still minors. The plan is for a light lunch of sandwiches and soups (similar to the café), followed by cakes and biscuits an hour or so later. At least, that’s for us girls—I left Cyril and Joshua to decide on the menu for the boys.

While I don’t exactly have a schedule of activities, I have put aside some books if we need something to talk about. A couple full of poems, one packed with short stories for young girls (faery tale romance stuff), and then an encyclopedia of animals and plants. I mean, girls love flowers and birds, right?

It’s all getting to me a little, but Violet hasn’t told me I’m being silly, so I have that going for me.

A bit before midday, Georgie saves me from my anxiousness. “The first guests have arrived,” she says, holding the door for me as I scuttle through.

It’s funny. I used to always hold other children’s hands to reassure them, but, old as I am now, I wish someone would reassure me. Violet’s here, but… I don’t want to take her hand for such a silly reason. Not that “to not get lost” is any more sensible of a reason, I know. Past the age for it regardless of the reason.

I reach the front door just in time for it to open, standing behind my mother and father. With Violet being an old friend, I insisted they didn’t need to greet her, but of course they have to for those unfamiliar.

Eagerly spying between my parents, I catch a glimpse of blonde and think it must be Florence and Julian. I’m quickly corrected, Evan’s bowed head coming into view. “Lord and Lady Kent, my thanks for having us,” he says, no trace of a stutter.

Practice makes perfect, huh?

So the greeting ritual goes, a back and forth of thanks and deferrals until the attention finally comes to me, my parents stepping aside.

Evan is neatly done up in a suit, one better fitted than his school uniform—seemingly trimming off a bit of weight. Given how thick the layers of fabric are, I would hardly it say it makes him appear muscled, but he certainly cuts a clean figure. Strong, confident. The traditional black jacket and white shirt, then charcoal grey trousers, and he has an olive green vest (matching his eyes and the specks in his hair).

As for Ellen, well, she could be Gwen’s sister. A cute thing with blonde hair that has a light green touch to it (more mint than Gwen’s mossy), her cheeks most pinchable and smile sweet. Beneath the winter coat she took off, she’s wearing a floral-print dress that’s a pure white dotted by sweet peas in watercolour-shades of red, pink and purple—almost like butterflies. Not the best at sizing people up, I think she’s an average height for her age, and she gives a willowy impression, a little on the skinny side or maybe her arms a bit long?

With a curtsey, I say, “It is good to see you again, Lord Sussex,” and then I curtsey again for Ellen. “And a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Sussex.”

Her smile widens and, just, those cheeks nearly become irresistibly pinchable. Come on, Nora, keep yourself together.

“And you,” Evan says, politely bowing his head.

Ellen curtseys for me; I very much think my mother’s weakness to curtseys must be genetic, biting back the words, “Oh bless.”

“And you,” Ellen says, her voice as sweet as her smile.

After introducing Violet and Cyril (who both followed me through), I lead everyone (minus my parents) back to the parlour. As nervous as I am, I can sense it’s mutual. Evan, bless him, can’t hide a thing from me, and I think Ellen’s giddiness is from nerves, giggling more than necessary at a little joke I make on the way.

With Julian and Florence soon to arrive, I just make sure they are comfortable and ask a bit about how the trip here was. Fortunately, it’s not long before Georgie announces another arrival.

So goes the song and dance again, dragging dreadfully until I finally get to greet them.

“It is good to see you again, Lord Hastings,” I say, curtseying for him—the same greeting I gave Evan, and I go on to give Florence the same one as Ellen. He managed to talk his mother down, so she hasn’t come today. However, the snowdrops should be here, and they should be quietly directed to a spot in the garden my father picked out earlier while he keeps my mother busy on the other side of the manor.

Back to the situation in front of me, it’s all quite funny. Julian, of course, looks dashing, his jacket a tan colour (or a similar shade, my knowledge of beige rather lacking) and trousers a cream that, together with the red of his cravat, suits the warm tone to his blond hair.

And Florence, well, she very much shows her colour, ginger hair a bright copper that, really, would better be called gold with the blonde tinge to it—and a natural curl to it like her brother’s hair, her fringe coils while the rest is tied back into a ponytail. Complemented by a vibrant emerald dress, she has a rather strong presence that belies her age. Again, I’m not confident to say so, but I think she’s a touch on the tall side for her age.

What that last part means is that… she’s more or less the same height as Julian. No, she’s taller, but his curly hair adds a bit on to even them out. If I didn’t know better, I might even call her his big sister. No, that’s too mean—she certainly still has a childish look to her face and him a noticeable adultness. Well, maybe not too noticeable, but if you look closely, and his voice has broken….

It’s a good thing he doesn’t know what I’m thinking, isn’t it? Except, by the look he’s giving me, he knows precisely what I am thinking and isn’t all that pleased.

“Lord Sussex and Lady Sussex have already arrived, if you would follow me,” I say, unwilling to meet Julian’s eyes any longer.

And so through we go for another round of introductions, albeit these ones a little warmer. And then we split into our groups, the boys going to the drawing room. (Given the princes are all friends of mine and it’s a less formal affair for them, it made sense to assign the rooms this way.)

Florence, Ellen, Violet and me. I thought against Clarice joining us, this time at least, because of the age difference. I’m sure she would behave herself, but girls are delicate at this age, you know? Yet I miss her now, sure she knows exactly how to act the host. All I know is how to lead Violet off into trouble.

But nothing comes to those who twiddle thumbs.

I take stock of my guests to start with. Violet is Violet. Florence, she looks dignified and all that, while Ellen has a smile which I think is more nervous than giddy now.

Then I blink, and it’s my friends’ sisters in front of me, at a difficult age in their life, in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers. I can’t say for sure how they feel, but… all I want is for them to be comfortable and enjoy themselves. Nothing more, nothing less. Things like making friends, that comes after, right?

Right.

“Well,” I say, lightly clapping my hands together to get their attention. “I want to thank you once again for coming to visit. And while I do not wish to sound overly familiar, with my sister and mother around, do feel free to call me Lady Nora if you wish to avoid confusion.”

I barely finish before Florence speaks up. “Oh no, we couldn’t possibly.”

Giving her an impish smile, I ask, “Is my name so unpleasant to say?”

“No, of course not,” Florence squeaks, her composure swept out from under her.

Changing target, I look to Ellen. “What do you think? Won’t you say my name?”

She’s already on the verge of giggling, apparently amused by my antics, and an ally to the cause. “Lady Nora?”

I turn back to Florence. “Even Lady Dover calls me by name, you know. Are you really going to be so formal amongst friends?”

Oh she looks ready to pop, flustered to the point she almost matches her hair. “L-Lady Nora.”

“There we go. If you would like, do call Lady Dover by Violet—I know she looks intimidating, but she is rather soft once you get to know her.”

To punctuate my sentence, Violet slaps my elbow not-so-softly, the sound fairly loud and quite sharp, but I laugh it off.

Continuing, I say, “I hope to be afforded the same privilege if you come to consider me a friend. However, for now, shall we swap stories of your brothers? I do have a few I am willing to share that I am sure they dared not write home about.”