I think I set the mood well. Maybe. It won’t be long before our food is ready, so I just have to bluff for a bit.

Thinking of what to say, I guess how we met comes to mind. With Ellen looking somewhat comfortable, I work on Florence first, my smile turned upon her. “Lord Hastings, I first met him after a class we shared. I said my greeting to him and he was suitably polite. However, that changed when I said I wished to become his friend, at which point he acted rather childish and told me I only wished to tease him.” Leaning in, I say with a conspiratorial tone, “Of course, he was entirely right and I told him as much and have teased him oh so much since.”

My story doesn’t exactly get the reception I hoped for from Florence as she snappily asks, “You aren’t bullying my brother, are you?”

At least Violet and Ellen are amused.

I gently shake my head, putting on a most sincere expression. “No, I would never. Isn’t it only natural to tease those you like? I do my best to tease all my friends so they know the sincerity of my feelings.”

“It is not natural,” she says, very much a verbalised pout. “You didn’t make fun of him for his height, did you?”

I tilt my head, giving her my most confused look. “No. Why would I?” I ask.

With that posed to her, she loses a lot of steam, stammering out, “Because he’s… short.”

“And?” I ask.

She looks away, her hands fidgeting. “Well, people say…” she says, trailing off rather than finish.

“Why would I do that, though? He is short, that is true, but it’s not something I would make fun of him for. The only time I make fun of Lady Violet for being tall is when she tries on my clothes and they come up to her shins and don’t make it to her wrists. I doubt your brother will be in that situation, so I can’t fathom a situation where his stature would be amusing.”

It’s hard to say what Florence thinks of my little speech, but she’s certainly thinking it over.

(That said, I do think Julian probably would fit in my dresses, find them a bit big even. I would say so confidently, but I’m not sure how our shoulders compare.)

Before the silence goes on too long, I take on a gentler tone and say, “Rest assured, I keep your brother’s feelings in mind. And he certainly wouldn’t go out of his way for all this if he held bad feelings towards me, would he?”

Those words land better, her expression softening. “No, he would not.”

I smile to try and spread some warmth. It isn’t quite returned, but she has nothing else to say, maybe a sign she’s taking my words seriously.

Florence, I think I’m beginning to understand her. He said in one of our early meetings that I reminded him of his sister, and it’s making sense now. A strong personality who doesn’t shy away from conflict. I mean, I wouldn’t describe myself that way, but that was how he saw me, unafraid to pester and tease him.

She clearly loves her big brother. I don’t know much of what went on at his last school, but she does and she wants to protect him. If I thought about that before, I would’ve known to phrase things differently; instead, I’m trying to be my usual self when my usual self creates more misunderstanding than understandings.

Well, that’s the price I pay for letting my mouth run while my brain naps.

Again, to keep the silence from settling, I turn to Ellen. “How I met your brother, I am afraid, is a much more boring story. We sit beside each other in class and I am far too friendly for my own good, bringing him into conversations whenever I am bored during breaks.”

She giggles, nodding along. “Oh yes, he has mentioned in many letters how chatty his neighbour is. However, he never did say it was, um, a lady.”

Although she’s only a year younger than Florence, the impression they give is very different. To Florence’s mature and striking, Ellen is youthful and gentle, which is reflected in her manner of speaking. It’s actually quite odd to hear an, “um,” from a teenager (at least in the upper-class), usually something taught out at a young age and so seen as childish.

“What else does he say of me? Only good things, I hope,” I ask.

“Somewhat? It is hard to say because of how he says it,” she replies, her face scrunching up.

She’s just too adorable. What was it he said—Joshua may take a fancy to her? He surely would, no one possibly able to resist this, the only issue being that it’s more usual for men to marry women a few years younger rather than the other way around. Nothing insurmountable, I just have to get them in the same room.

Joking aside, she really is cute enough to give Gwen a run for her money. I would love to see what conversations the two of them would get up to together, but I know that a pointless use of imagination. Some things are impossible.

Still, satisfied with where this conversation is going for now, I ask, “Like what?”

Ellen thinks for a moment. “Well, he said that you were maybe too honest for your own good, and I thought that, really, isn’t he saying you are rude in a nice way?”

There’s a certain lack of self-awareness there that Ellen and I seem to have in common. “Hardly a rare sentiment,” I say with laughter on my lips, turning to Violet as I do.

She gives me an icy stare (just cold enough to make me want to rub my hands together, but not put on a coat or anything like that). “Indeed,” she says.

I’m given a break from hosting by the arrival of lunch in the form of Harriet (I think, but she might go by Hattie). At her direction, a few other maids and a couple of footmen bring in trays and dishes and lay them on the small dining table we will be using.

“Shall we?” I say, rising to my feet. My guests come along with me, sitting at the cosy table I chose for this affair—one meant for six people, giving us our space yet not feeling empty or distant. Once we’re all seated and tucked in, the food is arranged in front of us. Two plates laden with triangle sandwiches, arranged like a circle of dominoes that have fallen over, in the middle and a bowl of simple tomato soup (lightly seasoned, but seasonings offered in small pots) for each of us. There’s also something like toast (with a sprinkle of some herb on it) cut into the perfect size for dunking. Big croutons, I guess. There is tea available—in case Ellen or Florence dislike the soup and only go for the sandwiches—but only water is poured for us now.

Given her visits to the café, I know Violet is fine. Watching Ellen, I’m glad to see she looks interested in the food, and she asks what the sandwich fillings are before I get around to telling them. (It’s nothing too fancy, one set pâté made of nuts that has a rich taste, the other set a creamy and mild spreadable cheese with a hint of garlic and parsley to it.)

Florence appears apprehensive, but she’s willing to have the pâté and tentatively tastes the soup before seeming to settle down. I can’t say that’s true, her being better at not showing her thoughts than Ellen, yet it’s what I think happens in her head.

“Everything is agreeable?” I ask to give them both a chance to prove me wrong.

Ellen lightly nods her head, swallowing her mouthful of sandwich before she says, “It is lovely.”

A less enthusiastic reply, Florence merely says, “It isn’t disagreeable.”

Oh those Hastings knows how to sulk.

Not wanting to stick to the topic of their brothers now we’ve warmed up to each other (I hope), I ask them how their schooling is going. Violet is helpful with this, Evan and Julian not exactly people she could talk about.

Ellen happily tells us of her first few months. I used the food as the turning point in our conversation, so what she says is mostly her impression of the various meals she can remember eating. It’s awfully endearing. Except, given how much she has to say about food, she is awfully thin, and I do wonder where all that nutrition is going?

As if growing bored of listening to Ellen, Florence breaks in in a pause (I can’t blame her), and she sounds more coached than Ellen, giving a perfect answer for when asked how school is going. She mentions a few good friends, a couple of classes she’s enjoying and a specific lesson for each of them.

And what she does with her free time.

“At the urging of my friend, I started attending the handicrafts club this year and have quite enjoyed myself,” she says.

My ears perk up. “Really? You know, I participated in it during my time.”

She sort of freezes, perhaps not expecting me to interrupt. Oops. “Is that… you did?” she asks awkwardly.

“Oh yes,” I say, and I’m already turning to the doorway. “If you would,” I ask Georgie, confident she knows exactly what I’m asking. Turning back to Florence, I smile. “I mainly learned to sew; however, I did dabble in a few other activities. Is there something you particularly enjoy?”

As if second-guessing herself, she speaks slower and more carefully than before. “That is, I have so far only practised knitting,” she says.

“It is good fun, isn’t it? I’ve never been one with a talent for art, yet I can certainly make something pretty if I patiently follow a sewing pattern,” I say, and I catch my hands trying to sew while I speak.

“Ah, well, I cannot really make anything yet,” she says, almost at a mumble by the end.

But I’m not at all cooled. “The first step may be difficult, yet it all becomes easier as you build momentum. If it is something you find rewarding, I am confident you will be knitting wonderful things in a year or two.”

Before she offers a reply, the door creaks open to admit Georgie, who very much didn’t know what I was asking at all. Well, I’m to blame, so I guess it’s time for some improvisation.

I gesture for Georgie to come over, getting to my feet as she does. “See here, this is a project I am working on. The embroidery club is looking to put on an exhibit at the end of the year.” (Once again, it’s not my fault if they misunderstand, right?)

And yes, she brought not a handkerchief but a dress—my pink one, covered in lace-like sewing. I hold it in front of myself, showing it off. “Though, I must confess that I do use spirit magic to help me, this beyond my natural skill,” I say, the humblest person in the world.

While Ellen looks on with interest (only polite interest, I think), Florence seems rather taken aback, her eyes wide and mouth sitting a touch open. It takes her a good many seconds to find her voice.

“Incredible,” she whispers.

You’ll make me blush if you say such sweet things. Giggling to myself over my own thought and at her reaction, I politely dismiss Georgie and she takes the dress with her. “I am not as familiar with knitting, but I know for sure that no effort is wasted,” I say, speaking borrowed wisdom. “Not that I wish to pressure you, but I do hope you continue practising or else find another hobby that better brings you joy.”

She softly nods.