Nothing happens. I work, get paid my two shillings for today and yesterday, and leave. No tearful goodbyes, no sudden appearance by someone unexpected. I don’t think Iris even knew it was the last time we’d see each other, her expression as cheery as always the whole day.

Lottie talks to Gwen the whole way back while I walk in silence.

Although I greet my friends once I arrive at the dormitory, I then excuse myself to my room; they don’t ask any questions.

Since I already dealt with most of it yesterday, I don’t feel like I’ll cry, don’t feel upset or angry, don’t feel anything, not even regret. After all, why should I regret that I didn’t try hard enough? Relationships go both ways. Despite being tormented by guilt for three years, Violet never forgot how much she cared for me. I don’t expect someone I’ve only known for a few months to measure up to that, but if they aren’t willing to take a single step towards me, then….

To stop myself falling into darker thoughts, I work on the pattern for the brown dress. It occurred to me before that I should name the dresses as they are pieces of art (albeit an amateur’s). Thinking of that now, I remember Friendship—the piece of embroidery I showed to Ms Berks a while ago, several coloured rings that were entwined.

I wonder, has my concept of friendship changed since then? Would I sew something similar now, or would it be different? How much different?

By suppertime, I’ve brought myself back to normal. Violet is the only one brave enough to mention earlier. “A busy day, was it?” she asks.

I shake my head, and I say, “Not really. I guess I wore myself out thinking, that’s all.”

Maybe they thought I’d fought with my “friend” in town, or that something had happened, but no one follows up on my answer.

The talk quickly turns to the approaching exams, homework due in this week, the weather. I join in as much I have been recently, and I truly smile and laugh. These are my friends and I love them, love their company. I might not be able to entirely control my mood at all times, and I’m okay with that, knowing that it’s something I’ll be working on for the rest of my life. Even my mother lost her composure when I told her about my bullying, didn’t she? No one can emotionally prepare themselves for everything.

What matters most is acting in accordance with your values; as long as your emotions don’t control you, then it’s fine to have times of weakness. That’s what I’m starting to believe.

By the time I have my evening tea, my heart is happy.

Days pass in that simple happiness of having friends. Monday, I have Cyril read another story he has written; it’s not something Violet would like (I think), so I don’t ask to borrow it. (How can I even borrow a story when they’re all written together in a single notebook? Do I make him tear out the pages?)

Tuesday, I accompany Ladies Challock and Ashford to water magic class. While I don’t say much to them beyond a greeting, I do give a couple of words here and there. Not much time to talk on the walk over or back, I’m waiting for another practical lesson to properly introduce myself to them.

Wednesday, my friends and the princes and I meet up again; this time, I cunningly nominate Violet as host because we are having… a study session! What better way for lords and ladies to talk than to hide behind the cover of studiousness—how virtuous we are, examples to all.

Okay, I’m making it sound like we’re hiding something, but we really do just study with a bit of idle chatter here and there. I thought it would be a good idea since the guys know a lot of the stuff we ladies don’t. Um, except Evan’s academic record…. Let’s not get into that.

Violet mostly has back-and-forths with Julian and Cyril, plucking useful information out of them. I’m reminded that she plans on going into politics and takes her responsibility seriously. Ah, could she have a debating tutor as well? She never said she was only taught school subjects.

When not being questioned by Violet, those two princes dutifully help Helena, Jemima and Belle. Julian is polite and patient; Cyril curt, yet he never shows impatience or annoyance. I think they’re clever enough to understand that the basic questions they’re being asked aren’t because those ladies are dumb. At the least, Julian should have my words from the other day in his mind.

As for me, well, I end up helping Evan. It’s basically because I believe good grades have no worth to me or him. Rather than any subject in particular, I have him run maths drills—he should at least be able to look over financial statements when he inherits his father’s title (or anything like that).

Since it’s also relevant, we go over the contract law syllabus. Violet’s a lot more helpful than me at this time, but she talks quickly and covers a lot of information, so I’m still involved as a sort of translator.

Thursday and Friday, I start putting a plan into motion which I’ve been mulling over for a while. The weather cooperates, and so do my friends, everything going smoothly by Saturday morning.

Although I don’t have work, I carry out my morning routine like I do. But given I quit, I’m unsure if Len will be waiting for me; of course, she is. Similarly, Lottie isn’t at all surprised when I turn up at her house. I mean, obviously I would come see her, so it’s not surprising to me that she isn’t surprised.

Lottie, Gwen and I spend some time chatting, and then we go shopping—we even come to the bakery I first worked at. There’s a young woman behind the counter; however, Pete is here, walking out from the back when he hears Lottie. He and Lottie say a few polite sentences to each other, inquiring how family members are and such. There’s not much for me to say in comparison, “I’ve been well.”

While we’re here, I purchase a moderately big squirrel cake. And a scone for Gwen. With strawberry jam.

I’m going to go broke in a couple of weeks, aren’t I?

Lottie invites me for lunch (and Gwen begs me to join them), but I can’t today. “Tomorrow,” I say, promising them both (in Gwen’s case, a pinky promise).

Nearly lunchtime already, at least the school is more or less on the way back home for them, so I don’t feel bad for being dropped off. I go back to my room to change, but I leave my hair and makeup. Even though I look a little flashy, it’s elegant, I would say. Not my subtly cute work look. No, today I resemble Clarice more, my makeup a touch mature and with a sprinkle of mischief, half of my hair braided into a neat updo and the other half left down.

All of that is maybe at odds with the youthfulness of the school uniform, so I add the scarf Lottie knitted (and Gwen initialled) for my birthday. The soft pink blends well with the white dress and scarlet vest, and it sort of draws the eye to my face, indirectly lessening the impact of my clothes. Well, something like that. It’s more instinctual than conscious.

A bit of a bulky scarf (meant to keep me warm), I wear it loosely so I don’t overheat or look like I have a massive neck. Then I pack a bag with a couple of other things and carefully put the cake at the top.

On the way to the dining hall, I am the subject of conversation for my friends, Helena and Jemima especially chatty.

“Really, why wouldn’t you want to be so pretty every day?” Jemima asks.

I catch Violet’s eye, and I say, “Because it would be annoying if all the lords started courting me.”

There’s a guffaw beside me from Jemima, and Helena chokes on her breath. As for Violet, she rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. Ah, how long has it been since she’s done that to me, huh? Am I losing my touch? Glancing at Belle, she’s wide-eyed and covering her mouth. It seems she is quite sensitive to this sort of joke.

I’ll keep that in mind.

We’re intentionally a little late for lunch, the hall already half empty. When our food is brought over, I quietly ask the maid serving me, “Would you cut this and bring it out with tea for a picnic when we finish?” as I take the cake out of my bag.

Of course, she says, “Of course, mistress.”

So we eat our lunch, including a light dessert. (Need the energy for the walk to the picnic spot.) On the way out, a different maid approaches us holding a tray. She bows her head and asks, “Is this as mistress requested?”

I check over it, and smile. “Yes, it’s perfect,” I say.

She follows us out to the grounds. Given I’ve not been at school nearly every weekend, I’m surprised to see how many students are walking around. I guess the weather’s decent and there’s nothing else to do. Hearing distant shouts, there’s probably lords playing some sport near the boys’ dormitories; I wonder if any ladies are bold enough to go watch?

Wouldn’t that be a sight, the five of us turning up to have a picnic just next to the pitch, looking on as we sip at tea and nibble on cake?

As wonderful of an idea that is, not today. Beyond the flower garden and greenhouses and just past the cricket pitch, there’s an open area that is pleasantly shaded by a few large evergreens (which also serve as a windbreak).

I take out the blanket from my bag and lay it out neatly. The maid places the tray in the middle while my friends and I sit down in a loose line along the one edge.

It’s not long before the target—ahem, guest of honour arrives, led around the evergreens by Evan and Cyril. Just as Julian catches sight of us ladies, we loudly say, “Birthday wishes to my lord!”

(No, I don’t know why we can’t just say, “Happy birthday,” and it would be improper for us delicate ladies to actually shout.)

More than surprised, Julian actually takes a step back. “What?”

We break into giggles while the other princes lead him forward, the three of them sitting opposite us. “This is a present from us ladies,” I say, indicating the neatly cut squirrel cake on the tray. Then I take the last thing out of my bag. “And I have this to present on behalf of your family.”

He doesn’t ask why I’m handing it over on their behalf. Without a word, he carefully takes the package from me, opening it to see the new pair of shoes inside. I’ve not exactly stared at his feet before, but I look between the old and new pair now, seeing them to be similar in style and the new ones probably a size bigger.

However, he still has rather small feet, and would no doubt hate to be told they’re cute.

Not wanting to be left out, Cyril slips out a small notebook and attached pen from his blazer’s pocket. “From me and Lord Sussex,” he simply says, handing it over.

I watch Julian closely the whole time. In the time I’ve known him, I have seen many expressions, mostly a sort of polite and gentle look that he has even when he criticises or openly doubts me. It’s a look that goes well with his gentle and endearing appearance.

So it’s all the more rewarding to see his sincere smile. “Thank you, everyone,” he says softly, his gaze sliding across us ladies as he bows his head—and I can’t help but think his eyes linger on me a moment longer than they do on the others. The moment passes quickly, and he then bows his head to Evan and Cyril in turn.

You’re most welcome, Julian.