Things get off to a great start.

I forgot to ask the maid to bring extra cups, only enough for us ladies, but the princes graciously tell me I don’t need to go back to ask for me. Squirrel cake not an upper-class dessert, Julian is the only one who has had it before. Cyril, Violet, and Belle have the skills to eat it without making a scene, while Helena has to follow up every bite with a sip of tea and Jemima politely puts down her fork after her first, hesitant taste. As for me, it actually reminds me of Beth’s pound cake, albeit more nutty; I think it would be wonderful with cream. Evan just eats it happily, and when Cyril notices he makes a comment that Evan isn’t a fussy eater.

Well, anyway, it’s lucky I thought to have tea as well since we can use the syrups on our slices of cake. (Julian would always drown his slice in something sweet according to Florence, so who knows if he likes it plain.)

A little after we eat, I start pressuring him to try on his new shoes, and everyone else joining in makes him cave in. So adorable, his ears glow red as he turns around. Is it actually embarrassing to show your socks to ladies? For this world, I guess it might be.

Guys being guys, they only realise I’m wearing a scarf when Jemima asks me about it. That leads to the princes looking more closely at me for a moment, and Evan notices my makeup is different.

I mean, what he actually asks is, “You don’t have a fever, do you?”

Violet understands quickly, restraining her giggle; Helena almost panics until she sees Violet’s reaction. Jemima, surely purely out of concern, says with a wicked smile, “You are looking a touch red.”

Ah, it was a mistake to add blush this morning….

“Thank you for your worry, but I am in perfect health,” I say to her, before turning to him. “I met with a friend in town earlier and so I dressed up for the occasion.”

Evan nods. While he may not be good at studying, he’s not slow, so I’m (mostly) sure he understands. And he’s not the only one here, Cyril having his own thoughts. “That today is also Lord Hastings’s birthday nothing to do with your prettied appearance?”

Simply put, I don’t want attention at school, so I go for a modest look. When I go into town, it’s me being myself, so I go for the look I want. However, I know what Cyril is getting at. “My appearance is always pretty,” I say, my smile wry.

Like at winter break, Violet is quick to step in. Her voice firm and sharp, she says, “Be grateful she is treating my lords to such a sight.”

I, what? Turning to look at Violet, I suddenly remember that, well, her tongue has quite a temper. This is probably the first time I’ve heard her speak so frankly to someone other than me, though. Oh dear, there’s a slight flush climbing her neck, no doubt heading towards her cheeks.

Glancing over, I see the princes looking at her. No, I can’t have that—Violet’s embarrassed look is only for me to see.

“Exactly. Do you think such beauty is easy?” I say, as if outraged.

There’s a moment of silence after I finish, and then Jemima bursts into laughter. Belle, exasperated, asks, “What on earth are you two saying?”

So the mood lightens, all of us giggling and chuckling (and in Belle’s case, disappointingly shaking her head). The breeze gentle, it’s rather refreshing, my cheeks warm from laughing. I let my gaze wander to the scenery, a mix of evergreens and oaks that have yet to leaf, the recovering grass gently rolling along the natural bumps and slopes. Ah, it reminds me of home. The school feels so small and different when I stick to the buildings, but, out here, there’s a scent of freedom.

After all, I spent half my childhood running around the estate’s grounds, outpacing the shouts of the maids, dress stained. (They complained more if I hiked my hem up and ruined my tights.)

I’m broken from my reminiscing by Julian. “Lady Kent, your friend in town, how is he?”

It takes me a second to switch gears and comprehend his question, including that subtle insinuation. I would say he might be jealous at the thought of me visiting a man, but I did tease him after Valentine’s Day, so it’s probably my fault for putting a strange thought in his head.

Regardless, it’s a rather rude question from him. What kind of rumour would start if I thoughtlessly said I was meeting a male friend outside of school? Maybe he is jealous, because he must have been sitting on that question for a while.

I don’t have anything to hide, so I answer him. “She is well, as is her daughter.”

Beside me, I hear Violet let out a relieved sigh. She caught on as well, huh?

Julian looks away, his voice a touch quieter as he says, “That is good to hear.”

Don’t tell me Florence is getting to him? Listen here, Julian, don’t get bullied into loving someone just because your sister says to, okay? Anyway, you look too much like my brother.

While we talk some more on other topics, there is a chill settling in, the weather not yet that warm. The maid leaves with the tray, and Evan helps me fold up the blanket. He’s really good at earning brownie points, always quick to help, kind and honest with his words—a proper gentleman.

Julian thanks us all again, says he had a good time. The princes leave first, giving us ladies a moment to neaten up our dresses before we start walking back.

We walk back, happily chatting, plenty to talk about now we don’t have to mind our manners so much. Nothing cruel, of course. Jemima is rather smitten by Julian’s eating face, his adorableness reaching new heights when his cheeks puff out, which she likens to a squirrel. (Rather fitting for the cake we ate). Belle admires how witty Cyril managed to be a couple of times. A light teasing of Violet for losing her cool.

There’s a few people we pass on the way, but the grounds are large. I catch a glance of Gerald at one point, only really noticing him because he’s looking our way, and I maybe see Ladies Ashford and Brook and their third friend (whose name I don’t know).

Back at the dormitory, it becomes the longest afternoon I’ve spent with them before, from lunchtime and all the way to the evening. Normally, it’s only after class (or club), or after work. Yet I’m truly comfortable around my friends now, maybe growing quiet as I get tired, but not feeling stressed or anything negative from sitting with them, listening to whatever is said.

When night falls, I go to my room and get through my calisthenics routine, and then lightly wipe myself down with a warm cloth when I change into my pyjamas. Ah, it would be nice to have “modern” pyjamas, these gowns a bit rubbish. I’m an animated sleeper, so I sometimes wake up because I’ve pulled up the duvet and, in the process, pulled up my dress, exposing my legs to the cold night air.

Gwen’s card still on my bedside table, I end up idly staring at it again. It reminds me that I have her drawing of what she wants her flower girl dress to look like. Giving me something to do, I go over to my desk and check the drawer I put it in.

Her cross-stitching is getting to be decent, but her fine motor skills aren’t there yet. Well, I don’t know about child development, so I can’t say if she’s ahead or behind or anything like that. Her lines are a bit wobbly, colouring in inconsistent, sort of on the edge of a scribble and a drawing.

However, it’s a nice dress.

From what I can tell, she wants a shorter dress (which, in this world, means it comes to the ankles without touching the floor) and a pink colour that isn’t too strong or too subtle. There’s some details at the neckline, hem, and wrists, which I guess are lace. (It’s quite hard to draw with white, so she used a peach colour.) Otherwise, it’s a simple design. She would look cute it in.

I… want to make it for her.

Except that, well, I’m not getting married. For a moment, I jokingly consider asking Evan. “Would you mind having a marriage ceremony with me? We don’t actually have to get married, just hold a ceremony. You want to know why? So I can see Gwen wear a cute dress.”

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and I quickly decide I can just make my own dress for her to wear. Simple.

I sketch a couple of ideas. Think about what colour to use, what the silhouette should look like, getting my brain to start working on it. There’s no rush, so this is more daydreaming than anything concrete; I let my mind wander and see what it comes up with.

The next morning, I don’t rush. Lottie and Gwen have church, so they’ll only come out at ten o’clock, and I can’t drag Len around town for some two hours. I could go to church with them, but I think that one time helping out at the Sunday school was more than enough.

This does complicate my leaving plans. We’re supposed to wear our school uniform even when outside of school, so I can’t go out in one of my handmade dresses. A dress and vest not suitable for all weather, there is fortunately a school coat, and it goes right down to my feet. So I “hide” in that when I say goodbye to my friends, leaving the dormitory with Len. Not many people are going in and out the side entrance at this time of morning, so it’s easy to find a second to swap the school coat with the one I bought in town. (Not that a servant would make a fuss; I’m clearly with Len, so it’s her fault if I’m breaking rules.)

Yes, this seems like a good routine—as long as my friends never insist on accompanying me to the gate. It’ll only work until the weather heats up, though.

As for why I can’t just go out the front gate: I would need at least one other student with me and another maid, and we would all have to come back together. I’m not going to make Violet waste her weekends sitting around, nor make two maids spend the half the day doing nothing but follow us.

My sense of time says it’s around half past nine when we get to the main road. That early because I was worried it would take a while for me to have the chance to change coats. Well, since we’re here, I can check out a fabric shop or two for inspiration. Given I’ve been a few times with Lottie and Gwen, I’m confident I know the way.

About ten minutes later, I quietly turn around. “Would you happen to know where we are?”

“Pardon, mistress?” Len says, looking confused.

I clear my throat, smiling awkwardly. “There’s, um, a fabric shop near to Lottie’s house—can you lead us there?”

Len is far too professional for her age, showing not even a hint of, “What? This idiot got lost?” Bowing her head, she simply says, “Yes, mistress,” and doesn’t move.

I asked “can”, not “may”, so her idleness is the correct response, and it doesn’t bother me. “If you would,” I say.

Again, I wonder of her true nature as she probably doesn’t have to turn around and take us back the exact same way we came; only when we’re back next to the river do we go down a different road. In fact, we go down two roads, and then end up at the shop.

“I shall just be a minute,” I say, quickly hiding from her inside before I start laughing at my own incompetence. Really, it’s like my head has always been half full of Ellie’s memories, not leaving enough room for me to remember everything I should.

Lottie and Gwen won’t be out before ten o’clock, so I inspect the colours and textures of the fabrics here, looking over lace and ruffles—a limited selection, but enough to give my mind something to work with. By the time the bell tolls, ten chimes ringing out, I think I have a decent idea and so buy a length of fabric.

Len and I amble towards Lottie’s house, and Lottie and Gwen arrive just after we get there. (I make a mental note of Gwen’s height when she gives me a greeting hug). And then I have a really fun day, playing with her, talking to Lottie.

An all-round great weekend, even if I didn’t get to see my work friends.