I’m sure I must have misheard, yet Lottie looks at me with such a warm smile. Only, my surprise must be showing because she breaks into a giggle, covering her mouth.

“Really?” I ask.

She nods.

Oh, I remember that look now. It was when she found out I could write her name. I was only five or so back then and still had a lot of Ellie’s world views, so I made sure I knew the names of all the maids I saw, and I wrote thank you letters for the maids that helped me a lot. That was mostly Lottie and Beth. (Even though she mostly worked in the kitchen, Beth prepared a lot of snacks for me; I’m pretty sure she and Lottie were on good terms too.)

This little trip down memory lane doesn’t much help with my current situation, tears coming to my eyes.

“Ellie?” Lottie says, hesitant.

I centre myself. Emotions aren’t a weakness, but letting them control you is. I refocus on what I should be doing, thinking through the situation, making decisions. “Thank you. I really didn’t expect you both to agree, yet I felt I had to ask as I made that promise to Gwen.”

“No, I appreciate how sincerely you consider both her feelings and ours as her parents,” Lottie says, and she reaches over to rest her hand on top of mine. It feels… coarse, rough. No matter how rough, though, it feels gentle, reassuring. The hand that helped to raise me, the hand now raising Gwen.

Continuing, Lottie says, “That was the main point for us. You’re a very perceptive and considerate person, and we’re glad to have you as a role model for her.”

“Are you trying to make me cry?” I ask, drying the corner of my eye.

She just smiles in reply before going back to the topic. “We have sent your plan to your mother with a few notes of our own. If she and your father agree as well, then….”

Pretty much the first part of my plan is to ask my parents for permission, so it’s a non-issue that Lottie sent the plan to them. I just thought it wouldn’t be worth bothering them unless Lottie actually agreed first. Ah, it’s kind of a good thing this is all happening at the end of term—I’d hate to be stuck waiting weeks to properly speak to them about this. No lost sleep.

Although Lottie looks ready to say something else after a few seconds to think, the sound of Gwen coming down the stairs stills her.

“It’s so pretty,” Gwen says, stepping into the room with a strut. Oh does she flaunt it. If not for the cute smile, she would give off an arrogant vibe from all the confidence dripping off of her pose.

To my mild surprise, the fit is pretty good. Well, the length of the dress and sleeves is just a bit too long (not an inconvenient amount), and her shoulders are where they should be. It’s slimmer than her usual dresses, but still loose enough that it doesn’t show any of her figure. I felt like her usual dresses probably accommodate her (at times) tomboyish nature, but this is more of a dress-up dress, not something to run around in.

Otherwise, it looks… beautiful. The colour really does match her highlights and eyes, and the embroidery shimmers in the light. What I didn’t get to see before is how the birds flutter and flowers sway as she moves, giving those outlines a life of their own.

And my eyes can almost see emerald green motes of light dancing around her shins like a faint (and misplaced) halo.

“Oh that is lovely,” Lottie says and, raising her voice, adds, “Len, do come see.”

Gwen loses most of her composure, her eyes darting around to check Len isn’t already here. Once she confirms, she scurries over, standing next to Lottie. Really, if you only meet Gwen a few times, you wouldn’t believe half the things I tell you about her.

Len appears in the doorway and looks in. Her gaze passes over me and Lottie on the way to Gwen; her usual expression then once again softens. Is it because of Gwen? Is it because of the dress? I wonder….

“You look very pretty,” Len says, pausing for a beat, “and the dress is rather nice too.”

My, my, she is a dastardly one. Gwen suffers from such a brutal attack, her whole face turning into a blotchy mess, ears vibrantly red. Yet a pang of almost jealousy rattles my heart, something like, “Get your own substitute little sister to tease.”

Wait a second.

Standing up, I slip off my coat and quickly shuffle around to stand next to Gwen. “Aren’t we just like sisters?” I ask.

Gwen looks up at me and, while still very much red, giggles with a cute smile. Lottie lets out a laugh of her own and then says, “Indeed you are.”

Our dresses aren’t quite the same green, but my one is also a darker shade. The styles of embroidery are similar yet different. Since I used the same (basic) dress pattern for both, they certainly match that way.

I look over at Len with a certain smugness to my smile. Whether or not she understands, I have no idea, but she gives me a strange look back I can’t quite place.

After a few minutes of chatting with Gwen and then saying goodbye to her and Lottie, I leave with Len. I told Lottie it would just be a short visit in the letter, so she doesn’t try and keep us with a cup or tea or anything. Then it’s a quiet walk back. I can’t see Len’s face when she walks in front or at my side (not without making it really obvious), but she seems pensive. Her pace is a little slower, her head tilted a touch down. Maybe it’s my imagination getting the better of me.

Back at school, I change into my uniform again and do a last check over my things. I read to pass the time until lunch. As much as I’ve been enjoying meals this term, it’s now almost painful to sit alone in the mostly-empty dining hall, the majority of people (including my friends) having already left.

Even the dessert doesn’t taste sweet.

Expecting someone to come for me soon, I don’t dawdle and return to my room after eating. It’s hard to call what I’m doing reading when I spend minutes staring at the same page.

Around one o’clock, there’s a knock on my door, and a familiar voice says, “If m-mistress is ready, we may depart.”

If it isn’t (L)Izzy! I put down my book and rush over to open the door, and I say, “Hullo.”

By the look on her face, she hasn’t forgotten me either. How wonderful.

While I try not to tease serious maids like Len, I feel that nervous maids like (L)Izzy are okay. Len would just be stressed, but (L)Izzy simply gets overwhelmed, so I’m doing her a favour by helping her overcome her nerves. Never mind that she seemed like a (somewhat) competent maid before I scared her last time.

“Say, would you clarify your name for me? Is it Izzy or Lizzy?” I ask.

She stiffens up, her arms drawing in and back straightening up, eyes wide open. “It’s, um, Lizzy, short for Elizabeth… mistress.”

“Lizzy, what an elegant name,” I say, letting those words linger in the air before continuing. “I am glad you’re still here. When I saw you being scolded, I worried for you, I really did. You must be working hard, yes?”

Her response comes after a handful of seconds, expression going from blank to a grimace to sombre and finally back to mildly shocked. “N-no, mistress, I am….”

Oh bless. “You know, how many ladies here do you think would last a month before being fired or quitting themselves? Not only that, but you must learn quickly. I doubt the housekeeper would keep around someone who makes the same mistakes twice.”

She recovers quicker this time, and she keeps herself more composed. “Mistress is too kind,” she mumbles, her eyes noticeably not looking anywhere near me.

Ah, she’s a good sport. I was right to tease her last time, the problem was simply that I didn’t tease her enough. With that in mind, I go over to my desk, quickly taking out a sheet of paper and a pen (and an inkpot).

“I have an important job for you, but it’s at the end of the year. If anyone tries to fire you before then, you tell them to speak to Ms Berks and hand her this letter,” I say, talking as I write. The letter finished, I seal it (fire magic does have its use when it comes to warming wax) and address it to Ms Berks. “Also, let me measure you quickly.”

I turn to hand her the letter and, oh dear, I may have broken her. Rather than a look of surprise or confusion or worry… she’s just a little slack-jawed—as if staring mindlessly at a television.

So I put down the letter and quickly get out my measuring tape, getting rough measurements for her height, arm length, and shoulder width (without touching her). After I note them down, I pick up the letter again.

“Shall we be off, then?” I ask.

When we get over to the carriages, I notice it’s only Liv there. My mischief already caused, I behave and go up quietly, wait for the footman to load my luggage.

How long did Georgie work for us? Four, five years? She accompanied me to Queen Anne’s. Ah, I remember wishing back then for it to have been Rosie instead. Now look at me, feeling sentimental over her leaving. Or maybe she got promoted, has a different job. But, really, I hope she has left. In this world, it’s unpleasant to be an unwed woman growing ever older. I hope she found someone she loves.

Whether because of that train of thought or any other of a dozen reasons, my thoughts on the journey home—to a home I’ve rarely visited—are tinged with melancholy.

Eating lunch alone stirred a sense of unease in my heart. As optimistic as I try to be about some things, there’s a good chance this group of friends I hold so dear will drift apart in years to come. Even Violet… if she truly does take up a role in politics, she’ll likely be in Lundein most year round. What if my husband lives up north? Should I ask my mother to look for suitors that live nearby, or would that lead to me having to play the role of a socialite? Could I handle that lifestyle just to keep alive a friendship that Violet may well be too busy to care for?

What of Helena’s future? Of Jemima’s and Belle’s? If I marry, will I be able to meet up with Evan and Julian or will my husband forbid me from having such friendships? Will I be able to see Cyril and talk books with him and keep that promise I made in his mother’s memory?

And beneath all those worries is a quiet voice telling me I should just be happy to be married. My husband will become my best friend. My companion. I’ll trust him with my heart, and it will be safe in his hands. After all, if he owns it, if it’s his, why would he be careless with it? Just as I would never hurt him on purpose, he will surely reciprocate that consideration. Maybe not love—true love—but we can make a family, and I can have children to love and who will love me, and he would surely love me for giving him such a gift.

How many countless stories have I read where two strangers live happily after? Snowdrop and the Seven Princes had a happy ending, so I shouldn’t worry. I should… let everything happen. Everything will be fine.

“Mistress?” Liv says, her tone concerned.

I come out of my thoughts. Noticing the feeling, I bring up my hand to brush my cheeks dry.

“It’s funny how… time seems to be both slow and fast, the future distant yet near,” I whisper.

No matter how much I wish for things to stay as they are now, little by little, things will change. Since that’s the case, I have to remember that the world doesn’t change by something abstract, that I am not just a leaf in the wind.

I won’t give up the people I love easily.