Two days before the second ball Freya went to the Smith Manor to call upon Abigail.

Mr. Degarmo, the head servant of the house, brought her to the sitting room as Freya regarded the changes that had been made since the last time she’d been there. Many of the display swords were gone, replaced by a small number of rapiers in the glass case by the grand staircase. Freya was certain that he brought every guest by the case to show off the work that Lord Smith was so proud to have purchased, possibly from Lord Richards himself.

Every time Freya went to the Smith manor in the past she had remarked on how the two house colors were apparent. Red velvet over silver, the Smith colors lined the walls in the entryway leading into the sitting room, but this time a bouquet of flowers in brown, yellow and red waited in the center. Abigail was addressing her correspondance when Freya was announced.

Abigail threw the page down in disgust as Freya walked in. She was faced away over a large wooden desk towards the windows. Long silver curtains with red tassels lined the windows, giving a sharp reflection to the light. She was wearing a white dress, high waisted with silvered seams running down the sides. Notably, she didn’t have a sword within reach.

“Miss Freya Uki,” her one eyed manservant said. His coat was a full grey and he wore a rough winter coat even indoors. It struck Freya as odd, but perhaps he had lost some of his fat as he aged and needed to maintain his warmth.

Freya wore her old feast day green simple tunic over brown trousers and her hooded cloak dropped low giving the appearance of a dress or cape.

“Thank you, Mr. Degarmo,” Freya said, “Uh, is everything alright Abigail?”

“Did you read it?” Abigail asked.

“Did I read what?,” Freya said, moving to greet her.

Abigail's whiskers drooped low as to almost touch her seat. The poor fox looked tense as she shoved a piece of paper into Freya's face.

She stood up and paced around the room while Freya read.

Pausing at the entrance, Abigail addressed her manservant, “Mr. Degarmo, some tea if you would please.”

The weathered fox nodded and disappeared, his brown vestments a puff of smoke against the red wallpaper.

“Lady Bluefooted’s society papers?” Freya said. “What is this?”

Freya turned to Abigail. Her paws gripped the paper as she continued to read.

“They’re talking about me!” Freya said, whiskers fully extending. “Who wrote this?”

“Some socialite that has too much time on her hands and too little to do,” Abigail said. “She thinks… she thinks she can predict who will be a match, but I…”

Freya stopped reading to watch her old friend wring her paws in the air.

“You think that this will be a bad omen for you?”

Abigail paused.

“If you do something that looks bad, it will reflect back upon me! And then I will never get Lord Richards to propose and then I’ll become an old hag and… and…”

Abigail plopped down on one of the couches.

“That… is a rather big jump don’t you think?” Freya said, sitting beside her. Her whiskers stiffened as the aroma of tea being brewed hit the room.

Freya and Abigail sat for a long moment.

“Freya, I think that… what are you doing exactly?” Abigail said.

“Me? I’m just sitting here waiting for tea, hoping that some biscuits come with the tea,” Freya replied.

“You know what I mean,” Abigail said, pausing to sit up straight. “The society papers say that you’ve been seen with more than one suitor.”

“I didn’t know it was against the law to see more than one suitor, Abigail,” Freya said. “I’m not just going to settle down with someone just because they are gorgeous or have a lot of money, but those things are nice.”

“That’s true.”

Mr. Degarmo arrived and silently placed a tray of piping hot tea in the center of the sitting room. He paused to look at Abigail, as if asking for permission for something unsaid.

“That will be all, thank you,” Abigail said.

Abigail and Freya waited for him to leave as they prepared their tea. Freya grabbed the society papers again and scanned it looking for more juicy details.

Sighing she put it down as she knew none of the moles, voles or birds.

Sipping her tea, Abigail turned to Freya.

“Holly… thinks that you are too close to Captain Bell,” Abigail said. “But she doesn’t want to tell you that. And don’t tell her I said that either.”

Freya's jaw almost hit her tea saucer.

“I need to tell her that he’s far too much of a rake for me,” Freya said.

“But you’re friendly with him nonetheless,” Abigail said.

“He is helping me with my business!” Freya said.

Abigail sipped her tea.

“And… is business good?” Abigail asked. “I should hope that your business is worth losing a friendship or two if you’re not careful.”

“Ouch. Well I haven’t actually done much yet. I’m trying to understand what I could do with the chickens,” Freya said.

“Freya, how did you get here?” Abigail asked. “I thought your boots would be muddy if you walked all this way?”

Abigail looked Freya up and down, as if inspecting a sword for sale.

A wild glint appeared in Freya's eyes.

“Speaking of which, since I came out all this way, I have a proposition for you Miss Smith,” Freya said. “Do you have a pair of trousers?”

Abigail turned her head sideways at Freya.

“For what?”