With the first dress done, I spend some time over the weekend on my other sewing endeavours before starting on the next one. I think a lace-like pattern on the pale pink of the next dress will look good, so it will take a while to do, no need to rush into it right away.

There’s the pattern to design for Evan—we decided on a simple rabbit outline with cross-stitch shading. Bluebells for Julian. I’m unsure whether to make something as a bit of an apology for Gerald. It’s not exactly that I feel bad, sort of justified by his stubbornness, but I really don’t like being something of a liar. What would he like? I suppose his initials, sewn in royal crimson thread, and detailing around the edge.

Since I think about all those guys, I think about the others as well. Grumpy Cyril, I suppose I should hopefully see him over the winter break, so I can give him a present for Yule then. Who else…. Sleepy Leo, ah, I have just the thing in mind.

Iris and Millie asked for flowers I have already sewn (an iris for Iris, rose for Millie), so I brought them those on Sunday, and I quickly sewed a robin for Annie Saturday night. Len didn’t exactly ask, but I promised to sew her a handkerchief with her first name and her fiancé’s surname (a little wedding gift from me).

I couldn’t really tell if Terri was impressed or not with my sewing. She had a good look at it, but didn’t exactly say anything. I think she’s a professional tailor (tailoress?), so I kind of did want to know her opinion, but it’s scary to be criticised. As much as I appreciate Ms Berks giving me her honest opinion on that embroidery piece so long ago (for good or bad, I shan’t forget what she said—ugh), it did sting a little. If, after all my hard work, I’ve not improved, that would sting a lot more.

Oh well. All I can do is my best, so I guess it doesn’t matter too much.

Monday afternoon, at the embroidery club, I get to work on Julian’s “gift”, the one for Leo already done and the pattern for Evan handed over. I don’t expect Evan to do it well on the first time, but his talent for spirit magic helps him work that bit quicker, so he should have plenty of attempts before the break.

One month and a week left for the term, nearly two months having passed already. It’s funny how it feels so long and short at the same time. I guess that’s how it is when, for a change, you make a lot of little memories. Even if I can’t recall what we discussed, I can remember meeting all the princes, not to mention Lottie and Gwen, and the girls at the café—and Pete. The boy I found the first day in town, returning him to his grouchy nanny.

What was it I said to her? “I’m sure you hear that name every day.” Oh she wasn’t pleased about that, not one bit.

Would I do anything different? I’m sure I’m too young to have regrets like that. I mean, there’s nothing I can do that can’t be fixed. Like with Gerald, it only becomes a regret when I give up on fixing it, or if I can’t bring myself to apologise.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts, brings a gentle smile to my lips. “Please, do enter,” I loudly say.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Lady Horsham mumbles.

I’ve been so focused on my sewing that I didn’t pay much attention to her today, but she has a small braid in her hair (just a strip) that’s tied up with her ponytail. Hardly noticeable, yet a nice, subtle touch. It’s well done too, the three “strands” balanced and the braid itself tight. Maybe she did it before coming here, but, if not, then it has held up well as well, still neat at the end of the school day.

Not all that subtle with my staring, she’s awkwardly trying to make herself look smaller, shoulders bunched up, hands together, and a slight pink tinges her cheeks, bleeding through the natural-looking makeup she has on.

“You know, you hardly need to knock,” I say, gesturing for her to join us at the table.

“That is…. Okay,” she says, looking down at her hands.

Now I think about it, she rather matches Evan. Would they get on together? I can’t begin to imagine how they would get through a conversation…. Oh but, to be a fly on the wall for their first kiss, wouldn’t that be something? Blushing and stammering and looking this way and that, the thought alone sweet enough to make my teeth ache.

“You did that braid yourself?” I ask her, moving on from my silly thoughts.

She nods, her hand coming up to touch the braid. “Yes.”

“A job done well, it looks like,” I say warmly. “You have been practising, haven’t you?”

It’s a nervous smile, but a smile nonetheless, one she can’t help but try to hide. I glance over and see Evan glancing over; though his face is weakly flushed, I can’t really say if that’s from seeing her or just from being in proximity of a woman. His shyness is not to be underestimated.

“I, I have,” she says.

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“Let’s try something more grand today.”

So goes another afternoon.

Tuesday, I bring my sewing for Leo in the morning, carrying it with me through to the afternoon and the water magic class. Sometimes, I think of it as water class, but it sounds weird, right? If I combine the words, like, the first syllable of water, that’s “war”, so war-mag, and that still sounds weird and like a completely different thing entirely.

So. Water magic class.

It’s another practical lesson this week, same as last week. I say that, Ms Rowhook added on the chant for “carrying” water as well. I say carry, but each of us can only pick up an amount of water comparable to spoons. Sleepy prince is here this time and, looking over in a lull, I see him manage to hold up about a teacup’s worth of water. That’s the faerie king’s heart for you. Maybe it’s a metaphorical thing? Like, he holds favour with the water faerie king.

Whatever, I’ve already given up on thinking about that stuff, no way for me to know.

Though the other ladies in my group aren’t exactly friendly with me, I think the distance between us is closing. That said, it was a further distance than strangers to begin with, so it’s more like we’re becoming strangers than acquaintances.

I’m still… nervous. Shy. Compared to last week, they’re talking with each other more. Juniors and seniors bonding over the shared life of a teenage lady. That leaves less room for me to, like, teach. It’s not that I want to teach them, or care about it. Ms Rowhook teaches me first, so I’m not missing out, and there’s no grade tied to me teaching them, or anything like that. As an optional class, it’s not like they’ll get in trouble.

Yes, I’m really overthinking things, stretching them out to the extremes. I just don’t have much else to do while I sit here. Though I like talking love, this chatting they’re doing is, I don’t know. It’s gossip and fashion and that sort of thing. Not necessarily bad gossip, more like social news—what the popular socialites are up to and what they wore out, social gatherings happening soon or over the winter break.

The new year (well, May) will bring the Queen’s Ball and the next “class” of debutantes, but the social season starts in April, with smaller and more intimate events until then. I’m somewhat versed in all that since Clarice has been preparing for the last year. Really, it’s been more of a gap year (to borrow a modern phrase) for her.

Anyway, the social season is in Lundein. Those that like this sort of thing (and many who don’t) come to their city residences and partake in all these events. That includes government ministers and members of royalty, so it has some politics to it all, but I don’t think anything as dramatic as most books make it out to be.

So I can follow what they say, and I recognise some of the socialites they mention, but I’m not overly interested. I’ll probably debut and my mother will mention my name to other mothers and, once there’s a suitable suitor, I’ll quietly retreat away from the glitz and glamour.

Things like fashion, a good seamstress should know what’s hot, right?

Well, it’s not like I’m striking up a conversation either. All I do is quietly sit to the side, politely smiling, only offering my help when there’s a lull and one of them suggests we should practise a little more.

They’re good kids. They’ll chat and giggle, but do the work.

Besides, I can hide behind excuses like “I don’t want them to recognise me at the café” to keep the distance between us.

At the end of the lesson, everyone heads out quickly, Ms Rowhook dismissing us promptly since she’s not in the middle of speaking. I wait for it to clear up, my eye on the also waiting Leo. Still, I don’t play it off as a coincidence.

“Lord Basildon,” I say, walking at his side.

He looks over (and a little down) at me, his ever-slack face meeting me with a bit of a puzzled expression. “You have me at a loss,” he says.

I giggle to myself, not really that surprised he would forget nor offended by it. “Nora de Kent. A while ago, I woke you at the end of this lesson.”

“Ah, you did,” he says, his speech slow yet… perfect? It’s not slurred or dull, sounding more like he’s simply saying every word carefully. “You have my thanks again for that. In such a place, I may well have been left to sleep until evening.”

Slumped in a corner, he may well have slipped the notice of the servants and stayed there until morning, but I keep that thought to myself. “Such thanks little befit my actions,” I say.

“Then it’s fine for you to indulge so long as it’s in moderation,” he smoothly replies.

It takes more than good looks to be regarded as a prince, it seems. Here I thought Eleanor only heard such lines because he was still half-asleep at the time. Though I joke, I suppose that lesson might have put him half to sleep, my theory not entirely debunked just yet.

“Rather, let me try to meet the standard your thanks warrant,” I say, opening up my handbag. Since I planned on this, the pair of handkerchiefs are near the top. “Here we are.”

He accepts them easily, his gaze drawn to the stitching. Yes, it’s not a particularly pretty or impressive show of sewing, but I think there’s a certain charm to the script—the “handwriting” neat and elegant.

Reading aloud the words on the one handkerchief, he says, “Please wake for meals.”

I almost laugh, what I’ve done somehow more absurd when I finally hear it from his mouth.

He flips over to the other one, reading it in his head, and then he says, “These are rather ingenious. Do you think they will work?”

“I hope they do,” I say honestly.

“Is there some magic on them?”

I hesitate on my next step, what he said derailing my thoughts entirely. “Pardon?”

He lightly folds them into quarters, and then slips them into his pocket. “That is, how will they come out when I fall asleep unexpectedly? I think the teachers may misunderstand if I have such a thing on my desk at all hours.”

Ah. “I am sorry, I didn’t quite think of it like that.”

“Did I misunderstand? Will you keep these and check on me, draping it over my face as needed?”

I’m stuck between cringing and awkwardly laughing. “Are you teasing me?” I ask.

“Who knows?”

Well, given what I put the others through, I certainly deserve it. We come to a stop at a crossroads, the girls’ dormitories one way and the boys’ another. “Would you rather not accept them?” I ask.

He shakes his head, the dark blue streaks noticeable as his hair sways. “No, I thank you for them, and will endeavour to put them to good use. There can be no shame when pursuing three meals a day.”

I have to look away, trying to hide some of my laughter from him. That’s a phrase for, ahem, ladies of the night, you know? But if I tell him that, he will surely ask why I would know that (it came up in a few books Clarice recommended).

He really is teasing me.

But, really, I don’t hate that.

“Good day to you,” I say to him.

“And you.”