Since I have been focusing on Florence for a bit, I turn my attention to Ellen. Evan hasn’t told me much about her, but I’m steadily forming my own opinion. “Say, how do you like passing the time?” I ask her.

It seems to take her a moment to realise I’m talking to her, and then a moment longer to gather her thoughts. “I do like reading,” she says lightly, her gaze wandering rather than on me.

“Really? Is there something you are enjoying at the moment?” I ask, pulling her in.

Oh she giggles. If I was living through a rather different story, she would no doubt be the giggly princess. Once she gets that bit of laughter out, she composes herself and mentions a book I read when I went to the school, prompting me to ask if she took it out from the library there, and so we go on a back and forth.

While I was working towards Florence liking me before, this is much more me just chatting like I do with Gwen. I don’t mean that in a disrespectful way, suggesting that talking to Ellen is like talking to a child, but rather that I (at least try to) talk to Gwen like she’s an adult. No, that still sounds wrong…. That I try to talk to her like she’s a person. As frivolous as what she learned at Sunday school is to me, it’s an important part of her life, so I treat it with the same weight she does. And that’s what I do with Ellen, properly listening to the silly things she shares as those are clearly not silly to her.

I mean, if I want to know, I have to listen, right? There’s no shortcut, especially since she wasn’t in Snowdrop and the Seven Princes at all. I might not care for the “heroine” in the book Ellen’s reading, but she does. Why does she? I ask her, and I try to remember what I can of the story.

“Well, it’s the first book I have read where the girl also reads,” she says, her face somewhat scrunched into a frown. “Girls usually just sit and talk or brush their hair, but not in this book. She even does maths.”

And I learn a lot when I listen, change my opinions. For me, it was just another romance story, led by a girl who sighs and mopes and pines for her true love. However, Ellen is clearly happy to find a heroine who resembles her in more ways than merely gender.

I’m reminded that not all the girls here have memories from a time closer to equality. For every Violet who strives to be the best she can be, there’s nine girls who have been given dolls and told to play house while their brothers study.

It’s notable that the heroine did maths.

Still, her conversation is rather flighty, the way she drifts around and the way she words things a bit difficult to follow at times. I find myself often asking questions to keep her focused.

As we finish lunch, it becomes a balancing act of trying to keep the two of them involved. I start with my prepared topics. Luckily enough, flowers are a common interest of them—in rather different ways. Ellen knows them well by sight while Florence is fairly familiar with the language of flowers. So we talk of our favourite flowers, and what ones grow at each of our houses, and Violet includes herself as well.

I’m glad to hear Ellen likes daisies (among many others), and Florence likes buttercups especially. And there’s one of those horrible moments where you realise you may have made a mistake ages ago—I thought bellflowers and bluebells were the same thing. Did I sew the right one for Julian’s mother? He would have said, right? He wouldn’t be polite, right?

Right?

Anyway, we somehow stretch that out until it’s time for tea and cakes proper—that is the reason they’re here. Given the time of year, I thought it would be nicer to have them over for lunch so they don’t have to go home in the dark.

It’s a more diverse arrangement this time and I had little input on it. Cakes I asked for, cakes I’ve got. There’s the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and all sorts of Yuletide spices in the air, and that also comes from the teas on offer. For young ladies, mild flavours that complement the sweet treats. I think the biscuits are more on the savoury side, and I recall Clarice saying she has had the cooks experimenting with hot chocolate drinks and snacks to go with them. Dunking biscuits, I wonder?

Well, it’s easy to see Florence and Ellen sparkle at my humble offerings. They make themselves quite at home. As for Violet, I notice her take a thin slice of pound cake; I’ve made sure that Beth’s recipe is taught to the new hires, no other pound cakes as nostalgic as hers.

Sweetened up, those two happily divulge a few more things about their brothers. Evan didn’t mention it was an embroidery club he joined, nor that I am in it and the only other member. Lucky I didn’t spoil that without knowing, huh? I don’t think Ellen knows he bought me a birthday present either, but I already guessed that, not exactly something I plan to tell my family.

Florence, for all her earlier decorum, freely shares that Julian has quite the sweet tooth, and takes herself on a tangent to give a couple more childish aspects of his. (He dislikes thunder, huh?) Although she clams up once she realises what she’s doing, I tease out his birthday (March twelfth) and colours he likes (maroon and cyan in particular), and his favourite snack (a nutty bread I’m unfamiliar with).

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

And things seem to finally click into place. I can’t put it in better words than that, really.

Florence starts talking to Ellen rather than both of them taking it in turns to talk to me, and Violet says this and that, and I realise I haven’t said anything in a few minutes—that I haven’t needed to say anything to keep the mood going. My stress melts away, the next breath easy and the one after easier still. They’re enjoying themselves. This was… worth it.

It’s everything I always hoped it to be.

Smiling and laughing, discussing teachers and homework, and I’m a part of it. I’m part of it. This isn’t at the next table, or beside me, but around me. Even though I’m not saying anything, they would listen if I spoke up. They would listen to me. I’d be heard.

The rush of emotion nearly overwhelms me, but I think I hold it in check. No one says anything if they notice, and I don’t notice anyone giving me a funny look.

After a round of calming breaths, I’m settled, get myself involved in the conversation. This isn’t time to be squandered, is it?

The early afternoon passes in what feels like no time at all. A knock on the door, a glance at the time, and it’s over. It’s so incredibly unfair—or so I would say if I wasn’t so grateful for this chance in the first place. Our brothers and Cyril meet us in the hallway. Ellen and Evan, and Florence and Julian fall into step together as we walk to the front door.

Evan and Julian give their thanks first, but those words go in one ear and out the other as I await their sisters’ verdicts.

Without prompting, Florence steps forward and she curtseys, and she bows her head with a warm smile. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lady… Nora,” she says.

The short pause isn’t lost on me, emphasising my name. A risk I’m willing to take, I step forward and take her into a light hug. “And thank you for coming, Lady Florence. A gathering is only as good as its guests and this one was most wonderful.”

She’s blushing when I let go and it almost matches her hair. Adorable.

I turn to Ellen then, and she skips the curtsey entirely to hug me first. “Thank you for having me, Lady Nora.”

“And thank you for coming, Lady Ellen,” I say, and I manage to squeeze a giggle out of her—not that that’s a difficult thing to do. But her smile feels more genuine than nervous to me now and that is a worthy accomplishment in my books.

We part and she gives me a curtsey and says, “I do hope I can come again.”

“Whenever you wish—tomorrow, even,” I say.

Oh her red cheeks are still so pinchable. I want to, yet I must resist.

Turning to Florence, I say, “That goes for you as well.”

She’s recovered from my earlier attack, a certain warmth to the polite smile she shows. If their looks weren’t so dissimilar, I would say she’s Violet’s sister.

The entrance hall feels much emptier when the door finally closes.

Cyril and Joshua say nothing, but Violet steps to my side, nudges me. I softly speak up. “Thank you all for helping me today. Thank you so much.” I stop myself there, my throat tight and eyes itching. A few blinks clears my vision.

“Would you help me pack?” Violet quietly asks.

Gently nodding, I turn towards the stairs, let her take the lead this time. Of course, she doesn’t need to hold my hand to keep from getting lost, even if I wouldn’t mind it.

I don’t know how I feel. It’s like I’ve been stretched by happiness and now my usual shape is all wrinkled, or maybe I’m emotionally exhausted, not really feeling sad or anything. That’s probably it. I’m not used to feeling so happy, so I’ve worn out my dopamine receptors (or whatever it is in your brain that makes you feel good).

In the quiet hallway, Violet breaks the silence to say, “You did well today.”

I giggle, something so funny about being praised by her. Maybe this tea party really did break me. “Not really. I messed up with Florence at the start, and it took ages for them to get comfortable, and you helped so so much.”

We reach the door to her room, our best guest room. Well, third best, the top two rooms for couples (and Violet doesn’t exactly need a bed that large for herself). She lingers at the door, a few seconds passing before she opens it and we enter. It’s similar to my bedroom. There’s a four poster bed (not quite a double but near enough), a desk and chair beside it, a bench by the window, and a closet and wardrobe and chest of drawers for storage; then there’s an extra table and two seats for dining—in case the guest wishes to have tea by herself or whatever.

It’s at that table that Violet brings us. When I see her face, it’s a more complicated expression for a change. I can’t tell what she’s thinking at all other than that she’s thinking very hard.

She speaks in little louder than a whisper. “I have been to many tea parties before and hosted my own several times, and none were as enjoyable as this one. While we tiptoe around everything, pretending to be mature, you are almost childish in how you move forwards. For all I criticise, I really do admire that part of you.”

As nice as it is to hear that, I can’t help but feel that it’s as if she’s praising someone else, that the me in her head and the me in front of her are so completely different that it makes no sense to call us the same person. That feeling becomes an impulse, compelling me to say, “Surely you are too kind. Today only went well because of luck, that’s all.”

She shakes her head, and it’s strangely emphatic for her. “Ladies Hastings and Sussex had such a good time, that much was plain to see, and I could plainly see that your hosting was responsible for it.”

My smile bittersweet, I still can’t bring myself to accept her praise, almost desperate to have her take it back.

As if I’m afraid of being happy.

“Well, my hosting was only well-received because I was lucky to have guests that responded well to me,” I say, and I have Gerald in mind. If Florence or Ellen were at all like him, today would have ended in the most awful way, wouldn’t it? I may be good at apologising, but I lack a lot of the delicacy required to get on with people I disagree with. The patience. I will work on that, but it takes time.

Violet wilts in her seat, losing some of her ever-present composure. It’s an unusual sight that reminds me of our childhood and how she became when I managed to tire her out with our adventures.

“Lord Sussex and I certainly agree on you being too honest for your own good. However, I am fortunate that it is for my good,” she whispers.

I’m probably being silly, aren’t I? Disagreeable because of my tiredness. Violet isn’t the type to stroke my ego needlessly. I do believe that. I don’t believe she’s being overly nice to me out of guilt or anything like that. While she may call me too honest, she can’t keep herself from speaking her mind.

“Let’s put aside this matter for now and instead won’t you say there’s time in your busy schedule for another visit?” I ask, trying to sound more cheery.

She pulls herself back to her usual composure but for a touch of warmth to her smile. “Well, I suppose I could see if there is room to be found next weekend.”

Oh I hope there is.