I’m not left to my thoughts for long before Violet arrives, just in time for lunch. Considering it has only been a week since we last saw each other, there shouldn’t be much to talk about, but I pester her with questions throughout the meal.

“The journey was pleasant?” “Not too cold, was it?” “How are your mother and father?” “Have you decorated your tree yet?” “Another slice of lemon sponge cake?”

Those are but the highlights of what I asked, in the end only really stopping because Clarice (quietly so only I can hear) says, “Won’t you ask for the colour of her knickers next?”

My choking laughter draws everyone’s attention, but I wave off their concern. “My apologies,” I say once I’ve calmed down, suppressing the giggles still trying to escape.

Oh she does know how to needle me like only a sister does.

With my lesson learned, I let Violet finish the meal in relative peace, a couple of polite questions from my parents all that separates her from silence. Only, even after we’re excused from the table, she says to me, “If you would go to your room, I will join you there shortly.”

I guess she’s too polite to excuse herself mid-meal, but she really need not be. At least, not here.

Well, there’s nothing for me to do but agree and I do and so I go and flop onto my bed, hoping she won’t be long. “Shortly” can be a rather misleading word. Besides, sometimes you don’t know how long these things will take until you get there, right? Especially travelling in this cold, you can end up with quite the upset stomach.

No, I’m not supposed to think these things. Plans, yes, what should we do? I’d really appreciate her suggestions for what to do with my other pieces of fabric. Any ideas, in fact—I’ll have to make some more dresses for the embroidery club exhibit eventually.

Oh and Lady Horsham, I should ask Violet what she thinks of her. I’m not one for gossip, but I would like to know more about Lady Horsham. Of course, I won’t say that she comes to the club sometimes, not unless Violet already knows and brings it up herself. Her other two friends, Ladies Hythe and Minster, I would like to hear what Violet has to say of them as well. Again, not as gossip, but to know more about Violet.

I mean, a lot has changed since we were friends, even if a lot also hasn’t… if that even makes sense.

True to her word, it’s not long at all before a knock on my door sounds out. “Come in,” I say loudly.

“It is me,” Violet replies.

I stare at the door for a long moment, waiting for it to slowly open a crack and for her head to appear, only then giggling. She clears her throat, stepping inside and closing the door behind her, not a tinge of embarrassment to her face, nor a timidness to her expression.

Busy being amused, I belatedly notice she’s carrying something. “You wish to read?” I ask, picking out the four books. They look awfully dull whatever they are.

“To study,” she says, correcting me rather sternly.

I tilt my head. “Surely there is time for that later?”

“Such as in the carriage on the way back to the school?” she replies, entirely straight-faced.

“Or the evening once we arrive there,” I say, smiling.

She puts down the books on my desk, a slight grunt (is it really called a grunt when it’s a cute little exhale?) escaping her. A long breath out, and then she says, “Some of us have to work towards the responsibilities that await us.”

“But today? Can’t you study Tuesday, or after Yule?” I ask, a bit of a whine to my voice. Okay, it probably sounds really whiny, but, you know, it’s my precious time with my friend.

She clicks her tongue, her attention still on the books rather than me as she pulls out the second one and opens it to the index. “The only reason I am here today is because it is my study day and I thought we could study together. If that is not the case, I can leave.”

Ugh. Where’s my sweet Violet who comforts me and lets me dress her up? “Are grades really that important? These classes, they’re not going to be all that useful when we graduate, will they?”

While I spoke, she continued her preparations, finding whatever topic she wanted in the index and opening to that page, helping herself to paper from my drawer and testing the nib of the pen I have out.

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“Because all it is is writing out passages from books by memory?” she asks.

I sense it’s a trap, yet I can’t say anything but, “For the most part, yes.”

She cuts a rather noble figure while she sits there in profile. Her black hair is tied up in a bun, showing off her features—a high cheekbone, narrow jaw, slender neck. Her back is straight yet not quite upright as she leans forward that little bit, an eagerness, no, attentiveness to it. And her movements to dip the pen, to turn the page, are refined, as if she has practised them to perfection.

Or maybe I’m a bit biased, who knows.

“In the Chamber of Lords, I will be expected to remember the details of a bill after a single reading. This bill may be several pages long and I cannot take notes. Outside the Chamber, I will be expected to know all other Lords by name and title, and it will be to my benefit if I know further details such as family members and business interests. The broader my knowledge of existing legislation and case law, the better will I be able to argue when the need arises.”

She pauses there to focus on blotting her notes before continuing.

“So it is actually the case that these lessons are helping me to develop useful skills.”

I mean, she really could have said that before her pause. And, well, I forgot that I’m in some author’s bizarre world with a lot of romanticism to it. I don’t know much about the nobility (in Victorian times) in Ellie’s world, nor even the House of Lords, but it didn’t seem all that serious, did it? From what Ellie did know, the House of Commons pretty much was everything and the House of Lords only came up when some scandal was going on or the ruling party was trying to push through a controversial bill.

In this world, the Chambers are somewhat reversed, but the important part is that the (Chamber of) Lords makes the laws and the Commons can veto them. There’s all sorts of agreements going on and private donations and all sorts, yet the general sentiment (not that I talk much politics with commonfolk) is that it works well.

I have my own doubts.

Anyway, unless a brother comes along after all this time, Violet will eventually take her father’s title and be entitled to a seat and a vote in the Chamber of Lords. Usually, women are absent and have their husbands vote on their behalf, but I guess she doesn’t plan to defer to whoever the lucky man is.

While I’ve been thinking useless thoughts, she has carried on taking notes. Well, I can’t see from here, but she’s probably copying straight out of the book. That was one of the learning techniques my old governess preferred. I’ve not exactly been convinced by what Violet said, but I’ll hold my tongue. At least, I’ll try to.

“Georgie,” I say loudly.

The door opens a sliver and she slides through. “Yes, miss?”

“If you would arrange tea and snacks for us here in, say, an hour and a half,” I say, guessing the time in my head.

“Yes, miss,” she says, bowing her head before sliding back out, shutting the door behind her.

I’m not so petty to interrupt Violet for my own selfish reasons. However, as I come to stand by her, watching her write out line after line ever so meticulously, a sense of dread grips my heart.

So I ask, “If I may speak frankly and listen sincerely, will those responsibilities make you happy?”

She takes no time to put together a response. “No, they won’t, but they will certainly leave me fulfilled. This is what I have been working towards my entire life. This is my role in society. Without this, what worth do I have?”

I don’t know, Violet. I don’t know. Marriage and kids doesn’t have the sort of allure we’re after, huh? I mean, I’m happy with my sense of worth that’s tied to my personality rather than my work, but I know that’s not something everyone is comfortable with, and I can hardly expect her to change herself because of my personal philosophy.

All I can say is, “No matter what you do or don’t accomplish, I’ll still love you.”

Finally, her pen stops. “You know, I am sure you have told me that more times than my parents have,” she whispers.

Stepping behind her, I stoop to better hug her. “I am sure they love you very much as well. After all, I am the unusual one here for speaking so freely.”

She’s usually adverse to these displays of affection, putting up with them for a second or two before stopping, and yet she is so docile today, the seconds trickling by. Of course, I only keep doing it because she hasn’t told me not to or said she hates it.

Then, so quietly I can barely hear, she says, “I love you too.”

“Is that my present for Yule?” I ask.

Snorting, she folds over, escaping from my hug and hiding in her hands. “You are terrible,” she says between laughs.

Hiding behind my smile, I try not to cry. She hasn’t said those three words to me before, not even when we were children. “Thank you,” I say to her, meaning those two words more than ever before.

Awkwardly lifting her head, she leans to one side and looks away from me. With her hair up, she shows me two wonderfully red ears, and she mutters, “You’re welcome.”

I resist the urge to tease her. It’s hard, but I manage, instead giving her some distance and walking the few steps back to my bed. Slowly, she collects herself, the blush fading and her attention returning to the book, but her hand stays still.

“You know, I found myself rather jealous last week,” she says.

Such a surprising thing to hear, it takes me a second to ask, “Really?”

She nods. “I… always thought that we had a special friendship. In our childhood, an unpleasant part of me even thought that I had been doing you a favour by being your friend when others thought poorly of you, taking an unhealthy pride in how benevolent I was. And then, but a couple of days into last term, I see you talking so happily with Lord Sussex…. Last week reminded me of those dark feelings. A voice in the back of my head asking if I really mean that much to you, if I will be replaced.”

“Violet,” I say softly.

Shaking her head, she tries to laugh off what she said, but it doesn’t work, her expression settling back to something pained. “I know I have a poor personality, so I tend to have these anxieties. And I am sorry for burdening you with something I should deal with on my own.”

After a second, I say, “Hey.”

She slowly turns to face me.

“Don’t apologise for sharing your feelings with me, okay? Actually, apologise to me again, this time for not telling me sooner. We’re best friends, right? There’s nothing you can’t tell me.”

Oh she looks just so lovely when she smiles.

“Okay,” she says, nodding.

And to think she wanted to waste today studying.