Once the shock wears off, I settle down. Every second longer between me and that moment, the more absurd my reaction seems, and yet… I can’t shake the apprehension I have when thinking of Leo. It was only one joke, but it always starts with one joke, an accidental touch, a misunderstanding. Even after my sharp reaction, he didn’t think over what he said at all. No apology. The way he leaned in as he said it, too close.

It sounds crazy, I know. But I told him I just wanted to be friends, didn’t I? I told him clearly that I am waiting for my debut before I consider suitors.

And those feelings… it reminds me of when I was first being bullied, how Ellie’s memories became all the more intense once I could relate to them. Leo didn’t do any more than say something unpleasant, yet it reminded me of the looks Ellie would get, the comments she never asked for.

I’ll at least give him the benefit of the doubt that he didn’t mean to say something with such unpleasant undertones. However, even his talk of love poems was pushing up against the line I drew. I’m already tired of doubting myself, of thinking I was leading him on, or this or that. This kind of relationship isn’t what I want, clearly not a straightforward friendship.

I don’t know what he wants. No, I shouldn’t overcomplicate things. He just wants to flirt and amuse himself with the reactions. Well, if he wants to play that game, he can go play with himself.

Whether or not it’s something I should be proud of, I’m able to stifle my uncertain emotions and get through the evening without raising any questions. I mean, I wish my mood was more stable, but last week really did break me down. Dealing with these kinds of situations is still new to me and I exhaust myself considering the endless possibilities of what might happen. Leo made that all the more worse by being someone I don’t know well. In the book, he didn’t have much of a personality beyond a sleepy sweet-talker.

As happy as I am to have friends now, the lonely days at Queen Anne’s were a lot simpler. It’s easy to be stoic when you know what’s going to happen and have time to prepare yourself. Probably a week until I see him next, I should be fine.

Not wanting to dwell on this any more, those tired thoughts are left behind as I go to sleep; I wake up refreshed. Once again, it’s just lovely to wake up and see Gwen’s card, my day beginning with a warm smile. As far as lessons go, I can’t exactly call it an exciting day. That said, I am enjoying the calisthenics more than walking around the grounds, and I’ve been keeping up with my own stretches. Oh, but, with my friends, I am enjoying our (weather-permitted) morning walks, so—I’m just rambling now. Sorry.

Anyway, with calisthenics and seeing the princes to look forward to, I’m in high spirits through the day. And when calisthenics finishes, I change quickly and head off to the classroom.

Despite rushing, there’s already someone there when I reach the doorway. “Hullo,” I say, walking over to my desk.

Julian lazily looks over, perched on a chair a couple of seats in front of mine. “It’s awfully kind of you to invite me here and then turn up late,” he says, all bark and no bite.

I giggle, put my handbag on my desk and sit down neatly. “Did Lord Sussex not say we have PE for our last lesson?”

“No, he did not.”

So we fall into idle chat, little more than asking the other how the day went, filling the few minutes before Evan and Cyril arrive. As they come in, I greet them both, saying, “Lord Sussex, Lord Canterbury, good of you to join us.”

Evan smiles, while Cyril quickly replies, “I didn’t exactly have a choice when it came to being covered in mud.”

The ground doesn’t really dry out this time of year.

Julian offers his own greeting, and he moves closer from his place; Evan sits in his own seat and Cyril the one in front. Altogether, we make a square, loosely turned to look in the middle of us.

“So,” Cyril says, and his gaze settles on me. Evan’s and Julian’s eyes follow.

“What?” I ask.

Cyril rolls his eyes. “You are the one who invited us here, yes? Would you care to tell us why?”

I tilt my head, and say, “Because I thought it would be nice to have a chat?”

“‘A chat,’ she says,” he mutters, shaking his head.

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“What’s wrong with that?” I ask, feeling a pout coming on.

He chuckles. “Nothing at all.”

“Then why are you laughing at me?” I ask, eyes mildly narrowed.

“Because you never cease to amuse me,” he says.

You know, you really didn’t have to be quite so honest, cousin. Feeling childish, I turn to Evan. “Do I amuse you as well?”

Evan takes a moment, and then he says, “I suppose you do? Not in a funny way, but it is far from boring when you are around.”

Is that a compliment? When it comes from Evan, probably.

Not one to be left out, Julian clears his throat. He says, “Are we not here just to amuse my lady?”

I turn to him, yet I can’t find it in me to deny his words. “Well, is there something else you would rather be doing?” I ask.

He holds my gaze for a moment before breaking into a smirk. “I suppose we would just be sitting around the fire if not here,” he says.

So they do hang out after class? I see them together at meals, but that doesn’t tell me much about the other hours of the day.

Cyril speaks up, asking me, “What do you and your friends do?”

“Oh, more or less the same. Truth be told, I usually spend some time by myself for sewing, drawing. The club project, you know.”

Julian nods along. “You are making dresses from scratch, is that right? My sister mentioned it in a letter.”

“Yes, I am,” I say, carrying on to give a few more details. Evan and Cyril listen as well despite being “members” of the club. Well, just because they’re in the clubroom doesn’t mean they ever listen to me talking about it.

The conversation continues on from there, rather meandering as the topic hardly lasts more than a few sentences. It’s still strange for me to talk in a group like this, but the time I spend with my friends (Violet and everyone) is helpful and, since I am sort of the reason we’re here, the princes tend to focus the talk on me. Rather than talking, I don’t know, sports, it’s about Florence and Ellen, and Cyril brings up the pond at my estate (of course he does), Evan the maze (I wonder if he’s told them about our childhood connection?) and like that it’s easy for me to join in.

Really, the only part that requires thinking is to ask Evan something if he’s quiet for too long. Cyril rather likes having others listen to him (especially if he can wax poetically), and Julian seems comfortable speaking up—I dare say Florence plays a part. Thinking of it like that, I guess Evan is more used to talking with Ellen and that’s no doubt much different to this arrangement.

Again sensitive to the time (or rather the remaining daylight), I don’t let this carry on until sunset. I would love to keep going, really I would, but there’s another year and a half for this, right?

“Thank you for humouring me,” I say, as we all start to pick ourselves up in our own ways.

“So we were invited here merely for your amusement,” Julian says under his breath—no doubt purposefully loud enough for us to hear.

I giggle, politely covering my mouth.

While they try to suggest walking me back to the dormitory, it’s awkward enough with just two of them. Besides, since we have some sunlight in the afternoons these days, I was already thinking of walking back by myself from now on (after embroidery club), so I politely reject the offer.

Anyway, it’s only down the corridor and then along the path for, what, a hundred steps? Hardly an arduous journey from the classroom.

Back at the dormitory, I go to the lounge rather than my bedroom, and join Violet, Helena, Jemima and Mabel there.

“Were you doing something? It looks like you have been outside,” Jemima says, sharp as nails.

By how she looks at me, I brush my fringe and, feeling some hair loose, redo the hair clip. Tattled on by the wind. “I met with some lords who visited my estate over the holidays. One is my cousin, and the other two came along when I invited their sisters,” I say, practising my double-speak.

“Oh really? I hadn’t heard,” Mabel says.

I suppose that nugget of gossip wouldn’t have spread given who attended. That is, Florence wouldn’t have mentioned her brother, and none of the other guests (lords or ladies) are exactly the sociable types. Well, Violet, but I think she would only mention Florence and Ellen at the tea party; we didn’t say more than a few sentences to the princes, so I think that’s a fair omission.

For now at least, they don’t ask me much more. Even when the conversation moves on, though, it’s a very different atmosphere than with the princes. I don’t hate it or anything, not better or worse, but it is harder for me.

That’s probably to be expected, right? Like I thought before, the princes were being mindful of me, while my friends aren’t. Wait, that sounds harsh. I mean, my friends aren’t going out of their way to baby me or anything, just talking like they always do. That’s how conversations are supposed to be, right? If we spend hours a day, day after day, talking, then there’s going to be times when one person is left out. A lot of times. I notice it most when it’s me, but it happens to the others as well, and they sit patiently, maybe suggest a new topic when the old one comes to an end.

As if reading my mind, Helena asks, “Lady Kent, how are the dresses coming along?”

I can’t help but smile. These moments are really nice, when a friend asks you about something you mentioned before (and that you thought they didn’t really care about it). “I am still on the first one. However,” I say, trying not to ramble as I give a concise summary of my progress.

When I finish, Violet speaks up. “It sounds like you expect to have, is it, four dresses ready for the exhibition?”

“I hope so, yes. It does depend on how long each one takes, though.”

“Of course,” she says nodding. Then she puts on a little smile. “I must confess, hearing you speak so enthusiastically, I am finding myself starting to look forward to the exhibition as well.”

Oh Violet, you’re too good to me. “Please, as nice as that is for you to say, don’t expect too much of me. I’m neither a seamstress nor an artist, after all.”

“All I expect of you is to try your best.”

Oh gosh, you’re just precious. How can you say that without dying of embarrassment?

Although I joke, I appreciate hearing that, and I promise I will. I really, really will do my best—for everything.