The four years at boarding school, puberty—it was, well, it was. I made it through without the bullying getting too rough, staying out of trouble with the teachers. Miles managed too. Though he’d been all shy and timid at first, he’d slowly found himself. The heir to the (small) earldom of Dunstable. I liked to think that I had helped him grow, his charisma coming from the many, many attempts at small talk with me. But otherwise he’d learned to put on a warm and natural smile at the drop of a hat, to seem sincere, and all the other sorts of things real nobility were supposed to be good at.

As for me, I’d taken part in clubs and read a lot and otherwise kept to myself. Not exactly poorly regarded, but regarded as a weirdo and a loner, seen as ungrateful for how I treated Miles despite him going out of his way to keep me company. Of course, Miles hated the lot of them, but we kept that between ourselves.

Leaving the boarding school for the final time, I almost felt sad. That was all the proof I needed to believe in Stockholm syndrome.

The Luton manor had hardly changed over the few years, basically what flowers were grown. My relationship with my family had also stayed the same, albeit I spent more time with Daisy as I played with Alice. Despite being a cat, Alice ended up more like a puppy, probably because of how Daisy treated her (and I wasn’t any better). For example, Alice could sit, fetch, and find Chestnut.

Nothing had happened with father or mother. Raymond had unofficially proposed to a duke’s daughter, the engagement being worked out. Violet had a suitor now and then, but no one that had stuck around. I didn’t know more than that and didn’t care to either. We all stayed out of each other’s way and that was fine by me.

As for Daisy, she never spoke much of her own life, really, usually only talking about the cats. She never gave me reason to pry, so I didn’t. From what I heard, she was doing well with her studies under the governess, and she would likely go on to a finishing school once she turned fifteen. I hoped that wasn’t because she had asked to, thinking my time at the boarding school was fun.

I kept in touch with Miles. While I didn’t really write anything other than stories of what Alice had got up to, he told me how his father had started to recognise him, bringing him along to a few meetings, checking over some of the figures for businesses the estate owned. It was nice to hear. Even if he’d never said, being sent to a boarding school despite being the first son must have hurt. Busy as he was, I didn’t want to invite him over and didn’t expect an invitation either. We’d spent most of the last four years together, so a month wasn’t enough time for me to miss him, or whatever the feeling was when friends didn’t see each other for a while.

With nothing else to distract me, I spent a lot of time lost in thought. As day after day passed, I wondered if things would really continue like they had in The Key To Her Heart. To begin with, it was strange for a second son to be sent to a “finishing school”, money wasted since I wouldn’t be inheriting the Luton title. It wasn’t like I could marry up either, not all that much difference between being second son of a viscount and the husband of an earl’s daughter. I hadn’t hid how asocial I was, so it wasn’t like I would be expected to make important connections.

Halfway through August, one of my questions was to be answered. I was summoned (not by magic) to father’s office. A stuffy room, it had the smell of stale cigarette smoke—well, stale tobacco from cigars or pipes—and whiskey or brandy, hard for me to say since cheap beer had always been my choice for taking the edge off after a difficult day. The curtains were mostly drawn, a sliver of light cutting through the gloom. He sat behind a desk weighed down by a pile of loose books one side, neatly stacked papers the other. A few pens stood in a pot next to an inkwell. They had touches of gold, the detail on them almost like art.

Even though I’d been led inside the room by a servant, I waited by the door. After half a minute, father said, “Sit down.”

I did as he asked without a word.

Around a minute passed in silence this time, broken as he moved his chair back and sighed. His gaze flicked up from the papers, meeting mine, and I wasn’t sure if he was staring me down or judging me. Whatever he was doing, he didn’t drag it out much longer.

“I am considering enrolling you in a finishing school. Saint Anthony’s.”

Bowing my head, I said, “If that is what you wish.”

“You have no thoughts on the matter?” he asked.

“No, father.”

I’d practised holding my tongue a lot in my last life. Work was to pay the bills, so it didn’t matter what I thought—I just needed to do the work given to me. That hadn’t changed.

Once he’d suitably stared at me again, he returned his focus to the papers. “You may go.”

It wasn’t long after that day that Miles wrote to me and said he would be attending that very school come September. I wondered then if our fathers had arranged it between themselves. As distant as father and I were, it wasn’t that he hated me, he was simply normal for the times and for his station.

Knowing that overthinking wasn’t the best way to pass the time, I left my thoughts there. A week after Miles’ letter arrived, father confirmed at supper I would be going to the finishing school. The news was received coolly by my older siblings, Daisy later complaining that I was already leaving her again. Measurements were taken, a new set of uniforms ordered, which included suits for balls and other formal occasions.

Then I was in a coach, heading off to the outskirts of Reading this time. For a change, it wasn’t a trip I took by myself (and the servants).

“It’s only been a month, but it felt so much longer,” Miles said, grinning at me before turning to the window.

“When does the winter break start?” I asked, monotonous as always.

Miles made a wincing sound. “We’ve barely said our hullos and you’re tired of me?”

“I was merely curious,” I said, softly smiling at the view outside the window on my side.

Fields stretched out to the hilly horizon, sometimes stopped by a line of trees. I wondered how long it would be before power lines decorated the sight like bunting without the flags.

“What do you hope to do with your future?” Miles asked.

I took a moment to think, the question unexpected. “Frugally live off my family’s money. I might try my hand at writing, or accounting if I have to work.”

He laughed, the tone light and soft. “It’s a surprisingly ‘you’ answer.”

“I suppose I could come mooch off you if my father is stingy.”

“And what would you do when I get married?” he asked, humour still in his voice.

I rubbed my chin, the tiniest patch of stubble scratching me. Shaving had been a part of my life as a woman, usually hoping a date went well, and it had become part of my routine again. At least every three days, I had to shave off the horribly patchy beard that tried to grow, as well as the scraggly moustache. Some mornings, still half-asleep, I’d almost carried on and started shaving my armpits, luckily getting no further than a lather—not that there was much yet there to shave either. The razor had taken some getting used to, blood sacrificed to the saint of sinks.

Belatedly, I remembered Miles had asked me a question. He’d learned long ago that there wasn’t much point rushing me, spiteful as I was.

“Well, on the incredibly rare chance you can convince an extremely naive woman to wed you—”

“Are my chances truly that terrible?”

“—I suppose it wouldn’t matter, since we would certainly have an affair and ruin the marriage.”

He huffed, the sound exaggerated. “Would you really seduce my wife, and so certainly?”

I turned my head, touched his shoulder so he would look at me. Staring into his eyes, I asked, “Who said it was your wife I would be seducing?”

His warm eyes stared back, a gentle expression on his face, and then he burst out laughing, much louder than earlier. For my part, I chuckled and turned back to admire the scenic view.

“Remind me never to chase the same girl as you,” he said.

In a way, I’d finally achieved my dream from my old life, now able to flirt with a teenaged boy all I wanted. Frowning to myself, I thought that that wasn’t my dream at all. But that thinking brought me to a topic I’d not exactly been struggling with, more just sometimes troubled by. As used to being Albert as I was, I thought of myself as Alice, and Alice was a straight woman. I didn’t find Miles attractive. He was handsome enough for a boy his age, but he was still a boy. The teachers at the boarding school hadn’t stood out. Some of the male servants, well, even if it would have been a forbidden love (in more than one way), I didn’t feel any… urges.

On the other hand, there hadn’t been many women for Albert’s eyes to ogle. The testosterone was definitely there, growth spurt and cracking voice and awkward moments plenty, yet everyone dressed so conservatively and I was hardly ever around young women. It would certainly be more convenient if “Albert” was straight. If not, there were definitely other gay men in this time, but I wouldn’t want to risk my family cutting me off. Even if Miles and I joked, I couldn’t say whether he’d reject me.

Letting out a sigh, I put those thoughts away again, another question I couldn’t answer at this time. For the rest of the trip, we alternated between silence and bits of small talk. Gossip, really, from his trips to London with his father. A lot of new money was coming up thanks to the industrial revolution and that made for a lot of rumours.

Then we arrived, and it was just like I remembered it, albeit real and not a colour drawing. A broad manor house, the bricks almost orange they were so bright, and a few small buildings scattered either side. Hidden from view, the river Thames ran along the far end of the grounds.

“Not bad at all,” Miles whispered to me while we were shown to our rooms in the boys’ dormitory. I silently agreed. It had a more timeless elegance than the Luton manor, wooden floors polished to a shine and wooden panelling simply detailed, paintings of landscapes for decoration between doors, and the broad windows let in a lot of light. Most of the rooms followed that aesthetic, including our bedrooms. “Neighbours again, eh?” Miles said, amused.

I sighed, going into my room.

“Hey! Don’t just shut me out,” he said, rushing over before I could close the door.

Rather than heading down to the lounge on the ground floor and meeting our soon-to-be classmates, we somehow spent the afternoon in my room, talking about nothing. Well, Miles spoke a lot and I didn’t even pretend to listen—I’d brought a few good books, something exciting about reading a first edition Charles Dickens. When it got dark out, I made him leave, enjoying a bit of quiet before bed.

The next morning, a trio of sharp knocks woke me up. I considered ignoring them, but another knock rang out and I guessed there’d be no end to them. As I opened the door, Miles asked, “How do I look?”

I stared at him. “With your eyes.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“No, in my uniform. Aren’t I rather dashing,” he said, no sense of shame in his voice.

I didn’t want to dash his hopes, not so early, but the fit was a bit loose. Whoever measured him probably took into account a few months growth since it would be awkward to tailor it during the term. Still, it was a nice uniform, black trousers and blazer with a white, buttoned shirt; the burgundy stripes on the black tie added a nice accent to the look.

“The uniform does look good,” I said, nodding.

“What about me?”

I paused for a second, and then said, “Let me get dressed and we can go for breakfast.”

His defeated sigh was interrupted by me closing the door. Once I’d changed and brushed my teeth—these more luxurious bedrooms coming with a sink—I opened the door again. He was still there and, after taking a step back and looking me up and down, he hung his head. “It’s my loss,” he muttered.

“I did say you should join a sports club,” I said, patting his shoulder.

His grumbling accompanied us all the way to the main building and the boys’ cafeteria there, where he went quiet. The boarding school hadn’t included much meat on the menu outside of supper, but here they were dishing out bacon and sausages alongside everything else expected for a full English breakfast. Only then did I realise that I must have really impressed father for him to send me here.

Early as we were, we had first dibs on the piping hot food, and we ate so much—growing boys and all that. It was funny to me since my appetite had been so small as a woman; though, my weight back then still suffered when I binged on ice-cream or drank too much. At least for now, I was free to stuff my face without consequence.

A few other boys had turned up by the time Miles and I finished, but they didn’t talk to us or anything. I got the impression that they were still nervous. Unlike me and Miles, they probably hadn’t been thrown out into the world alone before, precious first sons. Or maybe they were just as awed by the food as we were. I wasn’t all that invested, those my idle thoughts on the way out.

We wandered around the grounds until the bell rang for the morning assembly. Miles panicked, unsure where to go, but I led us there no problem. Considering I’d only played The Key To Her Heart for one drunken evening four years ago, it said a lot about the game’s quality that I still remembered the layout of the school so well. Rather than empty, the assembly hall was like a chapel, a dozen pews either side of an aisle (boys on one side, girls the other) that led up to a raised platform with a lectern. The teachers were already lined up on the platform, two of them guiding new students to sit on the front rows.

While we waited for everyone to filter in, Miles elbowed me, leaning in to whisper. “See anyone you like?”

I turned to him, his eyes and eyebrows trying to point over to the girls. Even when I did look, I couldn’t see any faces. But this had been the start of the game. A movie had played, showing the school from the air, and then the camera had flown through the front door of the manor and into the hall, where it highlighted Albert, Miles and the three “heroines”. Though, the story had only started after the assembly.

Giving up on seeing if I could spot any of the girls from the game, I checked the teachers instead, recognising half of them. All of the boys classes were taught by men, and the on-site doctor was male, but the teachers for most of the girls classes, as well as the nurse, were women.

“Miss Penshurst would look quite nice in a good dress and with her hair done up,” I said, more an observation than a compliment. Though, her face had a prettiness to it that her stern expression tried to hide.

“I’d thought you a queer fellow, but now I see you are a man of refined taste,” Miles said, nodding along to his own words. “Which one is Miss Penshurst?”

Wincing in my head, I remembered “Albert” had no reason to know anyone’s name here. “With the mauve broach.”

“Mauve… that’s light purple,” he muttered, craning his neck over the other first-year boys in front of us. “Ah, she does have quite the look. I wouldn’t mind a detention alone with her.”

I chuckled lightly, coming up with a reason why I knew her name in case he asked, but he had one thing on his mind, difficult to displace it. If I hadn’t been focused on that, I would’ve chided him for his comment. I knew it was a different time and all that, but I’d been treated to whispers like those in my time, could vividly remember how unpleasant it was.

Silence was called, the headmaster spoke, introduced the teachers and rambled on about dignity and whatever, everyone clapped politely. The longest thirty minutes later, we were dismissed for the day. Classes would begin tomorrow.

“I know I woke up early on my own, but you would think this could have waited for later in the day,” Miles said, stretching, as we filed out the hall behind the second-year girls.

In the foyer, most of the older students loitered, chatting happily in their small groups. Heirs of dukes and marquesses among the boys. I was definitely near the bottom, no title at all coming my way. The girls were mostly eldest daughters, but it was more varied than with the boys.

Miles and I milled around the room, more because we couldn’t make it to an exit than because we wanted to stay. Though, I wasn’t exactly eager to go, not until I saw the first-year girls finish leaving the hall.

“I’ll see you later,” I said, patting Miles on the shoulder.

“Oi, where are you going without me?” he asked.

“Toilet.”

He hesitated, holding up a finger and then slowly bringing it to his face, scratching his cheek. “Ah, okay.”

Trained by the London Underground at rush hour, this crowd was nothing. I slipped through to the stairwell and upstairs to a hallway lined with general purpose classrooms—chairs, tables and a chalkboard. There was no one here at this time. No lavatories either, but, clumsy me, I’d managed to get lost on my way back to the dorms.

I needed to see if my fate was bound to the story in the game.

Meandering aimlessly, looking inside the rooms as I passed them, my heart beat quick in my chest. It felt a lot more intense than when I’d been a woman, like I might well end up with a bruise on the inside of my ribs.

Footsteps.

I turned around slowly, trying to appear calm. There she was: Princess Gwendoline. Though, that she was attending this school alongside barons’ daughters really said all that needed to be said for how her family “valued” her.

After a few seconds, she raised her head and spotted me. Surprise, then hope, then hesitation, then shyness flashed across her face. In the game, she’d been an honest and gentle character, too cute—up until she’d stabbed me.

However, this wasn’t the game. I knew that because, rather than wait for her to come over to me and then greet her, I turned around. Her footsteps quickly started, shoes tapping a fast pace on the floor. I strode. The hallway was only so long, and I was definitely going to reach the end before she caught up, making my escape down the stairs (I could take them four at a time, while she would have to take care with her skirt).

Only, I heard her slip and fall over. That hadn’t been in the game. To silence any thought I might have considered of continuing my escape, she let a series of quiet sounds. “Ow ow ow.”

With an immense sigh, I slowly turned around. She was in a bit of a heap. I walked over, offering her a hand. When she didn’t notice, I cleared my throat, getting her attention away from her knee.

“Thank you,” she softly said, letting me pull her up.

Since she was back on her feet, I quickly turned around and took half a stride before she spoke, stopping me.

“Shouldn’t I see the nurse?” she asked.

Implicit in that, she suggested I should escort her there. “Nah, you’ll be fine,” I said over my shoulder.

“Will I?”

She sounded far from convinced, but that wasn’t my problem. “You would’ve winced if your ankle was twisted, so it’s just a bruised knee at worst, and that will heal in a day if you eat spinach at supper.”

A second passed, and then she said, “I will keep that in mind.”

Not wanting to tempt fate any further, I gave up on the running away. Even though she hadn’t said, I gave her the directions to the headmaster’s office, to which she gave her confused thanks. The exchange complete, I escaped without further complaint.

In the game, it had been more of an introduction, Albert giving his name and the princess hers, and Albert acting all embarrassed over talking so casually with royalty. It had also given unspoken background information about her. She was the daughter of William IV, but it was a contentious point of (alternative) history. He had married a princess Adelaide, only for pregnancy after pregnancy to end in misfortune. Convinced of a conspiracy against him (and this was where history diverged), he had claimed his wife had died and even went so far as having a public funeral for her. However, on his deathbed, he revealed that she was in good health and that they had even had a child. The country was expecting Queen Victoria to take the throne, though, completely unprepared, and it was the sort of situation to cause massive unrest if not resolved. Parliament rushed through a declaration that his wife had been declared dead and so any children forfeited their claim to the throne.

To put it simply: if things had gone differently, Gwendoline would have been queen.

When her mother died, she was brought back to England from the estate in Meiningen where she’d grown up. Her lineage was doubted, her existence troubling to the royal family. It was a miracle she was even allowed outside. But I guessed that, at least in this game-reality world, the royals wanted to make her someone else’s problem—preferably someone who couldn’t make much of a fuss.

Also, she had been surrounded by British tutors when abroad, so she spoke fluent English. No plot holes whatsoever.

There was a bit of a chill to the air outside. I kept my arms crossed on the way to my next unwanted yet potential engagement. Halfway between the manor and the dorms, an oak tree mildly autumned, leaves pleasant shades of orange. Beneath it stood a girl, her searching gaze falling upon me and a smile coming to her lips.

I walked right past her.

Her footsteps followed me, as footsteps often did since I’d come to this world. “Mr Luton, is it?”

With a sigh, I came to a stop and turned to her. She had a mischievous smile that reminded me of Daisy. “You shouldn’t speak unless spoken to,” I said, a reminder rather than a criticism. I didn’t care, of course, but others did and so it was a bad habit to have for a lady in this time period.

“Then it is quite fortunate for me that you spoken, as I fear I may never have had the chance to speak with you, the man of few words you are.”

She had said it all in a light, playful tone. And I flatly replied, “Okay.”

If anything, her good mood only grew from my curtness. “I hear you’re marvellously quick with numbers.”

I gave her no reply.

“Say, what is twelve by seven?”

I stared blankly at her for a long moment, and then said, “This show horse doesn’t feel like jumping.”

“Really? I thought you more a work horse.”

Nothing asked, I had even less of a reason than usual to say nothing.

Still, she kept her gaze firmly on me, her brown eyes bright and smile unending. “I hope you will indulge me now and then,” she said.

“What a cruel thing to ask of me.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand—almost but not quite a giggle. Then, with a curtsy, she bid me on my way and, in return, I bid her a good day.

A different but similar encounter as in the game. Albert hadn’t been an amazing student, just a little above average. Somewhat shy, but talkative once he was comfortable with the person, and kind, but he sometimes couldn’t express that well. In other words, he was exactly like the sort of teenage boy who would download The Key To Her Heart in the first place.

The conversation with this strange girl had been focused on Raymond in the game, but it hadn’t come up again. It had never been explained why Albert was attending such a school either. Raymond seemed competent, if a bit quiet. I wondered if, at least in this world, father maybe saw promise in me for something else.

Isabel Reading, second daughter of the Duke of Reading. Given that the school was in part owned by her father, she was privy to certain gossip. She had a lot more said about her in the game, but it wasn’t as interesting as Gwendoline’s backstory, so I’d scrolled through it without really paying attention.

Two down, one more to go.

Getting to the library involved a trip to my room and then heading back to the manor. There were few spaces where both boys and girls could actually sit together in some fashion, and the library was one of them. Of course, talking was prohibited, but to children (teenagers especially), rules were very transient things and usually only manifested in the presence of adults. In the game, it was suggested that most of the teachers on library supervision overlooked whispering so long as a certain decorum was otherwise maintained.

I found a table in the far corner to sit down at and settled down with my book. In the game, Albert accidentally sat in a girl’s seat while she was picking out a book to read, which lead to an awkward and fumbling conversation—because bookish girls obviously couldn’t talk normally.

Similar but different, I soon found myself the target of a young woman’s gaze. Beatrice Westmorland. “May I help you?” I asked.

“Is that… The Pickwick Club?”

A quiet voice, a little deep for a girl’s. Her gaze didn’t flicker away from me, no flush climbing up her neck or colouring her cheeks, and she had paused in her speaking, not stuttered or hesitated. An almost completely different character compared to the impression she’d left in the game. Person, I corrected myself. She might well have only been fifteen years old, but those weren’t fifteen years spent sat in front of a book. Diction, decorum, dining—the three D’s every nobleman’s daughter had been taught. Whatever shyness she may have had in the past would have been worked out of her, no compassion for her, no mercy. Or, to the people of this time, it may well have been a mercy, a daughter unable to get a husband one of the most pitiful things to them.

Lost in my pointless thinking, she cleared her throat. Prompted, I nodded my head. “Yes, I quite enjoy Boz’s writing.”

“I do too.”

Nothing more was said, both of us reading in silence as diagonal neighbours. When the bell for midday rang, we gave each other a bowed-head goodbye, and then I left first, eager to see what food lunch would bring. Unsurprisingly, Miles was also there quick and with a plate so full I was impressed. After packing my own plate to the brim, I sat down next to him and said, “Hullo.”

He turned to me and forced down his mouthful of food. “Where the blazes did you wander off to?”

I thoroughly chewed a mouthful of cottage pie before answering. “A few places.”

After a huff and a tut, he asked, “Anything interesting happen?”

“Well, I met three girls.”

He paused for a second, and then shook his head.

It wasn’t just Albert and the girls who had changed. In the game, Miles was the sidekick, the butt of jokes and with little to say. But, in real life, it took a lot of confidence to take my jabs with a smile and a laugh. He knew himself well, was sure of himself, and it would certainly show soon. The game hadn’t said anything about him having admirers or getting involved with a girl, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long until someone came along.

“Did any of them… interest you?” he asked.

I hadn’t been expecting that question, but, knowing him, I should have. Though, given how the game went, I was going to do my best to ignore them and hope to make it through the year with all of us alive.

“Not really.”

He elbowed me. “Come on, it’s not like I’m telling you to marry them.”

“Well, if I had to choose, then I guess….”