“Lady Beatrice Westmorland,” I said.

Miles frowned. “I’m not familiar with Westmorland….”

“She’s the earl’s eldest of three daughters.”

“Ah,” he said with a flash of recognition. “Is he the one without a son? I’ve heard of an earl quietly suggesting that the succession of earldoms should be brought in line with that of the crown.”

“Yes.”

Of the three, she was definitely the most interesting one to me. All I really had to pass the time in this world was reading and she seemed to also like Charles Dickens (Boz, as he went by at the start of his writing career). If I had to, talking with her about what books we liked would probably be fine, but she seemed to like silence and I did too, so I wouldn’t have minded us sitting quietly together and keeping to ourselves. I didn’t think the other two would be happy with silence.

That decision quickly felt like it hadn’t been much of a decision at all, Miles saying nothing more on the matter. I hadn’t exactly hidden my reluctance to choose any of them, so it wasn’t strange for him to pick up on it.

For the rest of the day, we wandered around the grounds and he talked a lot and I sometimes answered a question or made a joke. The next day onwards, lessons took up most of the day, so we didn’t get to hang out just for fun during the week. I liked to be diligent and properly do the homework and revise my notes, and that had rubbed off on Miles, albeit he still left half of it to do over the weekends, always complaining as I lounged around while he had to waste his precious free time.

I tried to avoid the girls, which happened easily enough. None of them went out of their way to even look my way, and I didn’t go to the library (where I would definitely run into Beatrice), so nothing happened.

The first month passed. A fresh worry had risen up in that time, namely that I struggled to dance. Practising every night by myself, I had burned the steps into my muscle memory, but, when it came to dancing with someone else, I had to adjust the length of my step and that was easy to forget.

Still, that wouldn’t have been a problem—if not for the school holding a debut ball for the first-years.

Three sharp knocks interrupted my afternoon reading. I would have ignored them, but Miles knew how to persist—probably because I ignored him if he didn’t. After closing my book (Dickens’s novella from last year), I shuffled over to the door.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“With your eyes.”

He tutted, sliding past me and into my room. “You’ve done that joke before.”

“Well, it’s a good joke,” I said, shutting the door.

Some jabs and evicting him and changing clothes later, I joined him in the hallway, the both of us in suits. For the boys, there was only really black suits with a white shirt permitted, although we could add some colour with a tie (I just used my school tie) and the style of the jacket added some variety.

Until it was time for the ball to start, we wandered aimlessly, nothing better to do when I couldn’t just sit down and read. Then we headed to the building that was little more than a vast hall with two rooms either side—the boys entrance and girls entrance. Only the first-years attending the Introductory ball, the room felt a little empty.

One of the teachers chaperoning eventually came in and called us out. We filed through to the hall, forming into a line next to the dance floor, and the girls soon did the same opposite us.

Though not usually an anxious person, I really was worried, not wanting to ruin some girl’s evening so thoroughly with my attempts at dancing. Since this first ball was more of a practice, we were going to dance for about half an hour, which meant a lot of time to tread on toes.

At one end of the line, the teacher cleared his throat. “Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.”

Considering we’d all only been here a month, I doubted anyone would. In The Key To Her Heart, there was a choice to go up to one of the three heroines, but that was pretty weird to actually do, especially with everyone watching. Basically emotional blackmail.

Someone stopped in front of me. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed, heard anyone moving.

She held out a hand.

Beatrice Westmorland.

She led me to the dance floor, and I felt like I’d missed something. Maybe the chaperone had told her to pair up with me, but the boy was supposed to go to the girl. I couldn’t think of a reason and that thinking distracted me from my worry.

Soon enough, we were joined by the couples decided at the whim of a pointing finger and the words “You and you”. Then the music began, a small orchestra playing at the opposite side of the room as the tables.

Not quite time to dance, I looked over her a little. She was about my height, a touch taller because of her evening slippers (like ballet flats, but with slightly raised heels and made of silk). Though girls had an actual choice when it came to colours for their dresses, she’d gone for a brownish sort of thing, slimmer than the other girls, yet still with a bit of a billow to the skirt and still with a pinch at the waist. A reserved look.

Feeling like I should give her a warning, I quietly said, “Sorry if I misstep.”

“If you would forgive mine,” she replied, bowing her head.

We had just a little longer to wait before the chaperone-in-charge instructed us all to, without further ado, dance. Settled by her words, I offered her my hand. She took it gently, coming close to me yet no closer than she needed to. The couples moving around us, I began to lead, my worry replaced with concentration.

Harder than any exam, more challenging than any homework, I moved my feet. Fortunately, our strides nearly matched, so I didn’t have to focus on that part nearly as much as I’d feared. With that spare bit of focus, I watched her as we danced. Her lips made the tiniest movements, and I wondered why for a while until I realised they coincided with two of the four beats to the music; when I tried to mouth the numbers myself, I felt my lips pull like hers did for “one” and “four”. I wasn’t the only one having trouble.

After the first song, we had a short break before the next dance. It was roughly ten minutes dancing and one minute break and three dances in all. Later balls would go on for two hours or so, but we would only have to dance for the first song.

I felt bad for her by the end of the third dance, her skin flushed, breath quick and shallow. My suit wasn’t much better for this, drenched in sweat myself. With that all done, though, I bowed and she curtsied and we could go our separate ways. My way was to the drinks, hoping they would be cool. For the occasion, a glass of wine. I didn’t condone underage drinking, but it was only one, and it really helped with how hot I felt.

Some people were already leaving, others settling into their groups to chat or gossip or whatever it was teenagers did these days. I had my eye out for Miles, scanning across the room, so we could head back.

I turned my head and almost jumped, a face right in front of me. My heart pounded in my chest and it was all I could do to remember to breathe.

Beatrice lightly curtsied, her eyes looking at me expectantly.

“Hullo, Lady Beatrice.”

“I do not believe we have been introduced,” she said.

Trying not to wince, I’d certainly forgotten that. “I am Lord Luton’s second son, Mr Albert Luton.”

She politely bowed her head. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours,” I said, bowing my head back.

Rather than go away, she gave me another look, again pushing me to talk. After a moment to think what, I asked, “May I help you?”

“The book you were reading that day… I have been unable to find it in the library.”

“Yes, I brought it here myself.”

She nodded along. “You did say that you… enjoyed his writing.”

“As did you.”

She nodded again.

When she didn’t speak, I guessed what she wanted to me to say. “Would you like to borrow a book from me? I have all the stories by Boz and Dickens.”

The corner of her mouth twinged, the closest she’d come to smiling since I’d met her. “So you are familiar with him.”

“I feel like I could well tell you what novella he will release this Hallows’.”

This time, she did softly smile, which looked nice on her. While she was fairly pretty, her pale skin and blue eyes felt cold when she had a blank expression. I knew it wasn’t my place to say that, though, thoroughly annoyed whenever some man had told me I would look prettier if I smiled more.

“If I could read… The Battle of Life, it would be appreciated.”

There’d been a thought in my head not long ago about wanting to avoid the girls, trying to avoid the fate that awaited us in the game. However, this was different, Albert in the game pestering her, while here she was asking me for something. And really, I wasn’t going to turn her down for a superstitious reason like that.

“I could visit the library after breakfast tomorrow,” I said.

She politely bowed.

Then she turned around and walked off, little but hurried steps that quickly lost her in the crowd. I kept looking where she’d been for a few seconds longer. Turning my head, I nearly almost jumped, Miles right next to me.

“Hullo?” I said.

He’d also been looking off into the crowd, but turned at my words. “Oh, hullo.”

My heart settled back down, I smiled. “Enjoyed yourself?”

“Yes, I did. The gloves they wear, they’re quite soft and nice to touch, don’t you think?”

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Is that really what you took away from dancing with your partner?”

“Well, I feel it is in poor taste to think much else, her not having much choice in the matter.”

He really surprised me at times. It was hard to believe he was only fifteen, no sisters, had spent four years at a boarding school. Then again, I had always jabbed him if he’d gone too far—a bit of nature, a pinch of nurture.

The next day, I managed not to forget my (sort of) promise, bringing the book Beatrice had asked for to breakfast. Miles didn’t say anything at first, used to me reading and ignoring him, and only spoke when I finished eating and stood up.

“Where are you off to?”

“A present for the missus,” I said, tapping the book.

He nodded, and then frowned, but by then I’d made it too far for him to ask me anything more. And he probably thought I would just lead him to the lavatory—like I had many times before after making cryptic statements.

I didn’t have far to go, the boys’ cafeteria in the same building as the library, both of them either side of the assembly hall. Early, no one was in the hallway, and I wondered if she would even be there yet.

My worry was quickly put to rest.

The library consisted of rows of bookcases on one half, small tables the other half, each set with a chair. In one corner (where there was a clear view between most of the bookcases), the librarian sat at her counter, a stern look on her face. What interested me, though, was the lone figure in the same place as I’d seen her last.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Under the librarian’s stare, I walked over to Beatrice and placed the book on the table.

Then I left.

Miles didn’t notice I returned without the book (or didn’t say anything if he did), and the day carried on like any other. By the next morning, she’d entirely slipped my mind as I had no expectations for her to return the book. So I ate breakfast with Miles, headed to class, pushed through to lunchtime and indulged in a good meal.

Our first afternoon class was literature. Dickens was really the only Victorian writer I had known about, so I quite liked finding new authors. The old bell rang out, more a church bell than the school bells of my time. Miles and I got there early, having lounged about in the cafeteria after stuffing our faces. Of course, we didn’t slump against the wall as we waited; the boarding school had been strict with that and it was a lesson not easily forgotten.

Miles yawned, and I caught it. Even if I liked the class, it was sometimes lulling, listening to all these nobles trained in diction reading out wonderful stories.

Lost in thought, I barely noticed what was happening around me. That was until familiar blue eyes brought me out of my head.

Beatrice, satisfied she had my attention, curtsied as well as she could while holding a few books. The lack of bags for girls was, really, quite stupid. I bowed back to her and, when she didn’t move on, I asked, “May I help you?”

She held out her pile of books. “I am returning this to you.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the top book.

“If you have… Oliver Twist, it would be appreciated.”

I nodded, and she bowed her head in thanks, and then she walked to the back of the loose queue for the lesson. Turning over the book in my hands, it looked to be in the same condition as the day before. She really did like reading.

Miles cleared his throat.

“Do you need a drink?” I asked.

“If I am to continue being your friend, I am sure I often will,” he said, more muttering to himself than talking to me.

I left that (probably accurate) statement alone, ignored the looks the other students gave me. The rest of the day brought no other surprises. After dropping off the next book for her, I started spending my lunchtimes at the library. It hadn’t bothered me how she’d returned the last book in front of everyone, but I’d only avoided the library to avoid her in the first place, and I wanted to avoid some rumours—not exactly flattering to be linked to me.

So our routine went for the two weeks it took her to read all the Dickens books I had. In that time, we’d never spoken more than her giving the title of what she wanted to read next. I liked that.

Easier to read in the quiet of the library, I kept going there. We still didn’t talk, but, now and then, I would take a break from reading and watch her for a moment. She was the sort of person to really lose herself in a book. A quick reader. At times, a smile would appear, but she showed most of her emotion through her eyes—narrowed, or wide open, or blinking fast. Sometimes she would hold her breath, sometimes her cheeks would flush and she would try to hide behind the book.

I tried to remember what she’d been like in the game. Albert had made a nuisance of himself, always coming by and asking her what she was reading, did she like it. I’d seen a bit too much of myself in her, so I hadn’t really played her route once I’d got her “bad end”. Instead, I’d focused on the other girls, trying to see what made them so appealing.

That girl—that character—was someone timid and curt and (apparently) unsociable, and Albert thought of himself as melting her icy heart. I now thought she just hated Albert for constantly disturbing her. At one point in the game, she even stopped coming to the library, and Albert still didn’t get the message.

However, whenever she caught my eye, she didn’t look at all annoyed at me. If I arrived first, she still sat in her usual seat near mine. Sometimes, I caught her looking at me (I didn’t get quite as engrossed in books as she did). Not bashful glances, though. She didn’t blush and look away.

The end of the term soon neared, and with it came the Hallows’ ball. We wouldn’t be here for the actual week of celebration, but it was close enough.

With the balls always held on Sunday evenings, I had most of the day itself free, and that meant I went to the library after breakfast. Unsurprisingly, she was there. For the few hours until lunchtime, we read in silence, a few other student dotted around the room. Yet I couldn’t focus. The first ball had gone well enough, and she’d certainly helped with that, but I would be assigned some girl at random to dance with tonight. My dancing had got better with all the practising, that was true, and I tried to settle myself by repeating that over and over in my head.

Between that worrying and getting hungry, I hadn’t read much. Pushing myself to my feet, I started thinking about what I would eat, and whether Miles had found himself a partner for tonight.

Beatrice softly cleared her throat.

Turning to her, she looked at me expectantly. “May I help you?” I asked.

“You seem… unwell.”

I smiled, a surprising bit of kindness from her. “My dancing is still something to apologise for.”

She nodded, understanding what I’d said. I half-expected her to walk away, her question answered, but instead she paused for a moment and then said, “I would not… dislike dancing with you again.”

“Well, that would put me at ease.”

And she left. After a second, I left too.

The lead up to the ball went the same as last time with Miles, complete with jokes and a wander around the grounds (cut short by the cold). I soon also felt short, nearly all of the older boys taller than us first-years. We first-years were also led out last, lined up, and then the girls lined up opposite.

“Would all those who have a partner take to the floor.”

I looked for Beatrice, and she looked back, bowing her head the slightest touch. With that, I walked over and took her hand, led us to the dance floor, all the older students already there. I felt bad for them—the third-years had probably been waiting ten minutes already. A few other first-years partnered up and then, like last time, the rest were paired up at random.

Finally, the music began.

Dancing, the last of my worry drained away, both of us better than before. I noticed that I was the same height as her now, despite the short heels of her shoes. She wore a different dress, though it wasn’t any brighter. Mossy green.

The song came to an end without any accidents from either of us. She curtsied and I bowed, and I thought that would be it, only the first dance compulsory.

Her stare told me what to say. “Would you care for another dance?” I asked.

She offered her hand in reply. The dance floor much emptier now, I felt more relaxed, less people to bump. And she brought herself closer to me than before, easier to misstep, but we were in a good rhythm, matching each other well as we followed the simple waltz.

When this song finished, and she had curtsied and I had bowed, she didn’t have me ask her for another dance. But she did walk with me, followed me to a table in the corner of the room. We said nothing as we sipped at our (only one permitted) glasses of wine. The silence didn’t last for long once our glasses were empty.

“May I speak… frankly?” she asked.

“As long as you don’t speak too loudly.”

She smiled for a moment. “I think a marriage would suit us both well.”

That was certainly frank, and it took me a second to find the right words to reply. “May I ask if there is any particular reason why you think that?”

I met her eyes, unsure what I saw in them. “You do not look at me, or other girls… like most of the boys do. Even as we danced, I felt no… heat from your stare.”

That word—her gaze wasn’t hot, but warm. “And so?”

“So it would seem… we may be similar. My heart beats no faster for you, but it beats easier.”

I liked that way of putting it, thinking I felt the same way. We weren’t attracted to each other, that was clear, but we got on well for two people who hadn’t had a full conversation yet, were comfortable with each other.

“Of course, I am not saying… now. We have three years. How I should put it is… it would be appreciated… if you would keep me in mind.”

“I will.”

She smiled, a warm smile that complemented her cold face. Then she excused herself, and, her seat still warm, Miles sat down with me a few seconds later.

He looked at me expectantly, and I said nothing.

“Come on,” he said, a whine to his tone. “I am not going to pry, but you have to give me something.”

Truth stranger than any fiction I could have come up with, I said, “She proposed to me.”

He paused, his whole body still, and then he quietly said, “What?”

“Well, it was more she proposed a proposal to me, to which I’m not opposed.”

“I may need another drink,” he said.

Tutting, I shook my head. “One only.”

He didn’t speak for a minute, lost in his thoughts. “You don’t love her, do you?”

“I’m not in love with her, no,” I said. “However, I think I can come to love her as a friend—as family.”

“That is enough for you?”

I looked at Miles, the worry on his face, and thought how lucky I was to have such a friend. “At the start of the year, didn’t I say?”

“A frugal life,” he muttered to himself. “But is love something to be frugal with? We aren’t in such barbaric times that a marriage is a thing of politics and nothing more.”

Resting a hand on his shoulder, I nodded. “Thank you, really, but this is something between me and her, nothing to do with our families or anything like that.” I took back my hand.

He calmed down, his gaze falling to the empty glasses on the table. “If that’s what you say, who am I to argue.”

Nothing more was said of the issue, not that evening nor the quiet week that followed, everyone heading home for All Hallows’ Tide. Miles and I stayed until the Friday, sharing a coach back. We stopped at Dunstable to drop him off, then to the Luton manor for me.

Just like whenever I’d returned from the boarding school, I was ignored, taken to my room by a servant and left there until supper. At the end of the meal, just as always, father said, “Welcome home, Albert.”

“Thank you, father,” I said, bowing my head.

In a disinterested tone, he asked, “How was your time at the school?”

I’d always answered the question easily enough, little of interest happening in my life. Yet, this time, I keenly felt the pressure of choosing what to say, how to say it—not just now, but in the questions that might follow. “I settled in well and have taken to my studies. There isn’t a club to my liking at this time, the sports only starting in spring. And I have entertained Lord Westmorland’s eldest daughter at the balls.”

Mother perked up at that reveal, her eyes darting to see if father would speak or if she could. After a moment, he said, “That is Lady Beatrice.”

“Yes.”

He nodded, and then turned slightly, looking at mother. She asked, “Should we send her an invitation for the festivities?”

“If that is father’s wish. Though it would be far to travel at this time of year, I think she would appreciate the gesture,” I said.

So father had me draft a letter to her, mother finalising it and having a servant send it off. Later, when I went to see Alice, Daisy had a few questions of her own to ask me, but I said little.

After a week had passed, a reply came from Beatrice, and another week later she paid us a visit for the day while she was south to stay with family. For someone who had paid more attention to her romance books than her brother this holiday, Daisy was rather overprotective, questioning Beatrice on all sorts of things from what she knew about me to what her favourite foods were—and, of course, if she liked cats. Whether Beatrice was good with younger girls or was used to it from her own younger sisters, she took it all in stride, leaving a good impression on Daisy (and the rest of my family, for what little they saw her).

Once the holiday passed and I was back at school, I didn’t have to wait long for the New Year ball. Almost a routine, Miles and I had our back and forth and a wander around the grounds, and Beatrice caught my eye when we were lined up. By now, I was comfortable dancing with her. She seemed to like dancing with me, asking for a second dance again.

After the dances, she and I went our separate ways. Miles didn’t ask anything. I appreciated that, still coming to a decision of my own.

To help with that, I started asking her for books to read, using her suggestions to try and understand her better. And we sometimes talked about our thoughts on the books—what we liked and disliked, the style, the characters, the plot. She smiled more these days, but her eyes were never hot, only warm. There was no spark, no romantic chemistry between us, just a friendship that could only exist within the library or the ballroom.

A couple months later, the Spring ball. It was (quite literally) the same song and two dances as always, no small talk, a nice enough time. Along the way, I’d remembered why I had downloaded The Key To Her Heart all those years ago.

Beatrice was a beautiful lady. She did little to show it off, maybe even tried to hide it, but, with her hair done up and a good dress and at least a touch of makeup, she would look gorgeous. However, looks only got the first date. I had wanted to know what made her personality attractive. In this world, she was a simple person, honest with me, and yet so incredibly deep were the thoughts she had when it came to books. On Dickens, she had such nuanced opinions, in love with his social commentary while struggling with her own privileged place in a society that didn’t entirely see her as an equal to men—her inability to inherit the earldom just one part of it.

And I wondered what the men I’d gone on dates with had thought about me. I had been, still often was, called cold. Disinterested. I didn’t make my feelings clear. Thoughtless. I spoke harshly out of practised laziness, unwilling to take a moment to think, to pause and make sure I spoke my thoughts properly. It was no wonder no one had understood me, no one had seen something beautiful in me that could be loved.

That was in the past. Unfortunate since I felt like I could do a better job with Beatrice as my role model.

There was one last ball in the academic year. I’d never attended it in the game, the endings all coming the night before. When I thought of that, a little voice of anxiety sat in the back of my head, worrying me day after day. Nothing had really happened like the game besides the forced meetings with the three heroines, maybe the dance at the first ball.

I couldn’t sleep the night before the Summer ball.

Sitting at my desk, the night outside barely looked dark. It was the sort of darkness where a tragedy could happen without anyone realising.

Eventually, I gave in, changing back to the school uniform. After a check for teachers outside, I opened up my window, carefully climbing out and dropping down to the ground, my shins unhappy about it. There was always a teacher at the entrance to the dorms until around midnight, so I wasn’t coming back for a while.

In the game, the “bad end” for Beatrice, it was in the library. I skirted around the pair of teachers patrolling, plenty of places to hide with shrubs and trees dotted all over the place. Looking in from the windows, I couldn’t see anyone in the library, but I couldn’t see all that well, dark inside.

That didn’t settle me.

Trying the door to the manor on the one side, it was locked. I crept around to the other side—nearer to the girls’ dorms than the boys’ dorms.

The door opened.

My heart beat painfully in my chest. I slipped inside, closing the door behind me. Tiptoeing, I listened out the whole way to the library for teachers, or for trouble.

The library door opened.

I slipped inside, the room almost menacing in the dark, an instinct in my head saying that anyone could be hiding under any of the tables, between any of the bookshelves. But, if this was like the game, then it wasn’t a person I had to worry about—as long as I hadn’t crossed over to Beatrice’s “good end”.

That thought didn’t reassure me.

I stepped forwards, getting a better view of the room, and then took another step, and relief flooded me. Beatrice sat there, reading by moonlight. Walking over to her, I cleared my throat; she looked up from her book, a soft smile coming to her as she saw me.

“Good evening,” I said, bowing to her.

She bowed her head.

When she said nothing, I gave in. “May I ask what you’re doing here?”

“Reading. I have… struggled to sleep tonight.”

“And you so happen to have the keys and somehow slipped past the teachers?”

“I am… on good terms with them.”

I softly chuckled, careful to keep the noise down. As unbelievable as that sounded, there was no reason to doubt her. “Since I’m here, let me know if there is any books you would like me to get down for you.”

“Perhaps in a little while… when I have finished this one.”

That solved the bad ending where she would have been crushed by a fallen bookcase. Such simple words were all it took, and I’d nearly not bothered to come here, convinced there was no fate. It almost made me laugh.

“Did you… have something else to say?” she asked, looking at me with her expectant eyes.

From now on, the future was unknown to me, yet it wouldn’t have to be a lonely future. And there was a voice in the back of my head, telling me that all I’d ever wanted was someone who accepted me for who I was. It wouldn’t ever be a romantic love, and we didn’t have to pretend otherwise. However, it would be comfortable, a comfort that I’d never had in my old life.

I didn’t have the key to her heart, yet she would offer me her hand; all I had to do now was take it.

Route B Bad End