Margaret led Raiva to a smaller table, at the side of the dining room, a ways off from the present patrons.

Gesturing towards a comfortable looking padded armchair, she bid her to have a seat before beginning her explanation.

“I apologize for earlier, miss,” she bowed her head apologetically, but quickly replaced the gesture with a smile and an elegant flick of her ponytail. “But as you will hopefully understand, it is somewhat necessary in order to deter ones with less honorable intentions.

“Seeing as you’re acquainted with Miss Octavia, I’ll keep the introduction brief and spare us both a long-winded history lesson in oppression and bigotry. As per the sign outside, this is a social club for violets, the ladies’ equivalent of the men’s more widely known lavender metaphor.”

Oh.

Margaret looked at her somewhat expectantly, but all she could do for the moment was process the information and attempt to remember how to blink.

OH.

Raiva’s cheeks reddened a little as she felt a little slow, given the obvious flower metaphor. After all, her second husband and his partner had been VIP lavender members at practically every gay social club in the city.

I can’t believe I didn’t catch on.

So Octavia is..?

Still not responding, she blushed harder, her face shifting between surprised and embarrassed.

Margaret was somehow still silent, simply watching the ever-changing emotions on her face with an amused expression, only just managing to hold in her laughter.

“I see,” was all Raiva managed to say in a strained tone.

She thought for a moment.

As Margaret began to leave, presumably to laugh a little in the back somewhere at the endearingly confused display of emotion in front of her, Raiva raised her head and asked her, “Uhm, Margaret?”

Right away, she found her work smile again, and waited with an expression that could only be described as polite interest as Raiva carefully found the words to her question.

“I’m not quite sure I can count myself as a violet, but would it be too much trouble if I stay and eat with Octavia?”

Margaret chuckled lightheartedly.

“Once you’re invited and vouched for, miss, you’re a friend of violets. If you come by on a busy night, you might even meet some of our gentleman members,” she winked at her as she finally laid a menu on the table for her. “Though most of them are lavenders, of course.”

“My late husband was a lavender member.”

All these floral innuendos, I really should have caught it sooner, shouldn’t I?

“Your husb-“

Before Margaret could clear up her confusion, Octavia finally arrived, carrying a tray of half eaten bread and a few appetizers.

“Oh, Margaret would you grab me another glass of cider?” she looked at the confused waitress and Raiva, who was clearly still relishing the reaction. “Sorry, did I interrupt something here?”

She laughed.

Raiva focused her attention on Octavia, feeling thankful that her flushing cheeks had cooled off again. “No not at all, miss.”

Margaret decided to stash her questions away for another time, squinting at Raiva in a somewhat childish manner, before addressing Octavia.

“Cider, of course, miss.”

She bowed lightly and walked away.

Silence fell for a few moments, as Octavia arranged her items and took her seat.

Raiva was trying her best not to stare at Octavia, who was somehow looking both elegant and casual in a knee length dress made of olive-green light knit material. As she was wearing no other accessories, her long, drop style earrings stood out. The real attention grabber was still the dress however, it being tight enough that her figure was clearly outlined as it seemed to hug her figure, though not so tight for it to be scandalous, like one would see with the clinging gowns of actresses playing courtesans on the stages of Echona.

“You look lovely today, madam,” Octavia finally stated matter-of-factly with her head cocked to the side as she picked up little fruits with a toothpick.

“So do you, miss,” she let out a low laugh in surprise at the nonchalant tone and way of eating. “Though I’m afraid the credit goes to Shelly. I have no real sense for these things, though I am appreciative of everything that go into it.”

She shook her head at the thought of today’s task.

“So you mentioned,” Octavia giggled. “And please don’t call me miss, not here anyway. Just Octavia is fine.

“Speaking of, I was surprised to see you here. I never took you for a violet, on account of the late husband and Victor clearly jumping at the opportunity to get a reservation in.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Raiva was surprised at the harsh tone and crude phrasing, though it suited her, oddly enough.

“Not a violet, no,” she replied thoughtfully, looking around the room. “I’m quite sure I like men, though I have a weak spot for anyone beautiful in general, I’m afraid.”

She was not sure she wished to see Octavia’s face at this moment of her embarrassing admission, and instead tried focusing on the menu in front of her.

“Oh, and the late husband you referred to? I was the third in that relationship, their legal beard,” she smiled at the silliness of it. “They were trying to adopt, you see. I lost a friend and family member, rather than a spouse that day.”

Octavia stopped eating for a moment at looked at Raiva contemplatively.

“My condolences, again, madam.”

“Just Raiva is fine. ‘Madam’ makes me sound so old, and I’m not ready to feel old yet,” she replied with a quiet laughter, trying to lift the mood. “And thank you. Again.”

The mood was thankfully interrupted by the return of Margaret.

“Your cider, miss Octavia,” she said politely, her service smile having returned. “And have you had a chance to look a the menu, miss…?”

“Raiva. And yes, I’d like the vegetarian lunch set, a cheese plate and whatever red wine you recommend, please.”

“Of course, miss Raiva,” Margaret replied playfully. “A glass or a bottle?”

She chuckled in response, “A glass will suffice for now.”

“Understood. I will return with the wine and cheese momentarily,” she told her with a wink, before leaving the table once again as Raiva’s cheeks reddened once again.

Octavia giggled.

Raiva glanced at her sideways, inquiring, “Does she always..?”

“Margaret is a flirty one, yes, though she usually sticks to her type,” she replied in amusement.

“Which is?”

“Pretty, older than her, easily embarrassed.”

Raiva only blushed harder at the clarification.

After receiving her order and some chitchat with Octavia about the weather, the boarding house, the usual pleasantries, Raiva took a deep breath and decided to get back on track with today’s task.

“So, Octavia, I have a question.”

“Uh huh?” she replied, nibbling on Raiva’s cheese platter.

Rascal.

“Shelly has… talked me into expanding my wardrobe, and-“

“Smart woman.”

“And since I’m not really familiar with going to boutiques I was wondering if you have any recommendations for something off of Ruby Road?”

She giggled and said, “You mean one that isn’t mine?”

Raiva looked stunned for a moment.

“Your boutique isn’t on Ruby Road? But-“

Why did I assume she worked in a Ruby boutique?

Octavia was simply looking at her while continuing her quest to finish everything on the table, waiting for her to find the words.

“I’m sorry, I assumed the boutique was located there, given your demeanor and, well, to be blunt, the rent.”

Raiva scratched her eyebrow a little, feeling awkward.

“I suppose it’s a compliment in a way,” Octavia finally replied, eying the wine in Raiva’s hand. She called out to Margaret who was passing nearby, “Could I have the same wine as Raiva?”

Margaret nodded and flitted off again, before she continued, “But no, the boutique I work at is just around the corner, actually. The owner decided that since it made enough of a name for itself on Ruby Road, he might as well move it to a cheaper address, since most of our clientèle expects us to make home visits anyway. It’s basically the same distance by carriage anyway.

“Although in a way you weren’t entirely off the mark,” she grinned.

Raiva looked at her, a little stunned. She felt weirdly tricked, like Octavia was pulling her in all sorts of directions, leaving her with a feeling akin to, yet dissimilar from Victor.

No, Victor is almost antagonizing in the way he teases, her, she’s like a pixie, repeatedly daring you to approach before moving just out reach. I can’t tell if she’s flirting with me or if this is how she banters.

“So I take it you would recommend your boutique?” she finally asked with raised eyebrows and a smile.

“Absolutely,” she smiled back. For a second, it looked as though a thought crossed her face, though it didn’t seem to stay for long.

Margaret arrived with the wine, winking at Raiva again before making her rounds.

Octavia continued, “And since we’re already well into the year, spring orders have already been fulfilled, meaning we don’t have a lot of work until we start preparing for Bonfire Day. The summer fabrics don’t even get delivered for another month or so.

“How much expanding were you thinking?”

Raiva put her fingers against her temples.

“Uhm, 10 dresses, 15 jackets, 20 pairs of-“

That doesn’t sound right at all.

“In short, an entire wardrobe for use between spring and autumn, with the addition of accessories, as per Shelly’s insistence. I promised I’d acquire something for the winter when we get there.”

Octavia choked on her wine, at the mention of the quantity.

“An entire wardrobe? For three seasons? Well shit,” the words escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

Raiva laughed in surprise, and took a sip of her own wine, lamenting that she had not ordered more. For once, Octavia was the befuddled one.

“Oh, and a hairpin. Shelly stole mine. Though I am under firm instructions that it can’t be one made of plain metal. I believe the phrase ‘oversized, dull needle’ was used to describe my current one.”

It was Octavia’s turn to laugh at the thought.

“That does sound like something that ought to be stolen.”

As Raiva took the last sip of her wine, Octavia downed hers and declared, “Well, it seems my lunch break must come to a close. Would you like to come with me to the boutique now, Raiva?”

She looked down at their empty plates and acquiesced.

“Gladly. Let me just get the bill-“

“Oh no you don’t. With the money you’re about to spend on garments, I’d feel like a criminal if I don’t at least pay for your lunch.”

Octavia waved her hand at Margaret, who promptly made her way over, and before Raiva could protest, the money had already exchanged hands. She went to bid her prior table companions farewell.

“Oh, Margaret?” Raiva called out before she had left to go too far. “For the history lesson.”

With a wink, she handed her a silver coin. Nothing extravagant, but enough convey the gesture.

“Until next time, miss Raiva,” Margaret bid her farewell with a smile, though her face seemed a hint pinker than before.

“By the way,” Octavia began, as they turned the corner from the salon. “What is your relationship with Mrs. Shelly? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a housekeeper dictating the house owner’s wardrobe, or holding their employers hairpin hostage.”

Unsure of how to explain it in exact terms, she attempted to sum up their long history as they made their way down the street.

“Shelly was my first husband’s nursemaid. Then when he got to old to have one of those, she stayed on as a parlor maid at his residence. She knew him his entire life, and when I came into the picture, she was one of the few to receive me with open arms. To Tristan she was just as much a mother figure as the Countess, though that’s apparently not uncommon with noble families.

“When we got married, she became my lady’s maid, and we spent a lot of time together every day. Despite her insistence on formality we became very good friends. In a way she is more of a mother to me than my own.

“Then the fire happened, and I sort of dropped off the map. After that I didn’t see her again until news broke about my remarriage and my second husband’s death. She came by, unannounced and pounded on the door until someone let her in.

“Long story short, I was not in a good place, and she helped me back on my feet, and my friend too. I’m not sure where we would be if not for her, to be honest.”

Raiva looked blankly ahead of her for a while.

“Anyhow, so when Shelly insists, and lords does she insist, I listen.”

Octavia was uncharacteristically quiet for a bit, eventually saying with a hoarse voice, “I see. Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Octavia. It’s a happy story in the end.”