With exams next week, our lessons are revision. Homework hasn’t been as annoying since my friends and I do it together, but I’m still glad to have a break from it; that this means Violet will make us study more doesn’t bother me, reading preferable to writing. I sit through Monday’s classes without paying much attention, using the time to go over my notes from the term instead. (The teachers mostly reads through the course books anyway.)

Of course, I still go to embroidery club. Although I ask Evan if he’d rather study, he shakes his head and follows me to the clubroom; Cyril doesn’t join us today.

A long time since it was just the two of us, I take the chance to see how Evan’s sewing is coming along. His talent for spirit magic excellent, it’s like he doesn’t even have to touch the needle to make it swim through the fabric, and he’s practised away a lot of his clumsiness. As far as I know, he only sews at club, so that’s, what, something like thirty hours? It’s impressive how much he has improved.

He shows me the embroideries he’s done the last few weeks, which are based on the spare patterns I drew up when we were considering Ellen’s Christmas, sorry, Yuletide present. If I remember correctly, her birthday is next month—during the spring break.

“I’m sure she’ll be happy with any of these,” I say, looking over the handkerchiefs.

“Really?” he asks, sending an adorable gaze my way, eyes wide and tone timid.

I’m not going to say anything as silly as men should behave a certain way (ladies shouldn’t throw stones regardless of whether they are in glass houses), but he should have some pride. I guess I have complimented him (in my head) for his lack of pride before, though.

“Yes,” I say, smile wry.

After Ms Berks wise words to me at the start of the year (oh god, I’ve remembered what I said to her again), I started to treat embroidery different, but never felt like I made real progress. However, I understand now that I have grown. The way Evan sews is like a printer, putting the right colour in the right place. He tends to only use other stitches if I specify to. The end result looks nice, especially with how short his stitches are, yet it’s not quite right.

Shading and texture are important for art. Embroidery makes it seem like a light is pointed at whatever you sew because the colour of the thread is consistent, but that also makes some things look flat. Texture comes through the direction and length of the stitches. With his short stitches, it’s almost like pointillism, but I do notice a sense of direction when I look closely.

I’m not really thinking this to take away from what he made. His embroideries are good, they even have a charm to them. I mean, cartoons wouldn’t be flat-out better by making them live-action, would they? Besides, most of the value lies in who made and for whom, what I think irrelevant.

As for me, I’m making good progress on the brown dress.

Tuesday is more revision. I haven’t heard that water magic class isn’t on, so I tidy up at the end of the day and shuffle over to Ladies Challock and Ashford. Hopefully, today will be a practical lesson, otherwise I might only get to talk to them next term.

After exchanging polite greetings, we slowly walk over to the classroom out back. It’s fairly warm when the sun shines these days, so the ladies soak it in as if they’re plants. Fair skin is the beauty standard, but our uniform leaves only our face and hands uncovered; these little splashes of sunlight don’t do much. Ladies Challock and Ashford talk about the exams and revising, so I can join in a little more than usual. They don’t seem to mind.

Unfortunately, when Ms Rowhook arrives, it looks like it’ll be a lecture lesson. Soon, she confirms that and tells us this is the last lesson this term. I’m disappointed, but I listen, today’s lecture as strange (and questionable) as usual. No, miss, I don’t think people in India use water magic to stir curry. (We can barely pour tea, yet everyone in India is supposed to have a strong affinity with water faeries?)

On the way out, I see Leo. It looks like he came to the lesson and sat at the back, and he’s talking to another lady as I leave. Although she keeps a proper distance, his hand rests in the gap between them, making them seem closer. Did he do that with me? I was usually focused on what he was saying, so I wouldn’t have noticed. Whatever the case, she seems happy with the situation, not at all eager to leave.

I’ve not thought of it this way before, but I guess this is Leo’s “real” personality. Violet, Evan, Julia, Cyril—they aren’t exactly the same as in the book, their exaggerated personalities more rounded and toned down. If it was actually Eleanor here, not me, then she’d probably be like Leo. Of course, it’s a lot worse for a lady to be a flirt in this world.

Well, I shouldn’t worry myself over these things. I’ll just be another of Leo’s passing fancies and leave it at that.

Ladies Challock and Ashford take turns complaining as we walk to our dormitory, exams seemingly the worst part of school. The usually aloof Lady Challock mentions how her older brother teased her over the holidays for her average grades, and it further depresses me, a feeling of unfairness churning in my heart.

Near the end of the walk, Lady Ashford asks, “Lady Kent, you did rather well in mathematics last term, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” I say. No reason to act modest or split-hairs.

Although I expect a follow-up, Lady Ashford merely offers me a smile before ending the conversation on the dormitory’s doorstep. “Ah, I suppose this is a farewell until next term—not that we won’t see each other,” she says.

I gently laugh a couple of breaths, and then bow my head slightly. “Thank you again for letting me accompany my ladies these last few weeks,” I say to her and Lady Challock.

Lady Ashford waves me off, while Lady Challock says, “There is no need to thank us. We ladies should support each other and keep on good terms, isn’t that so?”

It’s strange, my first instinct that she’s “attacking” me over associating with Leo in the past, but then I wonder if she also indulged him at some point. Maybe it’s more to do with her brother. Stopping myself before I fall into the trap of reading too much into it (especially from someone I don’t know well), I take her words honestly.

“I think so too,” I say.

We split off as we enter the lounge, parting with a polite wave and a smile to each other. My friends already studying, I quietly join them and take out my things, unsurprised to hear Violet preparing them for history class tomorrow morning.

My afternoon and early evening spent studying with my friends, I relax in the rest of the evening. Well, I have my calisthenics routine, and then I end up continuing my sewing projects.

The brown dress pattern done, I work on the design for Gwen’s dress. It’s quite weird without proper measurements. I have her rough height, so I’m not worried about that; as long as I err on the longer side, she can grow into it or Lottie can adjust the hem. I also think I have a good estimate for the width of her shoulders. Arm length should be roughly proportional to height, but the sleeves can be shortened afterwards, and the fabric has some stretch, so they shouldn’t be too tight even if I get the size a bit small.

Otherwise, it’s a loose dress, the other measurements not too important. She can hopefully wear it for a year or two without before growing out of it. Oh, but I don’t know how quickly children grow at her age, so maybe it won’t last that long.

You know, if she eats and sleeps well, she’ll probably grow as big as me eventually, and it’s not like I’ll wear any of my handmade dresses after leaving school…. Thoughts for another time.

The next day brings more revision, but the calisthenics lesson at the end is a welcome break. Despite how grumbly most ladies usually are for the lesson, there’s barely a moan on the walk to the ballroom, and Belle even says, “If only Violet would have us revise for this as well.”

Huh.

I change quickly and wait for the others on one of the benches. However, it’s not one of my friends who comes up to see me. Smiling, I say, “Hullo, Lady Brook.”

“H-hullo,” she says, curtseying.

So cute, especially because she’s curtseying with loose trousers and not a dress. Ah, I could wear these as pyjamas? But they’d probably be uncomfortable when lying down, a bit rough. Coming back to Lady Brook, I ask, “Is there something I may do for you?”

She lightly fidgets, and probably would fidget more but was trained out of it (this amount of hand-wringing appears cute without being unsightly). “Would my lady… study….”

I’m not sure if she spoke too quietly to hear at points or actually didn’t say anything at those times, but I try and decipher what she’s asking, and I soon remember what Lady Ashford said yesterday.

“Is that, you would like to revise mathematics with me?” I ask.

Lady Brook quickly nods.

My lips curl into a smile; this will be fun. “You will have to call me Lady Nora, then. I’m too shy to study with people other than my friends.”

“W-what?” she says, her eyes widening to an impossible degree.

I keep nodding, lulling her into accepting. “And you will have to let me call you by your name. Do your friends call you Beatrice? Or just Bea? Or Tris? Trissy is quite nice, shall I call you Lady Trissy?”

It’s dangerously fun teasing her, her temperament like Evan’s when we first met. Seeing that she looks ready to flee, I reach out grab her hands, gently rubbing circles on her palms with my thumbs in a soothing gesture.

“So, will you call me Lady Nora? Even just Nora is fine. What are titles between friends, right?” I ask, leaning forwards, pulling her closer, speaking softly.

The dark colour of her eyes makes it easy to lose myself in them, seeming like holes, a desire to stare inside and see what’s there. Then her mouth starts to quiver, drawing my gaze down. My mood settling down, I softly smile and tilt my head.

“Well?” I ask, a breathless whisper.

“N, Lady Nora,” she mumbles, but I’m close enough to hear it clearly.

I smile brightly and let go of her hands. “Come find me at the end of the lesson and we can go study. I have my algebra book with me, so we shall start with that,” I say. Then I wait until I catch her eye before I ask, “How does that sound, Lady Trissy?”

Oh people do love being given a nickname (except for Violet), her pale skin near-instantly coming out in blotches and mouth reluctantly smiling. “Y-yes!” she says, finding some enthusiasm.

“Then I shall see you later,” I say, and I give in to my desire, gently poking her little nose.

She shuts her eyes as I do, face scrunching up in an adorable way. Oh gosh, I want a sister this cute. Can I adopt her?

Catching sight of my friends a little way away, I say to Trissy, “Good day—for now.”

“Good day,” she replies, a mostly automatic reaction. Niceties are rather thoroughly taught to us upper-class children.

With that, I walk over to join my friends. Of course, Violet is the first to speak and she (rather sharply) asks, “What were you doing to her?”

Giving Violet a mischievous smile, I say, “Making a new friend.”