Being the tactful person I am, I move the conversation on rather than explain anything to the princes. “Say, what are we up to?” I ask.

“Nothing in particular, perhaps a walk,” Cyril says.

I pick out Violet, tilt my head as I stare her down. She smiles and says, “Indeed, this is a fortunate encounter.”

You want me to believe you all just happened to run into each other? I think fortu-not. Oh well, nothing for it right now. “If my lords would permit, please do let us ladies walk you back—it is rather late to be out unattended.”

Helena and Jemima giggle, Evan and Julian unable to hide their smiles, while Violet, Belle and Cyril maintain an air of composure. Julian speaks up this time, politely bowing as he says, “If my ladies would be so kind.”

After the heavy rain last weekend, the sun has been out enough to dry the grass, which lets our merry band of misfits comfortably walk together. The princes bunch up on one side and us ladies on the other, a small gap between. Our pace is glacial, too slow to even be called an amble, so there’s no issue with tripping over each other despite the bunching.

And everyone talks about me for some reason.

“Yes, I should see Lady Kent… when she attends my sister’s birthday,” Evan says.

“As my father is busy and won’t be involving himself in any social events for the time being, the Duchess of Kent has invited me to stay with them,” Cyril says.

“My mother has hoped to repay Lady Kent’s hospitality after my sister enjoyed the tea party. But, to be frank, I think she is jealous that her daughter is so enamoured by someone else,” Julian says.

“I will be accompanying Lady Kent…” Violet says.

“We will be visiting Lady Kent…” Belle says.

“Lady Kent…” Helena says.

“Lady Kent?” Jemima says.

Zoned out, it takes me a moment to notice the silence; turning to Jemima, wondering why she stopped talking, I find her looking at me. “Yes?” I say.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I go to frown, only to realise my face is currently… bitchy. At least, that’s probably how it looks. I shake off the expression and settle into a pleasant smile. “My apologies, it just seems that my name comes up at least once per sentence.”

Cyril chuckles, but no one else makes a sound. Those who I can see are mildly embarrassed by my words.

A few seconds of silence, and then Violet asks, “And that is a problem for you?”

“Well, I feel rather ignored. All this talk of where I’ll be, who I’ll be with, and not a drop of praise,” I say.

So they all laugh and, getting the message, discuss their own plans instead of mine. I’m pleased to hear the princes will be meeting up, and it seems Julian may be attending the same event as Jemima and Belle (as the day matches). Evan doesn’t have much going on, and Cyril mostly wants to discuss poetry with my mother. Ah, I wonder if he knows she was an aspiring writer in her youth? My father only really said that she’d attempted to write that one story, not even telling me if she’d finished it. I don’t think it’s something I should stick my nose in, so I shouldn’t think too much on it.

As slowly as we walk, we do eventually make it to the other side of the school. There shouldn’t be any harm in us ladies going all the way to the junior boys’ dormitory at this time of day, but we stop and say our goodbyes to the princes by the reference building anyway, and then carry on our walk to our own dormitory, passing the flower garden and greenhouses as we go.

There’s a certain anticipation bubbling in all of us as we sit in the lounge, easily moved to giggles and naturally smiling (more than just polite smiles). Helena says, “I already packed up last night so I won’t have to worry tomorrow morning,” which prompts the rest of us share that we had similar thoughts.

On top of that, Jemima is even more prepared. “I have my toothbrush, hairbrush, and my outfit for tomorrow in a bag by my door.”

“Oh yes, I mustn’t forget that,” Belle says. I guess she means her toothbrush, something easily forgotten.

Although Violet looks happy, I notice she hasn’t spoken much, probably feeling her insecurity more keenly now it’s nearly time. Even if the talk that night helped, I know it’s not so easy to fix body image issues.

“Violet, what do you do before bed?” I ask.

She comes out of her thoughts and says, “Pardon?”

I gesture along as I say, “Well, do you read, or write in a diary? Something like that.”

She thinks for a moment, and then her cheeks gain a tinge of pinkness. “Nothing as such,” she says, trying to maintain her image.

The more I stare, the pinker she turns. Calling her out, I say, “What could be so embarrassing, I wonder?”

She turns away, but there’s no kindness on any of our faces—only the desire to tease. While I wouldn’t usually force her to share something private (with other people present), I get the feeling that her embarrassment is rather shallow. I mean, for such a prim and proper lady, it could be as innocent as looking at a picture of her family. If it was something she didn’t want to share, I think she would be more nervous.

That said, she seems to particularly avoid my gaze. Is her bedtime ritual something to do with me or is it that my gaze is particularly pressuring for her? I wonder….

“I… cuddle…” she mumbles.

Not hearing it clearly, I glance around and see no one else seems to have heard her either. “Could you say that again?” I ask, leaning forward to listen better.

She takes in a deep breath and raises her head, boldly facing us. “I cuddle a toy.”

Huh. Huh?

Belle catches on quickly and asks, “Oh, that… what did you call it, teddy bear?”

Violet nods.

Helena and Jemima understand from that prompt, and Jemima says, “I didn’t want to pry, but I have been meaning to ask where did you get it from? It looks handmade, but I didn’t think you much cared for such quaint things, and I don’t remember seeing it at Queen Anne’s.”

While Violet is usually good under pressure, her eyes seek me out. She doesn’t know how much to say? I guess it is as much to do with me as her, so she wants to make sure I’m comfortable with her saying it?

I suppose I should just say it then. “That is something I made for her. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much on hand nor much practice, but I worried she might be lonely after, well, the incident in the classroom.”

They all know which incident I mean, the good mood taking a hit. After a moment of awkward silence, Helena asks, “I don’t think I’ve heard of them before. Did you read about them in a book, or….”

“Ah, I guess I have an overactive imagination,” I say, that being the “excuse” I use when mentioning things from Ellie’s world.

“Yes, that rumour did go around when we started at Queen Anne’s,” Jemima says, nodding along. When she realises what she said, her eyes widen and she covers her mouth.

Violet and Belle share her awkwardness, looking away. Having not gone to the same school, Helena is entirely lost for a few seconds, but I guess she then remembers what I told her and joins in on the don’t-look-at-Nora game.

It would be funny if I didn’t know just how bad they feel.

My mind carefully works over the words I should say as I don’t want to add to their guilt. They’re good people, so it’s only natural for them to regret things, even if forgiven, even if they acted reasonably.

“What matters most to me isn’t three years in my past, but the many years I still have to look forward to,” I say, my voice quiet yet clear.

They each slowly turn to face me again, and they see me smiling, and so they smile too. Violet is the first to speak “To the end of our lives,” she says.

Helena, Jemima, and Belle offer similar sentiments, albeit less morbid. Or was Violet’s more of a marriage vow? I shouldn’t distract myself with pointless things right now. The mood recovered, I carry on the conversation from before.

“Dolls are fun to play with, but the nice thing about teddy bears is how cuddly they are,” I say.

Violet bites her lip at my verbal prod, a nervous tic of hers. As if to justify her worry, Jemima and Belle both glance her way, no doubt thinking to ask Violet if that was true.

Rather than let her become cornered, I say, “I have my own teddy too.”

So it’s my turn to be questioned next, and this time Violet gets to say that she made it. Wait, she maided it; maid should definitely be a verb which means: to get a maid to do something on your behalf. Back on topic, thus begins an afternoon of sixteen-and-seventeen-year-old girls talking about teddy bears of all things. Not makeup, or boys, or fashion, but teddy bears.

And I love every second of it.

At the bell, we promptly go for dinner, and I remind everyone to eat in healthy moderation—either hunger or bloating a good way to ruin an evening. However, even I can’t help but eat that bit quicker. Still, we probably only finish a couple of minutes faster than if we ate normally.

Rushing back to the dormitory, we all go to our rooms first. They have to pick up their things while I check that the maids have delivered everything requested. Entering my room, the tower of duvets in the middle of my room is hard to miss. I give in to the urge and run over, jumping on top, nearly bouncing myself right over as I underestimate the springiness. Heart pounding, I lie there and laugh in relief for a handful of seconds.

My recovery comes to an end with a knock on my door. Smiling, I get up and walk over, open up to welcome Violet. “Come in, go get changed,” I say, ushering her to my bathroom without letting her get a word in.

As she does that, I get to preparing my room. There’s not much I can rearrange but to move the chair for my desk around to the side. After doing that, I unfold the duvets and lay them down flat. From measuring before with my own duvet, I can fit one and a half between my bed and the chest of drawers / wardrobe, and then two between my desk and the bathroom door. Of course, I can’t obstruct the doors just yet, so I arrange them into something like a couch: three on top of each other on the floor, and then pillows leaning against my chest of drawers and wardrobe for back support. I test it out and it’s pretty comfy.

Jemima arrives next, and she goes to change when Violet comes out. Despite her insecurity, I really don’t see a problem with her appearance, yet it is true she looks thinner in her nightwear, the fabric less stiff and hanging off of her more than her day clothes do. I guess it’s also a cultural difference, the “beauty standard” of this world slightly on the plump side, while I’m more influenced by Ellie’s world of supermodels and actresses.

Feeling my gaze, she grows embarrassed and timid, hiding behind her bag. I can tell she wants to ask by how her mouth opens, but she can’t bring herself to, closing it again.

So I step forward and take her hands into mine and quietly say to her, “You really are beautiful.”

Her eyes look down, but a smile blooms, some of the tension leaving her. Ah, she’s really adorable at times. Before I give myself time to decide against it, I tug her into a hug, giving her a good squeeze.

“And cuddly too,” I whisper.