The trip to Lundein takes about as long as going back to the Kent estate, in part because of the traffic. By the time we arrive outside the townhouse, I have settled my mood. However, there is a lingering tiredness, my emotions well-exercised today. Ah, it’s funny to think I woke up beside Violet this morning… it feels like the sleepover happened days ago already.

Home. To be honest, when I think of a London townhouse, I think of, well, three-storey terraced houses, narrow but deep, and they have this kind of half-sunken ground floor (or is it a basement floor?). That is Ellie’s impression from her times going to the city.

The Kent’s Lundein townhouse… is massive. Including the spacious cellar and the attic, it is five storeys, and is about as wide as four or five normal townhouses. (Of course, it has to be at least that large for the ballroom.) While it doesn’t have as many rooms as the manor, it has all the rooms it needs and bedrooms to spare. Oh, and a garden.

Dukes are kind of a big deal.

As far as aesthetic goes, it’s somewhat more gaudy and busy, this residence a place to entertain less familiar guests during events and so my parents have to follow the “fashion”. Walls lined with artwork, exotic goods on display, all that nonsense. Fortunately, my bedroom doesn’t have to be so stifling.

My mother and Clarice are here to greet me as I come up the few steps to the front door. While my mother looks well, Clarice has looked better. Part of her “training” right now includes learning how to run a household and I guess that’s taking its toll. When she marries, the housekeeper, butler, and cook will report to her, and she’ll have last word in hiring, firing, and promotions, and she’ll have to sign off on purchasing agreements… and a hundred other things I don’t yet know about (but will in a couple of years).

After a good hug and a, “How are you?” in the entrance hall, we retire to the drawing room for a cup of tea and a snack. We’ve been sending letters all through term, so it’s not like we’re, um, desperate for news? I mean, there’s not much any of us need to say. They don’t know about the sleepover and that’s pretty much it, but I’ll keep that for the evening, too long a conversation for now.

Thus they mostly just ask me how the trip here was, and I ask them how things are here, and then we have another hug and I go off for a nap.

My bedroom is almost the same as at the manor, just a bit smaller. Most of my clothes were brought along and hung up in the wardrobe or folded and placed in the chest of drawers. I asked them to leave my books, no need to lug them over when I can borrow from my mother and Clarice if need be.

But there is a teddy bear on my bed. I can’t help but smile, walk over to pick her up. Pinky Promise. I didn’t bring her to school because I thought she was too precious, but, Violet revealing that she cuddles the teddy I gave her, I think Pinky will have to come to school with me.

If any of those dark and twisted feelings still have a hold on me, squeezing Pinky in a hug strips them away. Ah, it might be my imagination, but Pinky even smells like Violet—like the Violet from my childhood. Probably, the fabric used was washed at her home, so Pinky smells like Violet’s clothes. A nostalgic scent; they don’t use the same washing powder at school. (Is there washing powder, or just soap? I don’t exactly wash clothes.)

I fall asleep quickly.

Stirring later, I’m fairly groggy, not usually someone who naps. The sunlight hasn’t moved much, so I don’t think I slept for long. An hour?

Still some time until dinner, I want to try and be productive. Last holiday, I lost my habit for sewing, but I want to keep my hands honed this time. I rummage through my luggage (only the clothes in it put away by the maids) and take out the cream and maroon fabrics.

A dress for Iris….

Maybe I’m getting arrogant, but I feel like, after learning from Ms Berks and putting in so much effort, Gwen’s dress actually has the best embroidery I’ve made. I only understood that when I saw her wearing it. It keenly expresses the bond I hope to keep between us, and the simpleness only adds to the sincerity of my wish. Even if our time together can only be these fleeting two years I attend King Rupert’s, I want her to hold on to that dress for many years to come, to look at it with a smile and remember that strange lady who would come visit her, maybe one day pass it down to her own daughter, tell her tales of Lady Snowdrop and Miss Greenfinch.

My fingers trail over the fabric on my lap, tears welling up. I really am a mess when left alone.

Though, I remember a distant phrase I, no Ellie, once heard. “A heart revealed through art.” Gwen’s dress… without me thinking about it… truly embodies my greatest fear: being forgotten. Someone who doesn’t belong.

However, I’m becoming someone who has a place to belong, and there are people who will remember me. I know that. Just, sometimes, I don’t feel it.

Iris… what would she like? I should focus on that. I can only make simple dresses, so it should be an elegant embroidery, I think. As much as I like my green dress with apple blossoms, the embroidery is kind of flashy; rather, I like the look of my other (non-exhibition) dresses more.

Yet Iris is kind of a flashy person, I think. She would probably like something that’s eye-catching.

I’m reminded that I used to paint irises in art class at Queen Anne’s, flowers in watercolour making up four out of five classes. Well, of the painting classes, most of the time more of an art history class, memorising artists and names of pieces and dates. The sort of thing a cultured lady is supposed to know.

Since I don’t have much inspiration, for now I end up asking Liv to gather me a sketchbook, pencils, and a watercolour set. The garden outside is mostly a patio, flower beds, and a pond. There’s patches of tall irises, a mix of colours from rich purples and showy blues to a delicate peach-colour and even black speckled with white. While I don’t accomplish much in the most of an hour I have before dinner, I feel I have a better grasp on irises.

My father has returned and joins us in the dining room, so I get up and go give him a little hug and say a proper hullo.

I won’t see him much as this is more a business season than social season for him. However, he knows exactly how to make up for it. “I have stockpiled iced crème for you, so make sure to ask for it if ever you would like some,” he whispers.

Oh I beam at him, my eyes nearly pushed close by my puffed out cheeks. But iced crème? Has he managed to make it commercially viable? I hope so—no woman should have to live without something so important.

“Thank you,” I say.

There’s not much talking while we actually eat, but my father asks a few of those general questions like, “Is everything in your room suitable?” and I answer. Then he talks with Clarice, asking how she is doing with her responsibilities.

While I could ask about taking Gwen to Gerald’s party now, I should leave it to my parents to bring up. Even if Lottie’s letter has made it here, they might not have read it, or still want time to discuss it between themselves. The party is some two weeks away, so no rush.

As the food dwindles, there’s talk of the events going on this week. Most evenings, either Clarice is hosting something here or attending something, but it’s still informal—her friends or our relatives, a couple of my father’s business or political connections with children around her age.

After the meal, my father retires to his study and Clarice excuses herself; just me and my mother, I ask her if she’d like to join me as I paint in the garden, but she says she has a few things to do first. Well, I still have Liv for company.

No one has said anything about Georgie and I haven’t seen her either.

Being spring, the sun rises early and sets early. There isn’t much light at all but that which spills out of the townhouse, and the sun, while not forgotten, has dipped below the cityscape and maybe the horizon as well. I think I heard a bell toll for seven o’clock on my way outside, so the sun should have set. In this twilight, the irises are almost like ghostly faeries, ethereal as they sway, soft petals like dresses in the wind. I offset the emerging chill with fire magic now and then, making Liv rather flustered when I hold her hands to help warm her up as well.

Only when darkness proper falls do I pack up. Bringing everything with me, I go up to my room and intend to work on my artwork some more there until bedtime or evening tea (if my mother or Clarice want to have a chat).

However, my mother has other plans and, as I open the door to my room, the door to the library opens. Tess steps out first, my mother following. Upon seeing me, she smiles and walks over, asking, “May I join you?”

I giggle, gesturing for her to go in first. “Did papa have you join Clara for lessons? So polite,” I say.

My mother softly laughs, as gentle and elegant as ever. “There has been a certain influence,” she says.

While I settle on the edge of my bed, my mother sits on the chair by my desk, Liv and Tess staying outside and closing the door.

“You look to have been happy,” she says.

Those words somewhat abrupt, they take me by surprise, and the meaning eludes me. My mood has been fairly poor since leaving the school…. “Pardon?”

With a serene smile, she stands up and walks over, her fingertips coming up to brush against my cheek. “You have put on some weight. As a child, you always lost your appetite when sulking and ate the most when Violet visited.”

Ah, my mother knows me all too well. “I have been happy,” I say, looking down at myself. Mm, some places happier than others. “I might need to be measured again. I thought my bra was uncomfortable because it’s around time for my monthly, but maybe I’m still growing,” I say, the thought unpleasant. Especially in this world, a larger chest is all the problems and none of the benefits. Well, womanly charms can help a lady of lower status marry up, but, if that was me, I personally wouldn’t want that kind of man just for a tiny bit more comfort.

My mother chuckles and she sits next to me, the bed sinking a little. “What of other clothes?”

“Everything else fits fine,” I say, not entirely sure if she means dresses or underwear.

“We will have to get a few more outfits for events,” she says.

Ugh. So far, I’ve only been told of a couple where my attendance is mandatory. I just have to be present and polite, though, so it’s more a problem of boredom than worry. Anyway, I’ll probably attend most of the ones Clarice hosts here for experience. I’m pretty good at learning by example, so hopefully I won’t have to be as busy when it’s my turn, and I think Clarice will appreciate having me there.

While I’m busy thinking that, my mother wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me over into a bit of a hug, and she leaves a light kiss on the top of my head. “Welcome back, my little snowdrop.”

I must still be a child because my mother’s embrace is as warm and comforting as when I was a baby. “I’m home.”