I don’t know if it’s because I started puberty early or some other quirk of my biology, but fortunately (as much as such a thing can be fortunate) my period is rather regular; it comes right on schedule in the morning. I prepared for it, so nothing is soiled, but I’m not sure how good it is to have ice cream for breakfast….

It will have to be my morning snack, then.

Another small stroke of luck, there’s nothing going on today and Clarice (and my parents) are out for dinner. My period should be over by Saturday for Ellen’s birthday party. (Her actual birthday is the day before, but Florence already had something else on.)

Still, my periods aren’t as bad as Ellie’s were, so I’m hardly bedridden and it’s not like I planned to go climbing trees. Ah, but no baths is a bit sad. I wish the author had included showers… maybe that can be my next invention?

Flights of fancy aside, I spend the morning observing the irises some more, and I manage to hold on until (after) lunch for my serving of ice cream. It’s even tastier than at Christmas, but still different to Ellie’s memories. How to explain? I guess this is almost like a cold paste, firm but pliable. Real ice cream fresh out the freezer, well, Ellie bent several spoons over the years because she tried to scoop some out before it softened.

I don’t dislike the difference, though. It also mixes really well with warmed cream and syrups. If the cost to produce can be driven down, it will definitely become a world-renowned delicacy. My small contribution to the world.

For the afternoon, I rest in my room, the sunlight rather pleasant in moderation (a tan no good for a lady). With my modest sketches and watercolours as models, I practise sewing irises in the same style I used for Gwen’s dress. The handkerchiefs white rather than dark green, I use a purple thread; though, the colour is more similar to Violet’s highlights.

How do I capture the essence of Iris?

Later on, with no one else to eat with, I take dinner in my room and have Liv sit opposite me as company. I’m quickly getting to know her now that she’s not just shadowing Georgie. While highly competent and composed, she’s the sort that’s too serious and so becomes flustered when things become unexpected. That said, it’s a mild reaction, sort of wide-eyed and her posture softens, a bit fidgety. Most similar to Rosie, but with a regular appearance that is colder.

Monday morning post brings good news. Whatever Florence is busy with, Violet and Jemima aren’t, so they will visit for lunch and a mid-afternoon snack on Friday; hopefully, Helena and Belle can too, but they aren’t in Lundein yet and so their reply will take longer. Not exactly a tea party, but more or less.

Monday lunchtime post brings… Cyril! He went back home to gather his things and now has made the trip to stay with us here. Honestly, I’d worry my mother has engagement papers drawn up if not for a feeling that she invited him so she could see him.

Not five minutes after he arrived, she has him in the drawing room and says, “The changes you made to that romance short story, I think they really brought it to a higher level.”

For whatever reason, he glances at me at that time. You want me to save you from her already? There’s still four weeks of holiday left!

Well, I really am a big softie at heart. “Mother, he has been travelling all morning,” I say, reminding her.

“Of course, you must be tired,” she says to him.

It’s at times like this that she keenly reminds me of Clarice, both oh so wonderful at changing the topic and appearing sincere.

Cyril does excuse himself for a couple of hours. We end up talking later on and (much like at the manor) he insists on walking me around the pond and the rest of the garden. It’s, well, Liv is kind enough to excuse me after ten or so minutes, saving me from having to excuse myself. Too much exercise in my condition isn’t exactly comfortable for the body or mind.

Joshua arrives in time for dinner, taller than I remember. With me at the end of my growing period and him about to hit his growth spurts, he really is going to quickly cut the gap between our heights….

Anyway, he seems well and already has many plans to meet up with his friends. Unlike last break, he refers to them by surname, requiring me to constantly interrupt for reminders. (The rest of my family is privy to the letters he sends home, while I have to make do with second-hand gossip they send my way.)

Following a similar routine—artwork in the morning and sewing in the afternoon, broken up by conversations with Cyril or my mother, and Clarice sometimes seeking me out for makeover stress relief, and Joshua joining me in the garden as he does homework—the days pass until Friday morning. Along the way, Helena and Belle both reply that they will attend my not-quite-a-tea party as well.

Finally, it’s Clarice’s turn to sit back and watch someone else fret… except that I’m not nearly flustered enough to amuse her.

“We shall have lunch in my bedroom, if a table could be arranged and seating for five. At three o’clock, we will have tea and snacks on the patio. For lunch, something light and varied—sandwiches and soup would be a good focus. For the snack, I would like to present iced crème, so if heated cream and syrups could accompany it, and do we have wafers? There is no need to go out for them, but if we have any, could they be cut into rectangles this big or so”—I hold up my hands, making a small rectangle about the size of two fingers—“and presented alongside.”

My breath running out, I pause to breathe, using the time to think through anything else.

“They are attending informally, so bring them straight to the drawing room. Once all four guests have arrived and the food is prepared, we shall eat lunch. Unless I say otherwise, prepare the snack for three o’clock, but call as soon as it is ready. Rather be early than late.”

To the side, Clarice clicks her tongue.

“And if Clarice tries to sample anything, tell my mother,” I say, looking at Clarice out the corner of my eye.

She snorts, not able to catch herself in time.

There’s other things to sort out (which tableware to use, what decorations, and so on), but I’m not fussed, making quick decisions by whatever comes to mind. My mother handled most of this last time; I guess she wants me to gain experience, or she knows I’m not worried this time.

Violet arrives just after ten o’clock, the two of us spending some precious time catching up. To my surprise, she speaks openly about her parents, a topic she always avoided as a child and one she has hardly mentioned at school. (Not that I talk about my parents much either.)

Alone together in my room, she sits by the window and looks over the garden. Her body is half-turned towards me, but her face is facing away, and I don’t try to get a better view of it.

“You know, they have only sat with me for one dinner—the day I returned,” she says, her strong and commanding voice… quivering. “Every other night this week, they have been out. Really, I feel somewhat pathetic, knowing full well this is what it would be like once the season starts, yet….”

I fight the urge to comfort her, either with words or by going over and holding her hand or hugging her. She’ll let me know what she wants from me, and right now she just wants me to listen. So I do. For a few minutes, she speaks, and I just listen.

Silence falls. She takes another minute or so to compose herself before turning around, smiling. “Am I strange?” she asks, timid.

I shake my head. “Loneliness isn’t just about physical distance,” I say.

As if to refute my assertion, she holds her arms up, asking for a hug. Well, I can only indulge. However, I do pull her away from the window first, not wanting to put on a show for anyone who may have been watching her.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“There’s no need for thanks among friends,” I say, gently patting her back.

She makes a sound of disagreement. “There is especially a need for thanks between friends,” she says.

I can’t entirely stifle my giggle. “Okay. Since you insist, I’ll accept your thanks.”

“Good,” she mumbles.

We spend the rest of the morning on happier topics. In particular, she likes to look over my watercolours. I never felt much affinity for art before, but the practice and advice I have been getting here and there is leaving a mark, and hearing Violet’s praise is especially warming.

Jemima is the first to arrive, and Helena isn’t long after her; Belle arrives a little late having only come into Lundein today.

Seeing us all in the drawing room, she purses her lips. “You need not have waited.”

“A cold meal is quickly forgotten, an empty seat memorable,” I say as I stand up and walk over. Giving her a brief hug, I add, “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me,” she replies. Those pouty lips are now a gentle smile.

Despite what I said, the servants are capable and there’s little to give away that the food sat for half an hour. After all, sandwiches keep well and soup is easily reheated (not that I thought of it at the time).

As we ate in my room, we naturally linger there when lunch finishes. I take the opportunity to show the others my watercolours as well, and Pinky Promise has been left in a prominent position, naturally brought up by Jemima in a lull.

“Oh my, is that the teddy bear Violet had made for you?” she asks, skirting the edge of my bed to look at Pinky from a better angle.

I lightly laugh, picking up Pinky into a hug. “Yes. I thought she was too precious to bring to school, but now I think it’s a shame to leave her behind,” I say.

Catching Violet’s eye as I speak, she has a kind of warm expression I don’t often see her show. Almost tender.

I put Pinky back after a little more chat, and we soon go down to the gardens. The afternoon sunshine strong, we huddle beneath a broad umbrella on the patio, chattering away about our life in the city so far. In the middle of such talk, Cyril and Joshua come over for a greeting before going to study and do homework respectively.

“Oh your little brother is cute,” Helena says, almost sighing.

“Whom does he resemble?” Belle asks.

I didn’t think she would mention it. “Lord Hastings?” I say.

The look she gives me! “I meant of your parents,” she says dryly.

Rather than blush, I wave her off and say, “Apparently, my father had light and curly hair as a young child, but it appears he will stay blond like his mother.”

When the ice cream is served, it’s very well-received. When they ask where it’s from and I tell them it’s a luxury only I am currently privy to, well, I’m not so confident in our bonds of friendship.

“I will have some prepared for you to take back,” I mutter.

They don’t stay much longer once we finish; I was considerate of the time, not wanting to interfere with any evening plans their families may have. Although, Violet leaving last, I do ask her, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

She squeezes my hand tightly, but shakes her head.

I don’t let those kind of thoughts linger after she leaves, focusing on how much fun I had, how much everyone enjoyed themselves. All in all, a good day.