There is a good few minutes until the water magic class starts. I hope that time can pass peacefully. However, Lady Challock has other ideas as she quietly says, “I heard Lord Basildon made another attempt on you last week.”

Well, I knew this was too good to be true.

At the least, she gives a different impression to Lady Ashford, making me think she’s not just gossiping for the sake of gossip. She reminds me more of Belle or even Violet, a bit serious and proper. The way she spoke was curious, but not excited, and that’s reflected in her measured expression when I turn to look at her.

Coming up with a reply to her question isn’t easy. I mean, I’m not exactly embarrassed, and there’s no need to hide it, yet I really don’t like talking about people behind their backs (unless it’s compliments).

“That is one way to describe what happened,” I say.

She sighs, and her mouth shows… an apologetic smile? I doubt my reading of her expression until she says, “I do apologise. After going so far as to say we should support each other….”

Ah, she did say something like that, didn’t she? A sort of sisterhood statement that we ladies should support each other. I wasn’t sure at the time, but it seems more likely now she does mean it in relation to Leo—to men.

However, she’s probably sensitive to politics, her father waiting to “inherit” her uncle’s duke title which should then pass down to her. I’m not so cynical as to say this is an entirely political consideration of hers (especially considering I won’t hold a title myself), but I am a possible connection for her to the Duke of Kent and his heir.

Whatever the reason, there’s no need to turn down her consideration.

“Are you not supporting me now?” I say, gently smiling.

She gives a small laugh, very elegant. “I have heard that Duchess Kent has a silver tongue, but to think it is heritable,” she says.

It seems she hears a lot of things.

I guess she’s happy having said her piece as she turns to her other side and speaks to Lady Ashford, voice quiet enough I can’t hear it. Well, more that I don’t try to listen in.

Ms Rowhook soon arrives, settling us to silence, and then goes through another lecture of questionable historic accuracy. I’m not sure if I’m unhappy about that; maybe a practical lesson would be so awkward as to be worse today. Anyway, I make it through without falling asleep, so that’s good. On the way out at the end, I notice some princes can’t say the same.

Unlike the walk to the classroom, Lady Challock engages me in small talk on the walk to the dormitory. Not much, but she asks about my still life painting (which leads me to explaining what a teddy bear is), and a general how-are-you; I return the questions back to her after answering them, but she gives something of a non-answer to both. I don’t take it personally, knowing all too well that life is sometimes just rather dull.

Reaching the dormitory’s lounge, everything starts going… normal. The afternoon, the evening, the next day, the day after—nothing special happens. I talk to my friends, go on walks, calisthenics class as usual (no partnering up), and there’s the study group with the princes, working on homework together, a practical earth magic lesson where I spend the hour trying not to giggle whenever Julian sneezes and otherwise feeling sorry for all his sniffling, another Friday of dancing and sewing, asking Cyril to read aloud for me and Evan.

Then it’s another lesson with Gwen. We’re still on arithmetic, so I use the coins again, and we have a lot of fun playing shopkeepers. Afterwards, Lottie passes on some more cooking knowledge, this time making a “meaty” spread using a special mix of legumes and nuts and stock. (Ellie didn’t know much about cooking, but I think stock is made from boiling bones and cartilage? Here, they use a sort of gummy berry that dissolves in boiling water, then add flavouring to it.) The end product reminds me of my first visit and the sandwich with a pâté-like filling.

And again, she does a little baking once we’ve eaten, this time scones. Unlike Ellie’s world, scones are rather short and dense, the texture more like pound cake than a crumbly sponge cake. Tea is a must have to go with them, but butter or cream can do in a pinch.

Back at school, Helena and Jemima (having realised how boring it is to paint sticks and stones) want to look for a good landscape to paint in the next art class, so the rest of us accompany them on a tour of the grounds. We’re in June now, so the grounds are fairly vibrant but yet to be dried out. I’m tempted to sketch a landscape of my own, and I do, but only for personal reasons, not giving up on painting my still life.

Sunday morning brings me back to Lottie’s house for a mix of teaching Gwen and Iris sewing and talking with Lottie about cooking. Thinking about the stock made me wonder about jelly, somewhat familiar that gelatin (in Ellie’s world) comes from boiling bones, so I ask her, and she’s more than happy to tell me.

Midday brings a brief rain shower, but otherwise I accompany my friends on further adventures in search of beautiful landscapes. The rest of the day is spent doing quiet things—reading, correspondences.

My family are in good health. Clarice already has suitors showing interest (my mother says), while Clarice herself has moved to endlessly complaining in her letters, apparently her beautiful feet marred by blisters and callouses, even the muscle tone of her legs worthy of her ire. I guess all that dancing does give a workout.

Joshua is so settled that my mother worries he might not come home at the end of the term. After being babied by two sisters and a doting mother, I guess the boyish environment of boarding school is rather freeing for him. (Well, maybe I didn’t baby him that much, but I certainly have had him partake in many tea parties alongside my dolls.) There is (according to my mother) hardly a mention of classes in his letters, instead an endless detailing of what sporting achievements his friends have made, countless boasts of how many foodstuffs one friend can fit in his mouth, how another can squirt water out his nose.

In other words, Joshua is having fun.

My father is as busy with work as ever. However, in the part of the letter he writes to me, he makes a faux-complaint about being pestered for iced crème by a few families. He goes on to say that the dessert chef at the Lundein café has made it his personal mission to perfect it and I should look forward to trying the new varieties and flavours when I next come home.

Then my mother finally talks about herself, which sounds like a milder Clarice. She’s tired from all the standing around, and all the snacking at the buffets has gone to her waist, and she barely has time to read between answering letters and attending or hosting events. It’s to such a degree that she even writes, “If there is a young lord who catches your eye, please tell mother and she will sort everything out; there really is no need to go through a debut just for the sake of it.”

Very reassuring.

There’s letters from Ellen and Florence as well. Ellen’s is a meandering yet introspective review of A Love By Another Name. Since I loved it and my friends here did too, I recommended it to her (after talking it over a bit with Evan). As I hoped, she really enjoyed it and her views and thoughts on it are also interesting. My focus was on the bullying aspects, while hers is more on the sense of isolation. Two sides of the same coin. Maybe naturally, I was drawn to the troubled relationships, and maybe as naturally she was drawn to the feeling of being different and not quite belonging.

It gives me a lot to think about, careful not to fill up a whole page with the same points stated over and over again in slightly different ways. I sometimes think in circles, refining the thought or idea in my head, but I don’t need to write the whole process down—just the end result is fine.

I also encouraged Florence to read the book, but it doesn’t resonate as personally with her. I didn’t expect it to, so I’m happy enough to hear she liked it, always nice to hear a recommendation work out. Otherwise, her letter is equal parts talking about her life at school, talking about Ellen, and asking after Julian. The same as usual. (She knows Ellen doesn’t really tell me anything, and I appreciate her filling me in.)

Then it’s Monday. The day trundles along, bringing me to embroidery club. A change of pace, the lace has arrived for the seascape dress, so I spend the hour carefully attaching the “foam” to the “waves”.

“You really had a good thought, didn’t you?” I say to Evan, holding up the dress against me.

He looks for a moment, only to turn away with a slight blush. Well, the waves sort of go from my hips down, so not the easiest place for a young man to stare at with a straight face.

Hopefully none of my models are easily embarrassed about being stared at…. Hmm, Lizzy might struggle.

A strange coincidence, or maybe reminded after seeing me present my dress, Ms Berks says to me, “You already have two… easels in mind, yes? Have you another two, or should I pick out a couple of the maids?”

I’m not really fussed about it, but as she’s giving me the choice, there’s, well, I can think of two more people. “If miss could give me a week to ask them,” I say.

“Very well.”

Very well indeed.

Tuesday, I paint another still life, this time using the original reference alongside another I did for last week’s “homework”. Having painted it once already, I knew what my first reference was missing, so the second one focuses on those parts. Between that and having another hour of experience with oil painting, I think the result is much cleaner. The shapes aren’t as rough, the texture coming out better, the highlights and shadows sharper.

Yet I also remember what she said last week, better quality not necessarily being better art. I mean, to me, whatever I make is lifeless, dead, a poor imitation of what I see or what’s in my head. Is this painting better art?

“A marked improvement,” Ms Berks says. Then she steps behind me, and I can feel her sigh as it moves across the top of my head, a bit ticklish. “For your homework, you should make a reference in early morning or late evening sunlight. Realism isn’t the pursuit of realism but the manipulation of reality to make your feelings real.”

I can’t say I understand what she means by that. As far as the homework goes, I guess it’s to do with the tone of the colours?

After the art lesson, it’s water magic class, and I accompany Ladies Challock and Ashford. There’s just a few lines of polite small talk from Lady Challock this time, but I’m fine with that. I feel like things won’t go well with her if I push her in the same way I did Trissy and Helena (and, to an extent, my other friends). Why, I can’t really say. It’s just a feeling I have that she wants to keep me at this distance. No steps closer, no steps back. Again, I’m fine with that, happy enough to not have to come here alone.

Wednesday calisthenics, Thursday earth magic, Friday sewing—another school week comes to a happy end.