The important part of moving on for me has always been the bit where you actually move on. I try not to dwell on my decisions, focus on making the right choices in the moment rather than doing whatever and sorting it out after the fact. There’s always sleepless nights for me to find things to regret, no need to go out of my way, you know?

So I return to the dormitory with a clear heart and a clear mind. Tomorrow is Evan’s birthday, and I look ahead at that instead. No present for him; even a handkerchief would be more than I gave Julian. Besides, I handed out enough handkerchiefs at the start of the school year.

Still, when I walk into the lounge and see Violet, I want to tell her. I want her to tell me I did the right thing and that she’s proud of me. But this… is something private.

Other things to distract me, I’ll be painting the group portrait tomorrow, so I excuse myself to my room to pick up my sketchbook and then join my friends, working some more on the reference sketches while they busy themselves with talking. A long afternoon, especially with how the sun lingers; the summer solstice happened just last week. It’s not much of a thing here, I guess the commonfolk too busy working now to celebrate?

Anyway, I busy myself through the rest of the day.

The next morning, I take it slow, dragging out my routine. By the time I get to the lounge, Violet and Helena are already there.

Steadily, the day progresses, breakfast and lessons and lunch and lessons. Coming to the art class, I bring myself out of “automatic” mode and try to be more conscious of what I’m doing.

Ms Berks starts with a short painting demonstration. Most classes start this way: her showing a technique or correcting a common error she saw the week before. Today, it’s the former as she succinctly explains how you don’t have to thoroughly mix the colours together, and she shows how a complex texture can come about by only loosely mixing the paint. It mostly adds depth, good for making rocks and bushes as the different colours come out as highlights and lowlights or shadows.

I closely follow what she says. It sounds useful for the leaves on the oak trees, right?

When she finishes, she has us start, and I waste no time. A minute of sketching proportions onto the canvas, and then I mix a few colours to start with (keeping in mind what she just taught us), and get painting.

Different from watercolours, I lose myself. There isn’t the same need to be careful, so I can just keep moving, keep trying to bully and tease the paint into matching the image I have in my mind. But I’m still a beginner. Though I’m not good at sketching or painting watercolours of things from my mind, I am competent when it comes to “copying” what I can see—part of a lady’s education. By no means great, but competent. However, my skill with oil paints isn’t to the same level. The shapes are wrong and messy, brush strokes uneven, far from the clean and crisp paintings Ms Berks has shown us.

Yet I simply take that as encouragement. Every road is long when you are starting out, aren’t they?

By the end of the (nearly an) hour, even though I can see a hundred places where I want to fix or adjust the painting, I have something finished. I wonder if that’s part of Ms Berks lessons too. How easy it would be to spend the whole term working on a single painting—and still be dissatisfied with how it turned out.

Ms Berks didn’t say anything to me today, so I guess it can’t be too bad.

When the bell goes, I quickly pack up and make my over to Lady Challock. She notices me coming, putting on a polite smile and saying, “Hullo, Lady Kent.”

“Hullo, my lady,” I say, and I bow my head a bit. “My apologies, but I will not be attending the lesson today.”

“Oh dear. Well, thank you for telling me,” she says.

I smile apologetically. “I dare say this is the last lesson too, so, if I do not get the chance, please let me thank you for accompanying these last few weeks.”

“There is no need,” she says.

I give a couple breaths of laughter. “There is always a need to thank those who have shown small kindnesses, and to forgive those who have made small mistakes. That is what everything from personal relationships to society is built on, is it not?” I say, my tone sweet.

She takes a moment to finish hearing what I said, something rather unusual. When that moment passes, though, she puts on an almost shy smile. “You are a strange one,” she says, but I don’t take it as an insult.

No, it most certainly is a compliment. “I know,” I say, smiling brightly. No need to drag this out, I follow up with a good day and then go find my friends.

My short conversation with Lady Challock delayed us a moment, so, no time to show them how my painting turned out, we hurry over to the dining hall to gather our supplies. Or rather, we recruit a pair of maids and they gather what we ask for, returning with a hamper and a tray.

The grounds are somewhat crowded, but vast enough that it’s not at all cramped. Fortunately, no one has claimed our picnic spot, and we set up there while we wait for Cyril and Julian to bring Evan over. Grass soft, trees shading us, a weak breeze winding around: it’s all very pleasant. We even remembered to tell the maids that three others will be joining us, so there’s enough cups for the princes this time.

It’s a couple of minutes later that Jemima catches sight of the princes walking over.

Us ladies brimming with smiles, we watch Evan; when he notices us, it dawns on him just what day it is today. He falls into a light laughter, turning to Julian and then Cyril, saying something we can’t hear. In good spirits, the princes join us.

“Wishing my lord a happy birthday,” I say, my friends following up with similar sentiments.

“Thank you all very much,” he says.

Much like at our study sessions, us ladies are lined up on one side of the blanket, and the princes sit down opposite. A small gesture from Violet and the maids start pouring us all cups of tea. Then, leaving things to Cyril and Julian for the moment, my friends and I watch as those two hand over Evan’s present and he opens it, thanking them again.

As Julian said, the rugby shoes do look unsightly, kind of gnarled.

And then it’s my turn to present the cake. While not a niche one like Julian’s was, it is Evan’s favourite and is delicious, no one having the same trouble acting polite when eating. From there, it’s hardly different to our Wednesday afternoons. We talk amongst ourselves, laughter flowing freely, maybe a bit of a focus on embarrassing stories of Evan. I tell everyone about the time he got lost in the maze at the Kent estate, and a few other stories that Ellen has been kind enough to share with me over the year, and Cyril and Julian have a few of their own from life in the dormitory and PE classes.

A very fun way to spend an afternoon.

My friends are very chatty on the way back to the dormitory afterwards, bubbling with a teenage energy. It’s something I usually notice on Wednesdays. Other than Violet (who is as composed as ever), they just really like to talk about the princes. I wonder if I’m to blame for bringing up “girl talk” at the sleepover?

Well, whatever. It’s a lot more interesting to listen to than an exhaustive discussion on the weather.

To make up for lost time, (at Violet’s suggestion) we study the rest of the afternoon. In the evening, I work on Iris’s dress. It’s getting close to finished and I’m hopeful that, with the reading week, I might even get it done in time for her to take it home after the exhibition. But I don’t rush. I take that goal as motivation to keep going, a reminder I’m at the end of a long road.

Growing tired, I stop when I feel like I can’t focus enough, moving on to doodling designs for Violet’s scarf. I’m still not sure what I’ll end up doing, but I would like some kind of pattern of snowdrops and violets.

Lost in that work, I stay up rather late on accident; at least sleep comes quickly.

Wednesday is another Wednesday. The lessons tie up, last clues for the upcoming exams slipped into meandering monologues. A change, though, we have to pair up for calisthenics, so I get to say a hullo to Trissy. She looks happy to see me and otherwise looks well, a touch of mature makeup to her face and hair in that style I introduced her to. (A ponytail with her dark strip of hair hidden at the bottom.) Then my friends and I go study with the princes for a while, Evan and I joining them at the main table. Since it’s the last time (for this school year), I feel like we should all be together. Of course, my friends and I also study back at the dormitory.

Thursday is much the same, just swapping out the study group for some time with Julian. It’s a practical lesson this week, so we do some digging and planting, use a spot of earth magic (nothing exciting). He says how Evan was happy with his birthday, our conversation otherwise meandering between how ready we feel for exams, plans for the holidays, how our families are. (Florence wants to come see my exhibition and has been nagging him in every letter. He’s amused to hear that she’s also been nagging me.)

Then it’s Friday and Evan, Cyril, Ms Berks, and I sit inside a stuffy room. Well, Cyril quickly decides he would rather not. “If you would excuse me, this is unbearable,” he says, standing up.

“You’re excused,” I reply without looking up. Despite that, I can see clearly in my mind the crooked smile he surely has, a little mirth to his eyes. After he leaves, I look at Evan who is himself covered in a sheen of sweat. It probably doesn’t help that he had sports before coming here. “Do you not wish to leave as well? I’m fine being here by myself,” I say.

He softly shakes his head, still concentrating on his sewing. (I have yet to ask him about it and he has likewise not told me.) “This much is… just a bit uncomfortable,” he says.

I giggle, wondering who exactly he is trying to impress. But, well, I’m a kind person. For whatever reason, my talent for wind magic got a small boost over spring break (who even knows how this stuff works), and I use it now to create the slightest breeze. It’s still pathetic, about as strong as me softly blowing, but better than nothing.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

I would say, “You’re welcome,” but I’m a little busy chanting under my breath.

After a minute or so of that, the sweat on his face has mostly evaporated. I call it quits and return to the small alterations I’m working on.

Back at the dormitory, my peaceful afternoon succumbs to studying. The company is nice, so I don’t mind. We take it slow and with many breaks for sips of cold water (and trips to the bathroom).

Come evening, I finalise my lesson plan for tomorrow: biology. Or rather, childcare. We’ll discuss what things do people need to live, moving on to what babies need to grow up into well-adjusted adults, and I’ll probably involve Lottie as a guest lecturer. I mean, I don’t really know this subject well.

Why am I doing this lesson then? Gwen asked me about looking after babies last week, and Lottie told me it’s because a nearby friend has a newborn. Apparently, Gwen even asked Lottie where babies come from, which is fortunately outside the scope of my introductory course.

After I work on Iris’s dress, I go to bed.

It’s funny, this last week feels like it’s been busy and yet quiet, so much and little happening. Funnier to think there’s just two weeks left of my junior year. One more year with all my friends.

This last year… has been a lot of fun. Drama and tears and hard work, and fun.