Reborn as 8yo Regency Girl, OP All the Way

Chapter 9 Studies·Daily Routine

Jane heard Elara’s soft sigh but did not press for an explanation. She simply smiled gently and returned to her work, her quill scratching softly across the parchment.

The French teacher had assigned a short essay for homework, and Jane was struggling to find the right words.

Watching Jane bent over her desk, Elara glanced at her own parchment—only a single sentence scribbled at the top. She let out another sigh. She’d thought English was difficult back in her past life, but French was proving far more daunting. Foreign languages, it seemed, were universally troublesome.

Yet mastering French was non-negotiable. A lady who could not speak the language was certain to be mocked in polite society.

All of Europe was enchanted by French fashion and culture. During the social season, any lady who failed to follow French trends was labeled “provincial”—and one who could not converse in French was little better than a peasant in the eyes of the elite.

Elara knew her goals: to become a governess, or perhaps to sell her crafts to the nobility. To do either, she must adapt to their tastes. French was not a luxury—it was a necessity.

So she threw herself into her studies, determined to succeed. Fortunately, the school provided a good language environment. Many girls spoke French, and they practiced with one another daily. With courage to speak up, proficiency would come in time.

After a long moment of struggle, Elara wrote her essay in the simplest, most straightforward French she could manage. Complex sentence structures and elegant vocabulary would have to wait until she mastered the basics.

Jane looked up to see Elara setting down her quill and stared in admiration. “You finished so quickly, Elara!” She’d been studying French longer, yet Elara had completed the assignment first. It was truly impressive.

Elara felt a flush of embarrassment. “Finishing quickly doesn’t mean it’s good. I only wrote a simple paragraph with plain words.” She was under no illusions—speed did not equal skill, and she knew her limitations well.

Her self-awareness proved correct. When Mademoiselle Amy checked the essays in class, she frowned at Elara’s work. “This is far too simplistic, Elara. It lacks the grace of the French language.”

Elara stood, her posture respectful. “I shall strive to do better next time, Mademoiselle Amy.”

Her humble attitude satisfied the teacher, who nodded and gestured for her to sit.

For the rest of the lesson, they read a French poem—a ballad by a troubadour, praising the glory of God.

As Mademoiselle Amy expounded on divine greatness, Elara fought the urge to roll her eyes. In her experience, success came from hard work, not divine intervention. If God could send her back to China, she might reconsider her skepticism—but until then, she would rely on her own efforts.

French class ended, and after a brief ten-minute break, the drawing master entered the room.

“My dears, today we shall sketch outdoors—by the hills behind the school,” he announced, gesturing for the girls to gather their sketchpads.

Elara and Jane followed the group, their sketchpads tucked under their arms. Elara frowned as she noticed the dew still clinging to the grass and bushes. “I daren’t sit,” she whispered to Jane. “I don’t want to ruin my dress with damp.” She was wearing a deep blue cotton gown—her silk dresses had been carefully packed away since arriving at Lowood, too fine for daily wear.

Jane scanned the area. “I know of a large stone nearby. We can draw there.” She took Elara’s hand and led her toward the spot, but they arrived too late—another group of girls had already claimed it. They had no choice but to stand on the path.

Elara had a little drawing experience from her past life, so she picked up sketching quickly. With the master’s recent lessons, she soon outlined the bush in front of her, her lines steady and confident.

Jane was a natural artist—one of the drawing master’s favorite pupils. He often praised her work for its “vitality.” Elara could see why. Jane’s sketch of a small flower bed, with dewdrops glistening on the petals, was not technically perfect, but it brimmed with life and charm.

“That’s beautiful, Jane,” Elara said sincerely. “Could you give me this sketch after class? I’d like to embroider it. In return, I’ll make you a handkerchief—I think you’ll like it.”

Jane’s eyes lit up. “Like the daisies on your cuffs?” Elara had made the dress herself, embroidering a border of daisies around the sleeves.

Elara nodded, and Jane smiled widely. “I’d love that! Your embroidery is lovely—I shall make this sketch as perfect as I can.” She bent over her work, her focus intense.

Jane had always been a reserved, stubborn girl—hardened by her childhood. After her parents’ death, she’d been sent to live with her aunt and cousins, who treated her cruelly. Her aunt had even locked her in a dark room for daring to stand up to her bullying cousin. Since the death of her dear friend Helen Burns, she had kept to herself—until Elara arrived.

With Elara, Jane felt at ease. Though Elara was younger, she carried herself with a maturity that comforted Jane. She listened, she understood, she offered kind words—something Jane had rarely experienced. Elara had quickly become the most important person in her life, second only to Miss Temple.

Even without the handkerchief, Jane would have given Elara the sketch in a heartbeat.

They chatted quietly as they worked, and Jane added a touch of color to her drawing before the class ended.

Afterward, they exchanged their work and walked back to the school together.

“Maths is next,” Jane said. “Miss Temple said we can do our own work once we finish the exercises. I still have my needlework from yesterday—I’ll do that afterward.”

“I finished mine already,” Elara replied.

As they reached the classroom, Jane turned to her. “Let me take your sketchpad to the dormitory. I need to fetch my needlework basket anyway.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elara said. “I want to get my supplies too.” The dormitories were just behind the classroom, a short walk away.

“What will you work on?” Jane asked as they hurried along.

“The handkerchief for you,” Elara said. “I think I can finish it in one class period. What color flowers would you like? I have silk thread in pink, blue, and white.”

“Blue, please.”

They reached the dormitory, dropped off their sketchpads, and grabbed their needlework baskets. By the time they returned to the classroom, the bell had just rung.

Miss Temple was already there, smiling warmly as she gestured for them to take their seats. She handed out the math exercises—simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.

Elara finished quickly, her modern education giving her an edge. She handed her work to Miss Temple, who checked it and nodded approvingly. “You may work on your own project now, Elara.”

Miss Temple was a generous teacher—she allowed the girls to pursue their own interests as long as they did not disturb the class.

Soon, two more girls finished their exercises and settled down with books.

Before long, Jane joined Elara at her desk, her needlework basket in hand. The classroom was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of parchment and the gentle click of needles—a peaceful rhythm to their daily routine at Lowood.