LONDON, APRIL 24th, 1872
The feeling of Ezra’s lips on mine is only a bittersweet memory during the next day. It is the middle of the week, and the Northcott house is once again ready to open doors for potential suitors. I once again find myself doing embroidery in an armchair, but luckily, I don’t have to spend the whole day there.
Around lunch time it becomes clear, that gentlemen are done visiting the young ladies. I am more than relieved as Lady Northcott instructs a maid to deliver her message to the butler. She doesn’t want him letting anyone else in the house today again.
As we are left alone by the table and are waiting for tea, she begins a rather unexpected topic. At least for me. I can’t talk for Louise and Marion. She clears her throat, shares a knowing gaze with
