Esmeralda went back to the main room. Jeanette was still seated, reading the newspaper—she loved those. Taking her place at her work chair, Esmeralda resumed sewing. She was making a dress for a lady who was to attend her friend's wedding the week to come.
"So…" Esmeralda began, "Are you seeing any of the men you danced with at the ball?"
Jeanette sighed and fell back into the couch, the newspaper flopping onto her lap. "Truth be told, yes. One of them wrote to me the day last past," she said, her face scrunching up—and Esmeralda sensed a but. "But I don't like him."
Esmeralda twitched her lips, pausing her work to glance up at her best friend. "Why do you not like him? Is he not handsome?"
"It is not merely about his looks," Jeanette sighed, pushing herself forward on the couch. "I do not like the way he speaks." Her face tightened in irritation as though recalling the one time she had met with him. "And he does not look wealthy. I do not think he belongs to the highborn."
Esmeralda sighed and rolled her eyes. "There you go again." She continued with her hands on the dress and the machine. "Perhaps you shouldn't look at riches just yet. Have you thought about that?"
She had—many times—but having a mother like Mrs. Ashcroft, she was not allowed to entertain nor dwell on such thoughts. "I do not think I am in a position to not look at riches and wealth, Esme. Not everyone has a nice job going like you."
Esmeralda blinked at her best friend's words. She knew Jeanette hadn't meant it in that way, but it still landed with an unkind weight.
"I'm sorry. I did not mean for it to sound that way," Jeanette apologised at once. "I was only trying to say—"
"I understand," Esmeralda cut in with a warm smile. "I perhaps pushed too far."
Jeanette nodded. The earlier tension faded into the silence, and she let out a heavy sigh. "I wish I had met the duke's son. Alistair Fitzgerald... He would've seen me…"
Esmeralda's ears rang. Her movements paused, and sweat, summoned by no physical heat, trickled down the side of her temple. She didn't know why she was feeling this way.
Or perhaps she did.
Jeanette still didn't know her blind date had been Alistair Fitzgerald—the same man she now wished she had met.
"Don't call me proud, but I know I am beautiful. Truly so, and I might have caught his attention. Even if just a little."
Jeanette continued, entirely unaware of Esmeralda's distress.
Yes, Alistair may have seen Jeanette and liked her. She was a beautiful girl with a charming character. But Jeanette had no idea what a rude and pompous man the subject of her daydreams truly was.
Esmeralda could tell her. She could confess outright that the Duchess had arranged a date between her and Alistair. She could explain how unpleasant the encounter had been—that she didn't like him, and would have nothing further to do with him.
She could say all this—but something held her back.
"Esmeralda!"
Esmeralda's head snapped up. Jeanette was looking at her with worry.
"Oh dear. Why did you zone out for so long? Is something the matter?" Jeanette asked, her voice laced with concern.
"What? No. Nothing is the issue, Jean. I was just thinking about something... I'm sorry I zoned out while you were speaking," Esmeralda said apologetically.
"Of course not, dear. You have absolutely nothing to apologise for." Jeanette sighed and rose from her spot, coming to sit beside Esmeralda. "Is it work? You stress yourself quite a lot, dear. You are just twenty and three years old—you shouldn't wither away from overthinking."
Esmeralda gave a soft chuckle, grateful for the shift in tone. "Your advice is well taken, Jean. But if I don't work, who will make the gowns for all the weddings, teas, and luncheons happening every weekend in this town?"
Jeanette gave her a mock-stern look. "Still, you deserve a day to rest those hands. You'll turn to thread one day if you keep sewing like this."
"I might," Esmeralda said with a light smile, threading the needle again. "But at least the gowns would be fabulous."
They laughed together, the sound echoing warmly through the quiet parlour.
Then Esmeralda glanced sideways at her friend, hesitating only a moment before asking, "Would you like to do something on the weekend? Maybe go to the lakeside?"
Jeanette perked up. "Oh yes. That would be lovely. It's been ages since I've been near the water. Perhaps we'll take a picnic?"
"That is a wonderful idea," Esmeralda replied, already imagining the calming breeze and the rustle of grass—anything to escape the stifling thoughts she'd been nursing.
Jeanette leaned back, humming a soft tune, then suddenly asked, "Do you think he would have liked me?"
Esmeralda's hand faltered on the fabric. "Who?"
"Alistair Fitzgerald. The duke's son." Jeanette's eyes softened as she spoke his name. "Do you think he would have liked me if we met?"
Esmeralda did not know what to say.
"I think," Esmeralda began carefully, choosing each word as if it were glass underfoot, "that if he had met you, he would have certainly noticed you."
Jeanette smiled wistfully. "I knew it. I just knew it. Sometimes I wish these things weren't left so much to chance. What if that was the only ball I ever attend?"
"You never know," Esmeralda said softly, returning to her stitching, "life has a way of surprising us."
Jeanette stretched her legs out before her. "You're being very mysterious today, Esme. More than usual. Are you sure nothing's troubling you?"
Esmeralda kept her head down. "Nothing serious, Jean. Just thoughts. You know how my mind likes to wander when I sew."
Jeanette reached out and touched her hand gently. "Well, don't keep them all to yourself. You're not alone, alright?"
Esmeralda smiled and gave a small nod. "Alright."
There was a moment of peace between them—the kind that only long-standing friendship can foster. Jeanette eventually stood and walked over to the window facing the other side of the market, parting the curtains slightly.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "sometimes I think about what life would be like if we had both been born into wealth. What if we had mansions, servants, horses, and... no worries at all?"
Esmeralda raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly. "I think we would be very bored."
Jeanette laughed. "True. We'd probably still find a way to make trouble."
Esmeralda leaned back in her chair and watched her friend with affection. For all Jeanette's talk about riches, she was still the same girl who used to climb trees barefoot and steal apples from the baker's cart. Her dreams were grand, yes—but her heart was still somewhere close to home.
"We'll go to the lakeside on Saturday then?" Esmeralda asked.
"Definitely," Jeanette said, still looking out the window.