"There," Annabeth mumbled to herself, "I've got it right this time."
Before leaving home to visit Skye Castle, she had bought an embroidery pattern of a sailor looking through a spyglass. It was a simple design but had given her nothing but trouble. Her first attempt had been too low on the fabric while the second attempt faced the wrong direction. She had wasted thread unpicking her stitches and was now almost out of the dark blue color she needed.
Annabeth looked over her work so far. It began three spaces from the top and faced the left of the fabric, like it was supposed to. Her face curled into a self-satisfied grin.
Piper sat at the harpsichord playing selections from Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice. The harpsichord was as gorgeous a piece of art as the music played upon it: an embossed wooden body and gilded legs. The inside of the lid was painted with an idealized image of the lake and front lawn of Skye Castle.

Lord Skye stole glances at her from the table where he was going over the translation of the first scene of Antigone that Annabeth was working on with Dona Reyna.
"I think "έπεί πλείων χρόνος όν δεί μ' άρέσκειν τοίς κάτω τών ένθάδε" would read as "I am going to be with the dead longer than I will be with the living; they make the greater demand upon me," Dona Reyna began, "I think it sounds better the more literal translation: "Since there is more time during which I must be pleasing to those below than for me to be pleasing to those here." What do you think?"
Lord Skye was too lost in the music to have paid attention.
"My harp should be arriving here this week," Dona Reyna told Miss Levesque, who was knitting a pair of red mitts, "I've been trying to have it brought here for several weeks but apparently finding a cart willing to fetch it for me is an impossible task."
"All of the carts in the village were used to help bring in the harvest," Miss Levesque explained.
"Every single cart? I can't believe it and I don't see why hiring a cart for the day should have been such an unreasonable thing to ask for."
"Annabeth," Piper called, "Would you sing this piece with me?"
Annabeth put down her embroidery and walked over to the harpsichord. The piece of music Piper wanted them to perform was a duet between Orfeo and Euridice. Orfeo's part of the song was lower than Euridice's soprano but still too high for most men to sing. Piper had originally asked Mr. Di Angelo, the only one of the gentlemen who was musical, to do the duet with her but he looked over the sheet music and replied: "too high for me."

A/N in Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice, the role of Orfeo was written for a castrato (a male singer who was castrated before puberty to prevent their voices from getting deeper) or a high-tenor. Today, roles in opera originally written for male castrati are often sung by female altos. In the recent musical Hadestown, which shares the same source material as Orfeo ed Euridice -The myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, Orpheus sings mostly in falsetto and has to hit higher notes than Eurydice. I spoke with actor Reeve Carney, who plays Orpheus, and he said that he appreciates how vocally challenging the role is and how it allows him to go higher than most vocal roles for men are able to.

"Viens," Annabeth sang, "Suis un epoux qui t'adore, suis un epoux qui t'adore." Come, follow a husband who adores you, follow a husband who adores you.
"Non," Piper joined in, her fingers dancing nimbly across the keys, "Ingrat, je preférè encore la mort qui m'éloigne de toi."
No, ungrateful one. I still prefer death which takes me away from you.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Annabeth blushed, aware that Piper was a much better singer than she was. She had a good voice but was only an occasional dabbler in music and did not practice as much as Piper did; her voice did quite measure up to Orfeo, the world's greatest poet and musician whose singing could make flowers bloom and rocks weep and even soften the flinty heart of Hades, king of the underworld.
If there ever were a female Orfeo, it would be Piper, who sang with so much power and emotion that it was hard not to be drawn to her and be moved by the music. Lord Skye was so completely entranced that he did not notice an increasingly frustrated Dona Reyna trying to get his attention back to the Greek translations they were supposed to be working on.
"Would "έκεί γάρ αίεί κείσομαι. σοί δ' εί δοκεί, τά τών θεών έντιμ' άτιμάσασ' έχε"  read as "For there I will forever lie, if it seems right to you, keep dishonoring what is honored by the Gods?" she asked him, "Or would "With them I will forever lie, since the things the Gods honor mean nothing to you," be better?"
Lord Skye briefly snapped out of his trance.
"Excuse me, Reyna," he mumbled, "Could you repeat that?"
Dona Reyna stood up, threw her copybook filled with translation notes on the floor, and strode out of the drawing room in a swirl of rustling silk skirts, without Lord Skye so much as noticing.
Annabeth pitied the Spanish girl. She would hate to have to compete with Piper for a gentleman's attention.
"I wonder what that was about?" Piper asked Annabeth when they had finished with their song and sat down to enjoy tea and strawberry mille-feuille.

"I don't know," Annabeth replied, "You would think she'd have more dignity than to make a scene like that."
She fixed a cup of tea for Dona Reyna and a small dish of miguelitos, a traditional Spanish pastry made from squares of puffed pastry filled with chocolate, which Dona Reyna was fond of, and brought them out to her.

Dona Reyna was sitting in a hallway window seat outside of the drawing room, sobbing.
"Thank you," she murmured when Annabeth placed the tea things next to her, "I hate her. I know she's your friend, but I hope she catches smallpox and it ruins her pretty face forever."
"What, you don't wish her dead?"
"Nothing would make Jason love her more than if she were to die tragically young."
"Well, either outcome would be impossible. Piper and were both inoculated against the smallpox when we were eight."
"What do you want, Miss Chase? To mock me for pining over a man who isn't in lovewith me or to spout a bunch of comforting but meaningless platitudes like: he's not the only man worth having or have patience, the right man will come."
"I flatter myself that I'm too smart to spout comforting but meaningless platitudes and I trust that you're too smart to fall for them."
"Then do you wish to scold me for my outburst?"
"Reyna, if I might call you that, you'll do no one any good if you continue behaving this way. It's best that you move on. Think of Mr. Vitellius, he is completely smitten with you."
Mr. Vitellius owned property near Skye Castle and sometimes dinned with the Graces. Annabeth had noticed that he was quite taken with Dona Reyna, though she treated him with nothing but cold indifference which, with some men, only served to make them more interested.
"He's old, ugly, and boring."
He was not that old, probably about eight and thirty, and though he was not as handsome as Lord Skye, he was not a monster. Annabeth admitted that he was a bit dull but he was a nice man with a comfortable home and a stable income.
"I don't know much about love but I've read that it usually happens in ways we do not expect. Maybe if you gave Mr. Vitellius a chance, you could learn to care for him."
"I would rather die than have to give him a chance."
"Then I don't know what to tell you."
"So shut up and leave me alone."
Annabeth handed her a handkerchief to dry her eyes.
"My advice is to find someone else, it'll take time and patience but..."
"What's the point of fishing if all you can catch are minnows?"
Perhaps it was not a helpful thought but a minnow was not a bad way to describe Mr. Vitellius, especially when compared to a big fish like Lord Skye.
Dona Reyna dried her eyes, took several deep breaths, and regained her usual haughty self composure.
"Come," she mumbled, "Let's go back into the drawing room."

Annabeth found Piper and Lord Skye sitting in a carved wooden gothic window seat similar those in the hallway.

They were admiring the view from the drawing room windows. At this time of year, the trees in the park were beginning to change into their autumnal hues. From the way that they sat close together, her skirt brushing against his leg, his hand close to hers, Annabeth could tell that they as good as had an understanding. She imagined how a marchioness's coronet would look around Piper's lovely brow.
Piper had told Annabeth about how Lord Skye had left a wreath of flowers on her pillow and serenaded her at her window. Annabeth left out the fact that she had been the muse behind this brilliant idea.
"Miss Chase," Annabeth looked up from her embroidery to see Lieutenant Jackson standing over her, "Would you mind taking a turn about the room with me?"
"It would be my pleasure," she replied.
She took his arm and leaned slightly against his shoulder as they walked towards they window where Piper sat with Lord Skye.
"They make a sweet couple, do they not?" She asked him.
"An excellent match," he quipped, "He's rich and she's handsome."
Mr. Di Angelo paced back and forth in front of the seat where Miss Levesque sat, reading aloud some verses he had composed. Annabeth recognized the scene he described in poetry: the cliffs at Elysium and the slave ship which had sailed past it. She overheard that the poem was meant to be a companion to Miss Levesque's drawing.
Lost in thought, Mr. Di Angelo would stare out of the window at the park like he was looking for something. He noticed Annabeth and Lieutenant Jackson walking together and his face looked more sullen than usual. Annabeth got the impression that the boy was a little in love with her and was jealous of the preference she showed to Lieutenant Jackson.
"Miss McLean told me that you were interested in architecture."
"That is correct."
"I have a collection of prints, souvenirs from places I've been too, that you might want to look at. Most of them are of famous buildings and landscapes."
"I would love to see them."
Zhang, the Grace family's Chinese servant, returned with some more tea things. He went straight to Miss Levesque to refill her tea cup and offer her a slice of carrot cake. Miss Levesque lowered her eyes and blushed.
Zhang's attentiveness was an obvious sign that he was smitten with her. He was handsome, in a broad, bulky sort of way, with kind eyes and a warm smile, and Miss Levesque appeared to appreciate his gallantry.
"The prints are in the library," Lieutenant Jackson informed Annabeth, "Give me a moment and I will go fetch them."
"No," Annabeth insisted, "I will go with you."
Lady Thalia, who was dressed in a black and grey zone front gown worn with a sheer black chemisette, raised an eyebrow at them when she heard this suggestion.

"Don't be too long, you two," she scolded them before lighting a pipe of tobacco.

While Lieutenant Jackson fetched his prints, Annabeth settled herself in a comfortable armchair.
"Here they are," Lieutenant Jackson told her as he sat down on the ottoman. The prints were placed on Annabeth's lap. She inched closer to the edge of the chair so her skirts brushed against his leg and let her left hand rest near where his left hand held down the prints; his right hand pointed out the different details of each picture.
"This is the Arch of Marcus Aurelius in Tripoli," he explained, pointing to a image of a slightly crumbling Roman arch flanked by palm trees inside of a small, enclosed courtyard. The remains of a Roman road ran underneath the arch with grass growing between its stones, "and this is the Old Town from the harbor."
A cluster of Berber clay and brick residential buildings and stone Arabic mosques and minarets overlooked a harbor dotted with ships ranging from European frigates to Barbary galleys.
"We have sailing ships," he continued, "Which can carry tons of powerful canons. The Barbary pirates only have out-dated oar-driven galleys. When they want to tight us, they have to drop their oars and pick up their flintlocks and cutlasses whereas we can blow them out of the water with our canons without even slowing down. Usually when they see an English frigate, they flee."
They next several prints depicted the Andes mountains in Peru: spectacularly tall and steep peaks capped with snow and clouds, fields terraced into the sides of hills where wooly, sheep-like creatures with long necks grazed. Annabeth thought these pictures were breathtaking. She often found landscapes even more fascinating than buildings; The All Mighty was the most superb of architects.
"And this one is of Atlantis Hall, my family's home."
Atlantis Hall was an Elizabethan half-timbered building with gables and mullioned windows set among a park of pine trees.
"It's lovely," Annabeth replied, admiring the graceful symmetry of the house's construction.
"You should come see it for yourself sometime," Lieutenant Jackson added with a smile.
Annabeth had read enough novels to know that when a hero asked a heroine to visit his home, a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage were soon to follow.
"It would be a pleasure."
Lieutenant Jackson then produced four miniature portraits. The first was of a gentleman with broad shoulders and a strong jaw. He resembled Lieutenant Jackson a great deal with his sea green eyes, chiseled features, and slightly brooding expression.
"Is that your father?" Annabeth asked him.
"Admiral Poseidon Jackson," he replied, "My father."
He then showed her a portrait of a beautiful lady with lively blue eyes and a warm, kind expression. Her brow, eyes, and mouth were lined with fine creases left by countless smiles and bouts of laughter.
"Mrs. Sally Jackson, my mother." 
The third was of a little girl of about eight who resembled Mrs. Jackson with her curly brown hair, blue eyes, and sweet-faced prettiness.
"And my sister, Miss Estelle Jackson."
"Who does the fourth portrait depict?"
It's subject was a young lady sitting at an easel with a painting supplies spread out around her. She held a paint brush in one hand and a gilded hand mirror in the other. The young lady disproved the assumption that red hair and freckles were unattractive. Her curls were a becoming blend of auburn and strawberry blonde and her freckles dusted features which were delicate and regular. She carried herself with confidence and there was a mischievous glint in her green eyes and a pert curl of the lips in her smile.
"Miss Rachel Dare, a neighbor and friend of mine. She painted these."
"She's rather pretty."
I imagine this portrait is idealized, Annabeth thought, knowing perfectly well that people did not send portraits they painted of themselves to someone who was just a friend.
"I guess she is. We have known each other a long time and were close as children. While I was serving in the navy, we drifted apart a little but we've reconnected recently."
"Lieutenant Jackson, have you been jilting your sweetheart by flirting with me?"
"Madam, I don't what you mean."
"Why would you carry around her portrait if she wasn't your sweetheart?"
He stood up, pushed back his hair with his hands, and clenched his jaw. As much as she hated to admit it, Annabeth thought he looked incredibly attractive when he was angry.
"Good day, Miss Chase," he grumbled, before walking out of the library.
Annabeth crossed her arms and huffed.

Two tin bathtubs were dragged into the Chinese bedroom. Two maids spread out sheets to line the tubs and protect the oriental carpets.

Hot water, brought up from the kitchen in many trips, was poured into the bathtubs and sweetened with dried herbs and flower petals. One of the maids lit a fire in the hearth so the room would be nice and warm for the bathers.
Piper and Annabeth took turns changing behind a three-fold screen, upholstered with white brocade.

"What did Lieutenant Jackson want to show you in the library?" Piper asked Annabeth from the other side of the screen as Annabeth was unlacing her corset.

"He wanted to show me some prints," Annabeth replied.
"Some prints of what?"
"Places he's visited: the Barbary Coast and the Andes Mountains."
"Did anything else happen?"
"He then showed me some portraits."
"Portraits of who?"
"His family and a young lady named Miss Dare."
Annabeth rolled her blue stockings down her calves and pulled them off of her feet, and tossed them to one side.

"He insisted that Miss Dare was not his sweetheart," she continued, sliding her three-quarter length sleeved chemise over her head, "But why would he carry around her portrait if he wasn't."
"The cad!" Piper gasped.
"It's Miss Dare I feel sorry for. I ought to write a letter and tell her what her lover has been up to."
She yanked her long, bathing shift from where it had been thrown over the top of the changing screen and put it on. Piper was waiting on the other side of the screen, already wearing her bathing shift.
They settled into the shallow layer of water at the bottom of their bathtubs. A shampoo made from egg yolks, fat-soap shavings, and olive oil was worked into their hair, forming it into a horn shape at the front of the head. Piper liked to call this the coiffure à la licorne (the unicorn hairstyle). For their faces, the maids had prepared a mixture of lemon, milk, and brandy to spread across the cheeks, forehead, nose, and chin and let sit for several minutes.
Annabeth lay back in her bathtub and looked around the room. It was called the Chinese bedroom because the wallpaper, which was painted with scenes of Chinese court ladies. Corresponding figurines were placed on the mantlepiece. The four-poster bed had a buttery yellow canopy embroidered with dragons and chrysanthemums.

"Ahhh," Piper sighed, leaning back into the lavender and rose scented water.
A fire crackled in the hearth. Heavy rain pattered on the window glass. Wind whistled and roared through the trees.
"You and Lord Skye seem to growing close," Annabeth teased.
"Yes. And that's why Dona Reyna stormed out of the drawing room this afternoon."
"She told me that she wishes you would come down with smallpox and have your face ruined."
"Annabeth, that's not funny," Piper replied to her friend's giggling. "That's a horrid thing to say."
"You can't blame her for being jealous of you. You're probably the prettiest girl in the whole county. Your singing would rival Orfeo himself and on top of that, the man she's set her cap at is completely devoted to you."
Piper lowered her eyes and turned her face away.
"And you're modest, as well. If I didn't love you, I would hate you too."
"How dreadful it would be to be hated by you."
The egg mixture in their hair was rinsed out with rose water and rum, which stung when it hit their scalps. The tangles were combed out using the coarse tooth side of a double-sided, tortoise shell lice comb.

Rain continued to patter down on the window glass. Wind whistled and roared through the trees. The fire crackled and sparked in the hearth.
"This rainy spell is supposed to pass by tomorrow," Piper told Annabeth, "Then we're supposed to have an Indian summer. Lord Skye says he'll take us down to see the orchards. This time of year, there's apples and pears, and figs and grapes. We'll each have a basket to fill up with whatever we can carry."
"What a charming idea," Annabeth exclaimed. "Piper, I'm determined to enjoy my stay here, despite the presence of a certain gentleman, if gentleman he even deserves to be called? The best revenge for a slight is to get over it as soon as possible."
The maids dried their hair with towels and used the fine tooth end of the lice combs to work yarrow oil through the roots down to the ends. Yarrow kept away crawlers. Each lock of hair was twisted and tied with rags so they would be curly when dry.
After being toweled off, Annabeth went back behind the changing screen and put on her nightgown. It had a low neckline and full bell-sleeves.

Her rag curls were tucked under a ruffled cap tied with a blue ribbon.

A concoction of oatmeal, sugar, camomile, lemon, honey, and milk was spread on her face. She washed off this scrub with lavender water. Piper noticed that she had a pimple on her noses along with two more on her chin. She first applied oil of hyssop, then a cream made from camphor and cloves, to help clear these.
"Are they too noticeable?" She asked.
"No, not at all," Annabeth replied.
"How fortunate you are, Annabeth. You hardly ever get spots."
Annabeth picked up a bone-handled toothbrush with boar bristles and dipped it into a basin of hot water and then into a box of tooth powder made from calcium carbonate, powdered orris root, charcoal powder, and shavings of olive oil soap.

After brushing her teeth with this tooth powder, she switched over to a paste made from the same ingredients, except that the olive oil soap was switched out for water and peppermint oil.  Peppermint was Annabeth's favorite scent for her breath.
"Get some sleep, Piper, my love," she told her friend after rinsing and spitting. "We have a busy day tomorrow."
She bent over and kissed the shorter girl on the forehead.

A green and gold pendant lamp hung on either side of Annabeth's bed. Inside of each lamp was a lit candle so she could read before going to sleep.

Annabeth settled into bed with a copy of Tom Jones: The History of a Foundling from Skye Castle's library. She had long finished Alexander Pope's translation of the Iliad and needed something else to read.
One thing Annabeth could not understand about the story was that if Tom Jones supposedly loved Sophia Weston so much, why he did he philander with practically every other woman in the story. But that was how men were: their words and their deeds hardly ever matched.
Annabeth knew she no right to feel betrayed. She was not Sophia Weston in this situation, the loyal girl waiting at home for the hero while he "sewed his wild oats." Miss Dare was. And the loyal girl back home was always rewarded for her patience in the end. Miss Dare can have her philandering Lieutenant Jackson, Annabeth scoffed.
Lovely, talented Miss Dare with her ginger curls and puckish expression. So much more preferable to her own insipid coloring and prim, icy demeanor.
Her self pitying was interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in," Annabeth replied.
Miss Levesque stepped into her room, wearing a blue and white chintz short-gown over her night dress.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Miss Levesque meekly apologized, "It's just that there's something I'd like to show you."
She produced a small nosegay of jasmine flowers along with a note scribbled with a line of Latin: "Vera incessu patuit dea."
"I can't read Latin, so I thought I'd come see if you could translate it."
"It means something like: The true goddess was revealed by her step. It's a line from the Aeneid."
"I know that jasmine flowers are a symbol of gracefulness and modesty and with this note, the sender is complimenting my deportment. They've sent me one before which praised my innocence."
"Who do you think the sender is?"
"Without a doubt, its Mr. Zhang."
Annabeth could tell that the Chinese was smitten with Miss Levesque but did not expect that he would be bold enough to leave her love notes.
"A servant trying to court one of his master's guests, how scandalous!"
"My stepmother sent me here with Nico to be a companion so I'm little more than servant myself.  I'm a natural daughter. My mother was a slave. I would be lucky to have a good man like Mr. Zhang."

A/N here's a short video about Dido Elizabeth Belle, whose life story I based Hazel's on.

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

"You're right. Has he come out and declared himself?"
"No. Not yet."
"Good night, Miss Levesque. Let me know if anything further happens."
Miss Levesque closed the door and scurried back to her own room. Annabeth climbed back into bed and continued reading Tom Jones. She decided that she would never forgive Tom for dallying in the woods with his former paramour Molly even after he learned that the illegitimate child she was carrying was not his and that it was Sophia who he loved. Her reading was interrupted again by another knock at the door.
"Who is it?" She asked.
"Dona Reyna," the voice at the other side of the door answered.
"Come in."
Dona Reyna opened the door and entered the room. A short gown of Indian cotton with a deep rose-colored calico print had been thrown over her nightdress.

"I wanted to thank you for this afternoon."
"You're welcome."
"I'm sorry I acted like such a beast."
"I can understand something of how you feel. My schemes of happiness have been thwarted as well."
"Does this have anything do with the tête-à-tête you had with Lieutenant Jackson in the library this afternoon."
Dona Reyna went over to the old globe by the window across from the bed. It was Annabeth's favorite thing in her room. She liked liked to sit by the window in the mornings and watch the sun rise while mapping out journeys she would like to take on the globe.

Sometimes Lieutenant Jackson would pass by on his morning walk.
Dona Reyna's fingers danced across the spinning globe until they arrived in Mexico.
"Yes," Annabeth replied to her question.
"Is another young lady behind your troubles?"
"I wouldn't put it that way. Lieutenant Jackson should have known better than to flirt with me when he already had a sweetheart back home."
"The rascal! Poor Miss Chase."
"More like poor Miss Dare. That's my rival's name. She's the one you should feel sorry for. I'm going to write her a letter and tell her that her that Lieutenant Jackson is a worthless good-for-nothing and she should forget about him."
Dona Reyna chuckled at the idea.
"That would show him. Good night, Miss Chase."
"Good night, Dona Reyna."
Once Dona Reyna had closed the door, Annabeth climbed back into bed. She blew out the candles, pulled the covers over her head, and began to dream up the letter she would write to Miss Dare.