CHAPTER ELEVEN.
the erstwhiles.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

1810.

"IT IS CERTAINLY A RELIEF to have you back home on English shores, brother," says Hugh. He, along with the rest of the Erstwhiles — including Winifred — are gathered in the drawing room at the family's ancestral home to celebrate the return of Joseph from his fighting overseas. It had certainly been a pleasant surprise to hear. Even though he fought valiantly, it was thought that he would be of great use back home, on civilian duties and monitoring unrest.

     Joseph has not changed too much. He just feels older, somehow. When he first reunited with Winifred, she could see wisps of reddish-blond stubble coming through on his face. But he has been telling stories of the battlefield to his family with just as much fervour as he would imagine them before he was sent overseas. He can make what Winifred feels are horrors of battle sound like glorious feats. Although sometimes, when he thinks no one else is looking, she swears she can see flashes of weariness in Joseph's face.

     "It is a relief to be back," Joseph says, instantly reaching for Winifred's hand and squeezing it.

     Solomon lets out a proud chortle, setting his cup down on his saucer. "Bless me! What fine gentlemen my sons have turned out to be. Hugh will carry on the Erstwhile estate with shining example, Laurence is on his way to becoming a fine barrister, and my youngest... no less than a brave soldier."

     Everyone in the room lets out a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, often the usual response to Solomon's enthusiasm and eccentricity.

     "But Joseph, my boy, I would not mind some grandchildren..." the old man winks, half between sincerity and sarcasm.

     "You already have grandchildren!" Hugh points out, referencing his own daughter and two sons.

     "Well, I say the more, the merrier! And unless Lance has a wife we do not know about...?"

     "In your dreams, Papa," Lance grins.

The family laughs again, only this time Joseph and Winifred falter. They exchange a slightly nervous look between them, one which he masks better than she does. Perhaps he does not feel the same degree of doubt that his wife feels, about any prospect of them having a family together. She has seen how quickly the women around her were able to have children — Madeline, her sister-in-law, the list going on and on. But after three years of marriage... nothing.

     Winifred knows, of course, that Joseph has been overseas for a large portion of that time, but she cannot help but ask herself: Is she doing something wrong? It frustrates her even more, knowing how deeply her husband would love to be a father, and that she could not give that role to him right now. She watches him play with his nieces and nephews and is certain he would make the most wonderful parent. She hopes and prays that she would make a worthy mother, too.

     Joseph seems to take it all rather lightly. The one time she brought it up, he said they would simply keep trying, adding that he certainly did not mind their 'attempts' (that earned him a gentle smack against his arm with her book). But Winifred still feels a strange, self-sabotaging guilt.

     Please let this be our year, Winifred prays to some invisible force, wherever it might be.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     JOSEPH'S childhood home had welcomed Winifred the very day he introduced her to it. The house only a short carriage ride from the heart of Canterbury, it retained much of its centuries-old character, signs bearing of the Tudor manor house while tendrils of ivy crept over the brown-bricked exterior. The grass in the gardens had been bright emerald green and filled with memories of his youth. She could match her husband to the place, and it would keep bringing her a sense of comfort whenever she visited.

     However, returning to it now holds a different perspective.

     Winifred is unsettled by the guilt of not having paid an earlier visit. Between her period of deep mourning and ending up in London, she did not have the heart to see the Erstwhiles. Their faces paled with grief from the funeral have been cemented into her memory. And there is some part of her, the one that has more doubts than she used to, that cannot help but wonder what her relationship to her in-laws would be now. Without Joseph, what if it is... empty?

And on top of it all, the strange letter she received from her father-in-law has not helped things. What did he mean by 'urgent'?

It is a bright, sunny morning when Winifred steps out of the carriage. She is led through the house to speak with Solomon, encountering all its familiarity on her way — namely, a giant portrait of Susan Erstwhile, Joseph's late mother who she unfortunately never met. Influenza had claimed the beloved matriarch in his childhood. But in her painted form, she has the same twinkle in her blue eyes as Joseph always has. There is a portrait at the top of the stairs, too, which Winifred had almost forgotten about... one of the three brothers.

     Seeing him there is bittersweet. So instead, she focuses on being led to the office door where Solomon seems to reside. After a gentle knock, the servant lets himself in, announcing that there is a Mrs. Erstwhile to see him. Winifred has to search the room to find her father-in-law's head pop out from behind a stack of books — his thin frame and silver hair are instantly recognisable, although he seems perhaps a touch more frazzled than he usually does. He gives a jolt of surprise and lets out a delighted cry at seeing her in the room.

     "Bless me! Winifred... how are you, my dear girl?" Solomon has circled around to stand before her.

Just like always, she immediately feels the usual warmth in his presence, and she feels herself relax. "I'm very well, thank you, Solomon," Winifred smiles. "I should be asking you the very same thing."

"Oh, simply marvellous now that you have joined us," he gives her hand an appreciative squeeze. "I must say, it feels like an age since we last saw you... could it really have been that long?"

"I am afraid so," Winifred replies guiltily.

"To what do we owe such a pleasure, then?"

"Your letter, of course!"

"Pardon me?"

Solomon blinks at her cluelessly. Winifred, squinting slightly, tries to carefully remind him: "You sent me a letter, Solomon, do you not recall it? It was to summon me here to discuss... something," she adds. But it still seems to ring no bells for her father-in-law. How odd.

Just then, the door opens and in walks Hugh, Solomon's eldest son — he has always possessed a striking resemblance to his father, but inherited none of the eccentricity. He has always been a true country gentleman, the very model of an older brother (the latter being what Joseph used to tell her). He, too, seems happy but surprised to see Winifred here. She could at least hope for some answers from him.

"Winifred! I thought it was you," Hugh smiles at her. "How are you?"

"I am well, thank you," she replies, "but I was just coming to see... how... you were."

"Well, we are in relatively good health. Susan is growing up faster than I can—"

"Ah! The letter!" Solomon suddenly cries, making Hugh and Winifred jump. "I do recall sending something, actually..." However, as soon as he seems to try and remember the topic of the letter, he possesses that clueless look on his face again — it suddenly makes him look frail beyond his years. "Forgive me, dear Winifred, what exactly did I ask of you?"

"You sent Winifred a letter? When?"

"I do not know," she answers Hugh's question, perplexed and in growing frustration, "but it made a journey all the way to Grosvenor Square, then onward to Aubrey Hall where I am currently meant to be spending time as a chaperone to my sister with the Bridgertons."

"Really?" Hugh's brows fly upwards in surprise.

"Solomon, do you really not remember what you wrote?" Winifred gently asks her father-in-law, who has now lowered himself into his chair, mumbling incoherently as he stares quizzically at his desk. "You said there were urgent matters we had to speak of, because you were ailing. Those were your words."

He still does not reply. Hugh, however, lets out a groan — as if he has just realised something — and pinches the bridge of his nose. Winifred wonders what she is missing here, as he crosses over to the desk and tells Solomon something in a hushed voice. When will someone explain any of this to her? She did not make the trip all the way here for nothing. Finally, Hugh turns around and faces her, sighing.

"I am terribly sorry, Winifred," he says. "The 'urgent' matters my father was speaking of are, in fact, not so urgent that they should have to pull you from your engagements. We can easily discuss them another day. I think this was a case of him getting rather... carried away."

"Oh..."

It seems like a rather odd explanation, one which she is not sure she buys into. But it seems to be the one that Hugh insists on for now.

"Once again, I can only apologise."

"It is alright," Winifred replies out of politeness, but deep down, she cannot help but feel slightly inconvenienced.

Hugh takes a step forward, his arms behind his back. "Listen... we happen to be having a gathering of sorts today. Well, by 'gathering', I mean to say that my brother has found a spare moment away from his work, and on such a glorious day, we sought to take advantage of it. Would you like to stay for lunch? It would be better than returning to Aubrey Hall on an empty stomach."

She seriously debates the suggestion for a moment, but innate politeness remains the decider.

"... Yes, alright then. Thank you."

Winifred tries to mask her impatience with the whole situation until she has followed Hugh outside of Solomon's office. She would at least appreciate more of an explanation, rather than a simple diversion to having a meal together. They are halfway down their staircase when she stops in her tracks and tries to confront him.

"Forgive me," she says, "but your father seems considerably worse in health than I remembered him to be."

Hugh freezes. She watches his shoulders sink with a sigh, his expression pained as he turns around to face her. Clunk, clunk, clunk up the stairs go his riding boots, until he is stood face-to-face with Winifred.

"My brother's... death," he barely gets out, flinching at the word, "it took a great toll on all of us, my father most especially. I am sure you always remember him to be perhaps a tad forgetful. But things are different now. He seems to have undergone a change which I fear may be irreversible. He forgets things he did a mere few days before, and muddles his memories more frequently. It is why I have had to step in to begin taking over his work — though clearly, the matter of that letter he sent to you must have slipped through the cracks."

Winifred waves her hand through the air, as if to dismiss the last part. That is hardly important right now. "Is he getting better or worse with time?"

"... It is difficult to say. There is no mistaking that my father is a frail man now. So, who knows?"

A pang of regret tugs at her heart. Now she wishes that she had visited much sooner. She has always enjoyed Solomon, and to think that he really is ailing makes her suddenly want to grasp at the time slipping away.

"I am so sorry, Hugh," she tells him solemnly.

"We all are," he replies, smiling sadly.

There is a long pause between them of shared sympathies. But Winifred cannot help the fact that she is still curious... why was she summoned here?

"Since I am here now," Winifred says slowly, "what were these 'urgent' matters you wished to discuss with me."

"They are not that urgent, but I digress. It was merely to discuss your living situation in the long-term. About whether living at Highbourne is still the right thing for you."

A cold sweat breaks out across Winifred's spine. Living situation? Long-term? Bungled together in the same sentence, that seems to infer a very certain fate... but Hugh quickly jumps to dismiss it.

"Do not worry, we have no plans of displacing you from there. You are family." Hugh pauses, watching the colour return to her face. He, himself, seems to grow somber as another thought pops into his head. "The subject simply came up the other day because... well, I am sure you know this already, but a little over a month or two from today, it will be the one-year anniversary of Joseph's... death."

Winifred knows this is a fact. Of course she does. But only then, really, does it hit her:

Almost one year ago.

It feels like yesterday and a lifetime all at once.

"But as I said before," adds Hugh, "this does not need to be discussed yet, as long as you are contented enough there. There is time to discuss it at a later date... for now, I believe there is tea being served in the garden. Would you care for some?"

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     WINIFRED can remember Joseph telling her about how he used to play-fight in the garden here. Hugh and Lance were just that bit older than him, where they did not wish to muck about with their youngest brother. She can imagine him here, swash-buckling all alone or with his father, the clunk of wooden swords clashing and riotous laughter to be heard from afar... not to mention the rosy cheeks and younger, rounder face she can envision on a little Joseph.

     Now it is the next generation who run and play in the garden. Hugh's children — and therefore Winifred's niece and nephews — run about squealing and shrieking, while the adults sit at the sidelines and converse over freshly-made tea. After the other day, she finds herself anticipating the potent flavour of Kate's spice-infused tea, only to be met with the average cup she has known all her life. Solomon sips idly as his granddaughter runs up and starts chattering away to him.

     Hugh's wife, Lucy-Anne, is eager to know anything about the ton. "Winifred, what is the London season like? I have been confined to the country for much of my life."

     "I would not say you have been confined, dearest," Hugh scoffs, while his wife pats his hand jokingly.

     "It is... different," Winifred settles on. "Exhausting, frankly. There is much more focus on scandal and status there. The whole ton seems to revolve around the society papers, in particular a certain Lady Whistledown."

     "See, you say that, but I think one of our tenants could give this Whistledown a run for her money with how much she knows in the village."

     As both of the women laugh, Susan tears her eyes away from Solomon, now fully-invested in the conversation. She is ten years-old and curious about everything, it seems. "Do they wear pretty dresses?" she implores.

     "Yes," says Winifred, leaning forward, "very elegant dresses. We went to the finest modiste in town and had some custom-made for my sisters."

     Susan lets out an awed gasp, her amazement so infectious that Winifred cannot help but smile. The girl was the first niece she took under her wing, meeting her when she was only a toddler, and watching her grow up into a walking-talking, funny and intelligent girl has been a massive privilege. She still remembers the days when Susan couldn't say Joseph's name properly, instead calling him 'Uncle Joe-Joe'. And now here she is, highly perceptive of her surroundings... Winifred certainly noticed the pang of sadness on her face when she remembered that it would only be her aunt visiting today.

     In fact, according to Lucy-Anne, it had taken a lot of explaining before the younger children, George and Peter, could begin to comprehend that their Uncle Joseph was not coming back.

     Winifred sometimes thinks that she is still waiting for that epiphany, too.

     "Ah, here he is at last!" Hugh announces, with a tone of brotherly teasing in his voice. "Managed to find time for us in your schedule?"

     "The work never lets me rest, brother, and rest I shan't."

     Winifred recognises the voice instantly. She turns in her seat, seeing Laurence Erstwhile — or Lance, as everyone close to him calls him — walking across the lawn and removing his gloves. The middle brother is rarely seen these days for his job as a barrister in London (which he hopes, one day, will turn into a position as an MP). But when he is home, she remembers that he can be one of those few individuals where you can have an honest, open conversation with them.

     Upon noticing her, Lance gives a surprised smile. "Winifred! What brings you here?"

     Hugh quickly shakes his head, making a gesture to usher him away from that point of conversation. Clearly they are not speaking of the letter. Lance raises an eyebrow out of confusion.

     "Winifred was just telling us about the London social season. She has been accompanying her sisters, remember?" Lucy-Anne reminds him.

     "Ah, yes, I got wind of that," Lance says, brushing some lint from his top hat. "You should have mentioned that you were in town, I might've found time to pay you a visit. In fact, I am surprised we have not yet collided paths."

     "With all due respect, I think the spheres of London that you are mixing in are vastly different from mine."

     Winifred and Lance grin at each other, and he adds with a laugh: "That is true. I do not recall the Prime Minister having a preview of all the new debutantes."

     "And what about your corner of London, brother? Any news?" Hugh asks.

     Lance takes a seat, divulging to them stories of what he has been up to in his line of work — the way in which he tells the stories, animated and persuasive, make Winifred realise that it is no surprise he takes to the theatrics of a courtroom. One thing she does appreciate during the conversation, is that she and Lucy-Anne are easily included in it. The expectation might have been to bar the wives from what might be gentlemanly subjects, but the Erstwhile sons have never tried to push them out. They even welcome any contributions from the women. In moments like this, Winifred realises that on many levels, she really did strike gold with her in-laws.

     Soon enough, Solomon wishes to retire to his office again, and the children are getting hungry. Everyone heads back inside for lunch, continuing their conversation there. It is afterwards that Winifred steps out for some fresh air. On the terrace, Lance is staring out at the view of the countryside, trees whispering in the breeze. She takes a step forwards and accidentally snaps a twig; he whirls around and notices her presence.

     "Oh, it's just you..." Lance says. He seems like he was lost in thought.

     "Just me," Winifred echoes, walking up closer to him. "Is everything alright?"

     "Yes. I suppose I was just... thinking."

     A beat passes.

     "You seem well. You know... after everything."

     Does she? Some days, Winifred thinks she feels better than ever before, only to come crashing down again. But if that is how she seems to Lance...

     "I suppose I am taking each day as it comes," she says quietly.

     "Yes. Quite... my brother conveniently reminded me that the, uh... anniversary is on the horizon."

     "I know."

     They both go very still, very quiet, neither of them wanting to delve too much deeper. She wonders, then, if Lance had been thinking about Joseph when she walked out here and interrupted him. His strong jaw had appeared set in stone, instead of a charming smile. Before dwelling any longer, he gestures forwards and they begin to walk alongside the flower beds together.

     "So, I am curious... what was this mysterious letter that my brother refuses to speak of?" Lance asks slyly.

     Winifred sighs. "Your father sent it to me. I have no idea how it reached me the way it did, but he said there were urgent matters we had to speak of, and that he did not have much time because he was ailing. As it turns out, it is not as urgent as he made it out to be, and Hugh said we could discuss it at a later date."

     "Discuss what?"

     "... Highbourne."

     Lance furrows his brows. "Why, are you struggling there?"

     While being discreet about her finances, she figures that Lance is someone she could confide in about this. "No, I am handling things rather well. I have not been at home the last couple of months, of course, but have been keeping in touch with my housekeeper all the while to ensure that I am keeping on top of things. But... perhaps your brother does make a point."

     "How so?"

     "Well, I suppose in the long-term, it is rather... big. And all just for me? It hardly seems practical."

     "But do you like it there?"

     She wants to answer Yes and No at the same time. Of course she loves Highbourne, but there are also memories that haunt her in every room she enters. There is no clear-cut way to respond.

     "I think so," Winifred replies.

     The pair go quiet for a few moments, walking past the herb gardens and through the archway with draped floral arrangements over the top. Lance seems absorbed in thought, like he is calculating a solution to something, before he finally asks her: "Have you ever considered the option of re-marrying?"

     The question throws Winifred for a moment. Re-marrying? Of course she knew the option existed, but not for a single second had she ever thought to consider it. Settling down with another man, starting from scratch just so she can feel secure again... the idea seems completely foreign to her. So foreign, in fact, that she lets out a giggle.

     "Heavens no," she shakes her head. "Besides, who would I marry?"

     "... Me, perhaps?"

     Now Lance really must be jesting. Only when he sees his expression, completely serious and like he is on the precipice of what he sees to be a good idea, does she do a double take.

     "Laurence... what are you saying?" asks Winifred, slowly and cautiously.

     "Think about it for a moment, Winifred," Lance tries to explain; his large blue eyes seem brightened with opportunity at his thinking. "My career seems to be on the right track now. I would have enough to take care of you, and you could have a place in the city, in London. Or, if you wished for it, you could stay at Highbourne. You could have a husband to look after you again!"

     "Please tell me that you are not in earnest!"

     "Well... yes, actually, I am."

     Her jaw drops as she splutters, "Are you– are you proposing?"

     "If you think that could be a solution?" 

     Winifred could explode right now. And if she did not have a better grasp of how to conduct herself, she would have been tempted to slap some sense back into him. Not in any world could she have seen this coming. In fact, she still cannot bring herself to believe that Lance thinks this a good idea. She whips her head around incredulously, eyes wide and checking if anyone else heard this absurd idea, before she splutters and stammers to formulate some kind of response. Lance already seems to regret saying it — if her reaction is any indication, this was not a good idea.

     "A solution..." she whispers, before suddenly bursting out into a much harsher tone, "For goodness sake, Lance! You cannot just spring that question upon me out of nowhere!"

     "I– I'm sorry! I just thought that—"

     "Except that you clearly did not think at all. What am I supposed to say to that, when you put me in such a position?"

     "It was just an idea, I did not mean any harm..." Lance raises his hands in the air in surrender, genuinely apologetic.

     Pressing her fingers against her temples, overwhelming herself at the emotional reaction she felt, Winifred inhales deeply. "You have never wished to marry, you told me that yourself. You enjoy being independent. Perhaps your intentions are good by asking for my hand, but they as good as misguided, let me tell you! I cannot... I will not settle for something else, just because my husband is no longer here."

     Lance swallows thickly. "I know. You are right. And I can only apologise. That was... I should have thought about how that would feel for you, I..."

     He sinks down into a wooden bench up against the brick wall, collapsing with embarrassment. Winifred takes a seat next to him, still baffled at the whole situation, which — after her initial horror — has simply turned into the most painfully awkward moment she has ever known. Maybe she should have expected Lance to come up with something like this. Too often, she remembers, he comes up with solutions to things in the most pragmatic way, things that make sense on paper, and completely neglects the implications for the feelings of others; like he is finding a way to win a case.

     However, if one thing has become vitally clear to Winifred, it is how strongly she feels about the option of re-marrying. Until now, she had not felt confronted by that potential outcome. But her knee-jerk reaction to a mere suggestion of a proposal illustrated it perfectly — she could never re-marry out of convenience.

     "Could we perhaps... forget that I ever asked?" Lance suggests feebly.

     "Yes," Winifred gives a weak nod, "I think that would be wise."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     UPON Winifred's return to Aubrey Hall, the setting sun is glaring off each stainless window of the mansion. Abigail comes bounding down the steps to meet her by the time she has walked into the entrance — her sister overflows with excitable stories of the day.

     It turns out that Abigail and Daphne hit things off immediately, spending the day together playing cards in the garden, enjoying music in the drawing room and, of course, sharing some time with Colin. The duchess had been a most reliable chaperone indeed. She also mentions that Kate had retired early after she was stung by a bee in the morning and seemed "quite perturbed" by the whole ordeal. Winifred did not take the eldest Sharma sister to react like that, but she dismisses it.

"I'm so sorry, I completely forgot to ask how your day was!" Abigail cringes at herself, but listens intently for an answer.

     Winifred thinks back on her rollercoaster of a day with the Erstwhiles. How can she pin it down in one word?

     "... Eventful," she replies.

     "So is everything sorted? That urgent business?"

     "For now, yes. I am all yours again."

     Winifred does not have much of an appetite, and would rather prefer to retire to her room for a while. Abigail, meanwhile, is excited to join Daphne and play with baby Augie in the drawing room. So they bid each other good night until tomorrow. Each step that Winifred takes up the staircase feels a little bit heavier than the next, a million thoughts ruminating in her head: about the Erstwhiles, about marriage, about Joseph. On top of the completely unexpected 'proposal' Lance threw at her like it was a mere suggestion, she keeps thinking about what Hugh said about the one-year anniversary approaching.

     Now she cannot stop thinking about it at all. It sticks to her like a leech, slowly sucking the good spirits out of her.

     On her way to her room, she hears familiar voices muffled behind a sealed door — Daphne and Colin seem to be chatting. Winifred does not think to eavesdrop until she hears her sister's name being thrown into a sentence. Stopping dead in her tracks, she pretends to look at a painting while overhearing what they have to say...

     "— I never said that Abigail was not a nice girl," Daphne insists. "In fact, she is better company than most of the ton at its best."

"So what on Earth is your issue?" Colin demands; more pleading than anything.

"It is not so much an issue, but rather an observation. I just wonder if you are... rushing into things with this young lady."

"How so?"

Daphne sighs impatiently, but keeps her calm tone as she speaks. "Abigail is definitely the sort who wishes to be married and have a family. She reminds me of myself in that sense. Therefore, she deserves to have a proper courtship, with someone who will go all the way with committing to her. You are still intending to travel, are you not? Would you take her with you? Can you envision such a future with her?"

When her brother tries to speak up, she silences him again:

"I know a thing or two about rushing into a marriage, trust me... and with all due respect, Colin, your swift engagement to Marina Thompson last year was nothing short of impulsive—"

"That was different. Abigail is... different," Colin cuts her off, determined to sound certain of himself. "Anyway, it was Mama who suggested the invitation, so she clearly approves this time."

There is another sigh from Daphne, a more strained one. "Can I be completely honest with you?"

Colin lets out a slight nervous scoff. "What, you haven't already?"

"I think the two of you lack that spark. You two have a very amiable friendship, and perhaps a casual flirtation, but... I struggle to see you both as husband and wife. Can you look me in the eyes and honestly say that you would be willing to propose to her right now?"

Winifred has heard enough. She steps away from the door, briskly walking back down the hallway and shutting herself inside her guest room. There is a mix of confusion, revelation, sadness and a strange relief. From the drawing room, she can hear a chorus of Abigail's lighthearted laughter dancing with the delicate notes of Francesca playing the piano. Perhaps the worst thing is that Winifred can mostly agree with what Daphne was saying — she is not sure that this match will end in a marriage, either...

So where does that leave them?

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

Happy Valentine's Day! (Or should I say, HAPPY BRIDGERTON CONTENT DAY!!! Bouncing off the walls with excitement!!). To mark the special occasion, I thought it would be fitting to write some more Bridgerton, although this chapter wasn't really that romantic... unless you count the impulsive "proposal" that Lance made to Winifred. I know that felt WILD, and it was supposed to, but in my view, Lance sees things really pragmatically as something he could "solve". Also, being proposed to like that makes Winifred realise that she could not be in a marriage of convenience. She was literally like:

What did we think of the Erstwhile family? They are still grieving a lot, but I really enjoyed writing their dynamic with Winifred, and how different it is than with some other characters. The flashback also introduced the struggles that they had with trying to have a child, which will continue to be explored in the next couple of flashbacks as well.

Would anyone be interested in a chapter detailing family trees and/or an extended cast list? I'm just aware that I am adding a lot of extra characters, and it could be confusing for you guys. It might be a little while yet depending on how Act Two / Season Three goes, but if this is something you guys would find helpful as a reader, please let me know!

Thanks for reading! The next chapter is the Hearts and Flowers ball, and I think there will be some moments you'll really like.

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 14/02/2024