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“Who, Alvin?” Clara stuck her tongue out in repulsion. “Sophia, that was ages ago, and I never even spoke to him. And he was just a boy!”
“You’re right. That Edward Morton is a man, and a handsome one at that,” Sophia replied with a low whistle. “Clearly my good taste has finally rubbed off on you, if only a little.”
“But this is such a silly fantasy! Surely he wouldn’t return my affections!” she moaned.
“And just why not? As you never fail to illustrate, you’re smart as a whip, and while that quality will not get you far with the upper classes, surely a mouldy young inkhorn like him appreciates such things! More importantly, you’re as pretty a girl as he’s ever had around this dreary old house, that’s for certain!”
“Even though we are different in station?”
Sophia opened her mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. “I…don’t think that will be a problem. Besides, why get ahead of yourself? You’re not thinking of marrying the chap, after all—just enjoy the experience!”
“But even if it’s not a problem in itself…I just don’t know what to do with these feelings!” Clara burst. “I’ve never felt like this before. What do I do? What do I say?”
Sophia tsked and reached an arm around Clara’s shoulders to pull her into a friendly hug. “My dear, sweet Clara,” she said. “I could give you all the advice in the world, you could read the most insightful words of the most brilliant poets in history, and it would do you absolutely no good. You have to make your own mistakes.”
She rubbed a hand enthusiastically on Clara’s back and gave her a warm, caring smile. “All you have to do is what comes naturally.”
