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He closed his book, but beyond that, he was frozen. He didn’t know what to do, what to say.

He was being ridiculous. He had, moments ago—speaking of ridiculous—been trying to lure her here with the power of his mind. What had been his aim then?

He opened the book, extracted a ribbon, and held it out to her. “Archie and Effie and I went on an excursion today. We visited a town some ten miles off. We were walking down the street and I saw this on the ground. It is a mere scrap, of course. But I thought of you.”

What was he saying? I saw a dirty bit of ribbon on the ground and it make me think of you?

“I tried to clean it as well as I could. And I didn’t know if you’d want to cut off the frayed edge, so I left it alone. It’s too small for any useful purpose, but since you mentioned your collection is largely ornamental, I thought you might like it.”

He should stop talking.

It was difficult, but he managed it.

Which left him sitting before Miss Brown, holding a frayed bit of ribbon.

She didn’t take it. She didn’t speak. She didn’t do anything.

He had made a mistake.

But, no, it appeared that she had been frozen, too. For once she came to life, she took the ribbon with her eyes shining.

“It is beautiful, my lord.”

“Will you please stop my-lord–ing me!” he whisper-yelled.

She looked up from the ribbon, and he knew what she was thinking. She could hardly call him Simon in this setting, even though they were apart from the others.

“Don’t call me anything,” he amended.

“What if I call you kind?” She turned the ribbon over in her hands. “This is a beauty.”

“I know it is green, and you already have at least one green ribbon.” He closed his mouth. He had attempted to do something kind, to make a gift. He shouldn’t apologize for it.

“I have nothing this color,” she said. “This is a green so dark, it is almost black. I have never seen the likes of this hue.”

“That is what I thought. It is so dark, it would be suitable for mourning, yet it is also so striking that it doesn’t seem somber whatsoever.”

“Thank you,” she said, and, turning her head so she was fully faced away from the larger group, she mouthed, “Simon.”

It was a complete and utter thrill.

“Tell me about how your ribbon collection started.” He wanted to know everything about her. He supposed that wasn’t new, but he was newly aware of this wanting. It had become a surface-level desire.

“I was quite young. I’d always liked ribbons. What girl doesn’t, I suppose. But I like to think I always had a practical streak, even when my family was enjoying happy, prosperous times. A ribbon could embellish an otherwise plain garment, or update it for a new Season. I found it almost like a game, to remake an old dress.

“But it was just a game. There were new dresses, and hats. We weren’t rich, but we were comfortable. But then we started to fall from fortune, and my habit became less about clever thrift and more about survival. We learned how to darn and, as I told you, my sister was quite an accomplished seamstress. She became one out of necessity.”

He murmured a vague affirmation. He wanted her to keep going. He was thrilled that she was speaking so easily, and at such length.

“I kept buying ribbons, though, when I found myself with a coin or two, which for many years was exceedingly infrequently. And then when I came to stay with Lady Harcourt, I took my first wages and went right out and bought a ribbon. The tulip-stem-green one I previously told you about, in fact.” She rubbed two fingers together as if she were feeling the ribbon in question. “I don’t know why. At that point, I had many more pressing needs than a ribbon.”

“But were ribbons not pressing, in their own way?”

“I can’t see how. They were illogical purchases. What sense does it make to buy ribbons when one is in dire financial circumstances?” She smiled. “Perhaps it was an act of rebellion.”

“I think it was an act of self-preservation.”

She tilted her head, struck her thinking pose. “What do you mean?”