December the 13th, 1844
"Missss Beeeelleee…are you over here? Missss Beeeelleee…oh!"
"Good evening, Violet."
"Ohhh Miss Belle! Whatever are you doing in the dark like this?"
"The oil in the lamp ran out."
"Well aren't you lucky I came looking for you? I have my own candle after all and…oh!"
As the jagged little circle of light fell upon the table Miss Belle was sitting at so despondently, it revealed a pair of the finest gloves Violet had ever seen. They weren't spectacular gloves, not like the ones she would have when she married a prince and had twenty silk pairs, all embroidered with pearls, oh no no no. But these rather suited Miss Belle better, these doe brown gloves made of something warm and sturdy, probably lined for extra warmth.
"What beautiful gloves you have, Miss Belle. Are they an early Christmas present from someone?" To Violet's knowledge, Miss Belle had nobody in the world: no children, no husband, no sisters or brothers, or even elderly aunts. And, also to Violet's knowledge, expensive gloves were not a casual present from a distant friend or acquaintance.
Expensive gloves were, and here Violet's eyes widened and she gasped, a courting gift.
Miss Belle put two fingers to the bridge of her nose and sighed in exasperation. "They are indeed a gift, Violet, but I would suggest you get back to the kitchen, as it is not yet the end of the day, Cook needs you, and Madam Fairweather is about."
Violet stared. "This isn't like you, Miss Belle."
"No indeed, Violet. But I am quite unwell today, and you are being…quite forward."
"Very well, I shall leave you, then." As she retreated with the light, leaving Miss Belle in shadows again, Violet wondered if love made older people cranky, or if it was simply a fantastically strong headache.