Spending time with her mother alleviated some of her loneliness, but as time passed Antoinette felt she needed to spend more time with other people. She was not a child, and regardless of how much she appreciated her mother's tenderness and attention, she still felt abandoned when she was not able to spend time with others of her own age.

“Mother, I would like to spend some more time with my friends,” Antoinette said as her mother and a maid brought her breakfast.

“That is a fantastic idea, my dear,” her mother replied. “The doctor says that you are unlikely to be contagious by now, so it would be quite safe for someone to visit. Who shall I send for?”

Antoinette paused. On the one hand, she wished to see her suitors. But she also knew how inappropriate it would be to ask to see men before she was able to leave her bed and dress in suitable attire in which to greet them. “It would be very nice to see Mary,” she finally said.

“I shall send a messenger to see if Mary and Duke Haskett are still with Duke Godwin. I heard that His Grace has not yet fully recovered, so perhaps they are still there. And I am sure Mary would love to hear that you are doing well, and would be most pleased to see you.” Lady Byrd left Antoinette with her breakfast and went to write the letter.

The morning passed and Antoinette waited eagerly to see her beloved cousin. But when Lady Byrd returned, it was not with good news.

“I am sorry, but apparently Mary is home with her parents. She too is ill,” Lady Byrd explained.

Antoinette shook her head. “When did this happen?”

“I did not know about it until the messenger returned,” Lady Byrd replied. “Last I heard she and Duke Haskett were still caring for Duke Godwin, and I was told that by some visitors only two days ago. I can only assume that she has taken ill most suddenly.”

“Is she doing alright? How bad is her condition?” Antoinette asked.

Lady Byrd shook her head. “The messenger did not say anything of that. I shall write to my sister and see if she can tell us more about it. I do hope Mary is staying strong.”

Antoinette sighed a little. She felt terrible for her poor cousin, who was most likely suffering just as she had suffered for those first few days. However she also felt a little sorry for herself, and the lack of company which she would continue to endure. Unless...

“Maybe I should visit Mary?” she suggested.

Lady Byrd paused to ponder this. “I do not believe that is a good idea. We do not know if this ailment can afflict a person more than once. If in the midst of your recovery you were exposed to it once again you could become ill once again, and then you could be putting your very life at risk. No, you must both be in recovery before a visit may occur.

Antoinette pursed her lips. Of course her mother was right. But that didn't make it pleasant. She wanted to socialize and she had very few options, especially with the Christmas holidays approaching and so many people travelling in preparation, or visiting families, or simply too overwhelmed to visit her.

“Perhaps we ought to ask after Lucy?” Antoinette suddenly said, feeling a little more hopeful.

“I believe Lucy is visiting her grandparents in Kent,” Lady Byrd replied. “She will not be back for a week.”

Antoinette's heart sank a little. “Is there anyone else you could think of?” she asked cautiously.

Lady Byrd shook her head. “In your present condition you cannot see anyone who is lacking in robustness, or who is already ill, or any men. I am afraid I shall have to do.”

Antoinette sighed.

Lady Byrd, sitting down on the side of her daughter's bed, petted Antoinette's hair. “Is it that disappointing to spend some more time with your own mother?”

Antoinette laughed nervously. “Not at all. It is only that... I would so much love to see my friends. And I cannot see any of them. I am a people person, and seeing only one other person who is not a maid is a little dull for my liking.”

“But if you marry then you may have to live like that,” Lady Byrd observed. “Many men are not fond of their wives socialising without their company, and would much prefer to see you at home with the children.”

Antoinette hesitated. Her mother was right. When we were married she would not have the same level of freedom which her parents afforded her. “But then all the more reason to be sociable now,” Antoinette retorted. “If I shall not see many friends when I am married, why ought I abstain from seeing them whilst I can?”

Lady Byrd smiled. “That is most true. I shall ask as to any other of your friends and acquaintances. I am sure one or two of them will be able to pay you a visit.”

As her mother left the room again, Antoinette sighed in frustration. She was sick of being there. Sick of being cooped up and bored out of her mind. She wanted to see people and to talk to them, and to laugh and catch up on events and feel the true Christmas spirit. She wanted to go to Church and walk in the gardens and feel the sun on her face and find out if it was snowing at all in the mornings yet. She wanted to wear beautiful dresses and feel the wind in her hair. And yet there she was, cooped up indoors, where it was stuffy and humid and dull, without anyone to talk to most of the day.

Duke Godwin was still ill, Lucy was away, and Mary was ill too now. She was running out of close friends who could visit, and she was not sure what etiquette said about inviting acquaintances to see her whilst she was ill. They would risk getting ill themselves. And they would be missing out on all sorts of fun events which usually take place around that time of year. It would not be fair. But was it fair on her to be stuck inside on her own all the time?

A knock at the door got her hopes up. It did not sound like her mother, so she knew she had a visitor. Sitting upright, she briefly wondered who she would prefer it to be, before concluding that anyone was better than nobody. She adjusted the blankets to ensure she looked appropriate, and briefly looked towards the mirror to ensure her hair was tidy enough.

“Come in,” she finally called out.

The door shook a little as it was eased open tentatively. There stood a slightly tired looking young woman, still in her travel dress, coat, and gloves. It was Cecilia. She looked a little worn out, and her clothes were a bit tatty and dirty, but she was forcing herself to smile, albeit lightly.

Antoinette was elated to see her sister. She grinned and beckoned her to come in. “Cecilia! This is a fantastic surprise. How are you?”

The slight trepidation left Cecilia's expression as she made her way into the room, closing the door softly behind her. “I am well, I am well... but what about you? You look dreadful.”

Taking off her coat and gloves, Cecilia walked over to the chair by Antoinette's bed and sat down.

Antoinette shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I am much better than I have been. I may look very unwell still, but I can assure you I am recovering.”

“That is fantastic to hear,” Cecilia insisted. “I am so glad I came, though. You looked so lonely.”

Antoinette tried not to let herself fall back into self-pity. She had her sister for company now. However lonely she was feeling before no longer mattered. “I have you for company now, though.”

“But surely your friends could have spared a few moments to spend with you?” Cecilia replied, sounding a little frustrated.

Antoinette shook her head. “At this time of year, I would not expect anyone to risk their health and wellbeing for me, jeopardizing their holiday plans.”

“And what of your noble suitors?” Cecilia said, shaking her head. “Not one is here by your side? Did you not spend several days caring for one who was ill himself?”

Antoinette shrugged. “He is still ill, he cannot be expected to come here and care for me.”

“Is he your only suitor, then?” Cecilia asked, leaning in a little.

Antoinette was beginning to feel suspicious of Cecilia's true intentions. It seemed she was just there to stir up some trouble. But she could not be rude to her sister, especially not when Cecilia seemed to, in her own strange way, genuinely care for Antoinette. “No, I have a few. Only two serious suitors, but some men have expressed interest.”

“They only care about the status and money. Of which there is none to be had,” Cecilia replied. “You ought to lose them, they are vultures. All of them.”

“What do you mean none? And I am sure they care for me very much. They are simply otherwise occupied,” Antoinette snapped back.

“But of course, they do not care for you,” Cecilia insisted. “Are any of them here now?”

Antoinette did not know what to reply to this. She simply looked aside. Cecilia was right. None of them had come to see her. Neither of her supposed serious suitors, but her less serious candidates had also failed to so much as ask after her, or send her some flowers.

“Antoinette...” Cecilia began, her voice softening a little more. “You do so much for these men. And for our parents. For everyone. You sacrifice so much for everyone else and you get so little in return. How can you bear with it?”

Antoinette shrugged. “I suppose I derive enough pleasure from helping others that I do not need to receive anything else in return so as to continue helping them.”

Cecilia sighed. “That has always been your problem, Antoinette. You have always cared more about the wellbeing of others than your own. And look where it gets you. Here you are, recovering from an illness you most certainly would not have caught had you not been caring for a man who was ill. A man who is not even your husband. So you put your decency at stake as well as your health. Let's hope only one has been affected.”

“I assure you, only one had been affected,” Antoinette replied indignantly.

Cecilia shook her head. “I did not mean to insult your virtue, sister... but decency is not what happens in reality, but what happens in here,” she tapped her forehead, “within the minds of the public. They do not care what you really did or did not do. All they care about is that someone or other tells them something or other and if it sounds enough like gossip they will swallow it all. Let's hope that it is only our own family which knows of what has occurred, and that the gossips and fools do not ruin you with rumours.”

Antoinette fell silent again. It was as though Cecilia were delving deep into her own mind and pulling up all her subconscious thoughts and concerns. But of course it was. Because her fears were reasonable. These were things which actually happened to real people, people just like herself and her sister. Antoinette sighed. “I suppose you are right,” she admitted, “but what else am I supposed to do? The men which I am courting are so far ahead of us in terms of wealth and status, I must work hard to impress and please them.”

“Must you?” Cecilia asked, an eyebrow raised.

“If I wish to marry one of them I must,” Antoinette replied.

“Then do not marry one of them,” Cecilia replied.

“If I marry a man of lesser status and wealth then I will end up...” Antoinette trailed off, but Cecilia looked up and locked eyes with her.

“Like me.” It was not a question. It was a statement. It was the end of the sentence as it had taken place in both their minds.

Antoinette knew better than to try and deny it. She shrugged and averted her eyes from her sister's.

“And then, even so, you will be expected to sacrifice it all,” Cecilia resumed with another heavy sigh. “Nothing that we do will ever be good enough. Nothing that we give will ever be sufficient. We are expected to sacrifice again and again, for whichever man has been placed above us. We are expected to give up who we are and all we have and for what? For the sheer joy of raising his children as he spends my parents' money on his ridiculous dreams? It's all a lie, Antoinette... you don't need to do it.”

Antoinette felt a strange sensation taking over her. As though she were beginning to realize something which she had not considered until that very moment. Something important. Her sister had just arrived and walked in, dressed still in her travel clothes. She was distressed about Antoinette's choices, and about her own circumstances. And nobody had been announced when she had arrived.

“Cecilia... where is John?” Antoinette asked.

“I neither know nor care,” Cecilia replied bluntly.

Antoinette blinked. Then she looked down at her own feet again. She was not sure what she could possibly answer to this. She understood what her sister was implying. But... she had never heard of it happening in people of their own class. Of course, poorer people would walk out of their marriage all the time. Antoinette had often heard gossip among the servants concerning a husband or a wife leaving to live with their parents, then reuniting, then separating again. Such matters would go on for months or years unresolved. But she had assumed it was a concern for the poor and uneducated. Not for people like her. Not for people like Cecilia. And she found herself, for the first time in her life, genuinely without a single thought on the matter. It was not a problem she could solve. Or something she could joke about. Or even something to mull over.

It was as though she had awoken that morning to find the sky bright yellow and the sun black. It was something which did not happen. It had never even crossed her mind. And she found it ever so hard to think of it as real, even as it happened before her.