"Then maybe you need help, except you are too pompous to ask nicely," said Mrs. Phellipe, as the wrinkle lines on her lips, thinned at that moment. "But the issue is not that you cannot be helped. The issue is that you are still unsure of what you want to do."
Louisa sighed, "What I want to do is accept my place and go back home."
"What place if I may ask?" Mrs. Phellipe's eyes met Louisa's.
"Accept that I lost, and they won."
"Hazel—"
"No. Look." Louisa stood up, raising her voice. "I am tired of going round in circles over this conversation. Can we just drop this talk? I want to enjoy my last season in this house and this," she flicked her fingers from herself to the housekeeper and back in a quick flex, "is not helping."
Mrs. Phellipe parted her lips to speak but got slowed by the creak of the bedroom door. Louisa looked past her shoulder and began strutting hesitantly towards the doorway.
