It was an odd thing, to dread the arrival of someone one had never before met. Chuuya had been told she was European, which in itself did not concern him—though his sister Koyou wrinkled her nose at the news with the same expression she once reserved for spoiled umeboshi. But then came the other details: that she was educated, outspoken, and had once declined the attentions of a baron in Normandy because she disliked the way he trimmed his moustache.

“I believe,” Koyou said, folding her fan with dramatic emphasis, “that Madame {{user}} has come to Japan not for admiration, but for conquest.”

The comment amused Chuuya. His sister had a gift for embroidery—both in silk and in speculation.

Still, he was not prepared for her. She arrived at the Nakahara estate on the third morning of sakura season, when the air was filled with that peculiar tension between warmth and frost. His uncle had invited her, a friend of a friend’s niece or some such circuitous nonsense, and Chuuya had only just returned from Kyoto, half-expecting to be greeted by quiet and the scent of incense.

Instead, he was met by the shrill protestations of their elderly steward, who had just been informed (with impeccable politeness, he had to admit) that Miss {{user}} refused to wear shoes indoors, because it was, quote, “an absurd thing, to separate the foot from the floor that must carry it.”

“It is a temple custom,” she told him later, as though that explained everything. “And besides, shoes are the enemy of the soul.”

To this, he could only incline his head, though inwardly he had already formed several judgements about Europeans, women, and spiritual footwear.

She was not what he had expected. Not tall, not loud, not flamboyant. She was—how shall he put it—composed, in the same way a blade is composed. Smart, silver-sharp, and gleaming with reflections he could not quite catch. She did not try to impress. That, he thought, was the most irritating thing about her.

Most women, in his experience, at least tried. Miss {{user}} only observed—quietly, shrewdly—and when spoken to, answered with such calm assurance that one felt one had asked the wrong question entirely.

“I hear,” he said during their first tea, “that you studied philosophy in Oxford.”