February 14th, 1891 — London
Jo realized after she sent the owl to Zelda that her last few sentences were likely a mistake. Zelda was obviously already irritated towards her and all Jo had done was fan the flames. However, she was nothing but polite and friendly in her first two letters. She was eager to explain the situation, happy to promise that nothing would or had ever happened between her and Alfred. But, that wasn't enough for Zelda. No, Zelda needed details that Jo didn't feel comfortable divulging. (Just as she wouldn't be comfortable speaking of her friendship with Zelda to Alfred. Or any of her other friends for that matter.)
Obviously, Jo would never disclose that her and Alfred spent more time being skin to skin than any friends ought to have. Not because she was ashamed to admit it or because she thought something could eventually become of them, but out of self-preservation. Naked cuddling wasn't something that was done in England. Not for comfort, not for reassurance. In fact, sex was so repressed here that a woman's bloody fucking ankle was seen as scandalous! An ankle! Jo continued to live in a state of disbelief over that particular etiquette lesson.
She left for Alfred's flat straight from Zach's, not bothering to dress more than her simple house dress and her hair loose over her shoulders. Regardless of whatever the issue was with Zelda, he was still Alfred and wouldn't care if she sat crosslegged on his sofa to explain. "I can explain," she announced in lieu of greeting as she swept the dust from her dress. "And I'm sorry, too, for allowing her frustration to seep onto me. Shouldn't have done that."