wildflower chapter 10

“I anticipated you would be concerned, Master Cairn, so I placed her in the room closest to yours.” Jeffrey finished his report alone in the empty room. Having witnessed various human relationships throughout his long life, even Jeffrey found the connection between these two rather peculiar.

Or perhaps, special.

***

Cairn dismissed Matilda with a glance and brought a stool to sit beside the bed. “Jeffrey said he found you collapsed in front of the bookstore.”

Lilian felt a pang of embarrassment at having been seen in such a vulnerable state.

“You could have been seriously hurt. Are you alright? Are you in any pain?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

“Do I look like I’m not going to fuss?” Cairn placed his hand on Lilian’s forehead. A slight fever lingered, but it didn’t seem serious.

“I’ve informed Count de Vermore, so rest here until morning.”

“Thank you.”

Dusk was settling in. The twilight illuminated the dim bedroom, and Lilian’s faded brown hair spread across the white sheets. Cairn, knowing Lilian couldn’t sleep alone, remained in the room, gazing at her face.

“I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

Under his watchful gaze, she closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Finally, she tossed and turned, then sat up.

“Um… Cairn.”

“Shh, lie down.”

“No. I have something to tell you.” She tried to defy his firm command.

“Then tell me while you’re lying down.”

“Fine.” She reluctantly lay back down. There was something she desperately wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat. She glanced sideways at him.

“What is it?”

“It’s… hard to say.”

“Your mouth seems to be working just fine.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Lilian snapped. Cairn smiled wryly, amused by her strong reaction to his lighthearted tease.

“Lilian, did you send a letter to the address I gave you?”

“Yes. Thanks to you, I was able to send a fan letter to Ashbourne. Thank you.” Recently, with the help of the Grand Duke of Headington, who was acquainted with the publishing house president, Lilian had been able to send a letter to Ashbourne.

“Do you like him that much?”

“Him? To Ashbourne? How rude!”

Cairn shrugged. 

“You haven’t read The Theory of Love, have you?” 

He coughed. “…No, I read it. You recommended it.”

“Oh? You read it? I thought you hated ridiculous romantic novels like that.”

“And when did I say that?”

Lilian felt a surge of pride seeing Cairn had diligently read her recommendation.

“Did you ask the author what you wanted to ask?”

“Yes…”

“What were you so curious about?”

“I asked how I could write as well as they do.” Lilian had sent a long letter to Ashbourne, the author of The Theory of Love. Ten pages were devoted to praising their writing, and the remaining page contained her dilemma. She had carefully concealed the fact that she was the popular author, Clarice.

The advice Ashbourne offered to the humble aspiring writer was concise and clear:

[To the lovely Lilian de Vermore,

First, thank you for your enthusiastic praise of my work. Judging by your letter, you already possess the qualities of a writer, but if I may offer some advice…]

Ashbourne briefly shared their views on writing, then added the main point:

[Above all, experience is key.

With sincere affection,

Ashbourne, a veteran of countless loves.]

“What did the author say?”

“They said experience is key…” Lilian blinked, her eyes filled with worry.

“I like your writing better.”

“Huh? What?”

“I like the letters you write to me better than that Theory of Love nonsense.”

It was probably a lie to comfort her, but she appreciated it. Cairn pulled back the covers slightly and began massaging her hand.

“Is your digestion acting up again? You always suffer when you’re unwell.”

“Yes. Press a little harder.”

He applied more pressure. “But Lilian, you already write well. What more do you want to achieve? Your writing is beautiful.”

“Writing well isn’t just about using flowery language. True writing resonates with the reader’s heart. My writing…”

“You’re not secretly writing opinion pieces or anything, are you?”

“No! No! That’s not what I meant. I’ve never shown my writing to anyone besides you, except in letters. It’s just…if I were to formally publish a book…it would probably be nothing more than a collection of pretty words.”

“How can you know that before you try?”

Because I’ve already tried. Lilian felt frustrated at being unable to be honest about her situation. In the conservative Clat Empire, there were many women writers, but they were all commoners. Occasionally, noblewomen wrote as well, but their names could only be found in the opinion sections of newspapers.

None wrote romantic novels.

She looked past Cairn, out the darkened window. He snapped his fingers, drawing her attention back to him.

“You know you’ve been acting strangely lately, right?”

It was hard to deceive his keen eyes.

“What’s bothering you?”

“Um…yes.”

“What is it? I’ll help you.”

“You will?”

“Yes. Just tell me honestly.”

“If I tell you… will you really help me? Truly?”

“Yes.”

“Can you swear it?”

As if surrendering to her persistence, Cairn raised his hand and nodded. “I swear it. On the honor of Headington.”

This was a rare opportunity. For him to say that meant he would undoubtedly fulfill her request.

“Really? Then…” Lilian quickly sat up and leaned against the headboard.

Should I ask him this? But if not him, then who?

She didn’t know the stages of intimacy between a man and a woman, but surely this much was permissible between friends? She racked her brain, but no answer came. Before her thoughts could conclude, her mouth opened of its own accord.

“Cairn, would you kiss me?”

A sudden silence fell over the darkened room.