wildflower chapter 13

Cairn had never truly been friends with Lilian. She was as capricious as ever, her audacity now replaced with a familiar willfulness. He retrieved a cigarette from a hidden leather case and lit it.

“Master Cairn, Lady Frederick left a formal letter requesting your presence in Pushburn.” The footman, lingering after the Grand Duke and Duchess’s departure, discreetly inquired about the letter’s fate.

“Throw it away,” Cairn said curtly, causing the footman to inhale sharply. Simultaneously, Cairn took a languid drag of his cigarette. “Or burn it.” A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face as he delved into a distant memory. As the de Vermore carriage rounded the corner, his expression became more pronounced. A sardonic smile played on his lips, his grip on the cigarette refined yet imbued with a quiet authority.

The smoke, initially sweet, turned bitter as it curled from his mouth. He was willing to indulge Lilian’s little games for a while if that’s what she desired. Especially if it was the only way to remain by her side. Though he wasn’t sure how long his patience would hold.

Slowly, carefully, tenderly. Cairn meticulously reviewed his strategy, determined not to make a mistake.

***

Lilian woke late. Her delicate constitution meant that even the slightest exertion left her exhausted the following day.

“You’re awake?”

“Yes, good morning, Matilda. Or rather, good afternoon.” Still nestled in her bed, she replied in a sleep-laden voice.

“And breakfast?”

She wasn’t hungry, but her palate craved something.

“I overate yesterday. Just some warm milk and a few figs, please.”

“Certainly, just a moment.”

Lilian stretched, a wide yawn escaping her lips, and slipped out of bed. Shuffling in her slippers, she sat at her desk and began to write.

A short while later, Matilda returned with a tray.

“Matilda, send this by the fastest post.” Lilian had written to Lady Frederick, inviting her to dine in Oldtown in four days. She’d made sure to include the crucial detail that Cairn would be accompanying her.

“Yes, Miss.”

Sipping her milk, Lilian reread Love Covered in Filth. She marked weak passages and added notes. That insertion scene, you mean?

The parts the noblewomen had unanimously criticized… those remained uncharted territory. She circled and starred the suggestive paragraphs, her curiosity piqued.

What would it be like to experience the passionate lovemaking Ashbourne described? Was it truly breathtaking? There was more than one way, weren’t there? Did they all feel different? Ashbourne claimed a man’s size didn’t matter, but why did the noblewomen disagree?

Perhaps… Ashbourne was a man?

Lilian fidgeted, lost in thought. A few days prior, alone in her bath, she had briefly considered exploring the hidden folds of her own anatomy, but she couldn’t bring herself to commit such an indecent act. Instead, she had simply looked, her first glimpse disappointing her with its strange, red flesh, reminiscent of the underside of a tongue. 

It’s shiny, like a red gizzard.

It wasn’t aesthetically pleasing, no matter how she looked at it. And someone else is supposed to see this? Good heavens… It seemed more embarrassing than stuttering in front of a crowd.

“Oh!” She’d been lost in uncharacteristically l*wd thoughts, like some lascivious man. She had something to do. Lilian opened the subtly colored envelope she’d tucked between the pages of her book. Tossing the wax seal aside, she first checked the amount of money inside. Recently, a short story under her new pen name had appeared in Naptime, a newsletter discreetly circulated among the noblewomen. Skillfully evading censorship, the risqué publication was immensely popular. Thanks to this, Lilian’s royalties were more substantial than expected.