Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 73 - Seventy Three

The door of the library clicked shut, sealing the room in a comfortable, dust-mote-filled silence.

Ines stood by her desk. She looked at the sturdy wooden desk. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes traced the edge where her hands had gripped the wood. She looked at the rug where she had knelt. The air still seemed to hold the faint scent of Carcel’s herbal soap and the musk of his desire.

She shook her head, physically shaking the memories away. Focus, Ines.

She pulled out the thick stack of cream-colored papers, tied neatly with a black ribbon. It was heavy.

"Here," Ines said, her voice low. She handed the bundle to Gladys. "I am done with this volume. The printer can have it today. The next one... well, the next one will be out next month."

Gladys, who was sitting with her leather satchel on her lap, took the manuscript with a reverence usually reserved for religious texts.

She untied the ribbon. Her eyes were bright with anticipation. She didn’t just put it away. She began to read.

Ines watched her. She stood by the window, twisting her hands together. She was always nervous when Gladys read a new batch. Gladys was her first reader, her editor, and her only critic.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the rustle of pages.

Gladys read the first page. Then the second.

Her eyebrows shot up.

She turned the page faster. Her eyes widened. Her cheeks, usually a pale, sensible color, began to turn a distinct shade of pink.

She reached the scene Ines had written the night before. The scene with Stefan, and Doris, and the inkwell. The scene Ines had lived.

Gladys stopped. She pressed a hand to her chest. She looked up at Ines, her mouth slightly open.

"Wow, Ines," she breathed.

It wasn’t just a compliment. It was a sound of shock.

"Your writing," Gladys said, looking back down at the page as if she couldn’t quite believe the words were sitting still, "is getting better. It is... it is remarkable. With each Chapter you write, it becomes more... vivid."

She traced a line with her finger. "This part here... about the ’shuddering’... and the ’white fluid’... Ines, it is so visceral. It jumps off the page."

Ines felt a hot blush creeping up her neck, but she forced herself to smile. It jumps off the page because it happened on the floor right next to your feet, she thought.

"Do you know," Gladys said, her voice taking on a new, excited tone, "that Mr. Pendleton is getting famous? Truly famous?"

Ines shrugged, trying to look modest. "Rowan mentioned something at breakfast. He said the books are selling well."

"Selling well?" Gladys scoffed. She stood up, clutching the papers. She looked around the empty library to ensure they were truly alone.

Then, she leaned in. She beckoned Ines closer.

Ines leaned in, caught by her friend’s intensity.

"I heard," Gladys whispered, her voice a thrill of pure gossip, "that even the Queen reads it."

Ines gasped.

Her hand flew to her mouth. The sound was loud in the quiet room.

"Really?" she squeaked.

The Queen. The arbiter of all taste, the most powerful woman in England, the woman who could make or break a reputation with a single lift of her eyebrow.

"Really," Gladys nodded, her face serious. "Last week, one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting—Lady Sarah—went to the bookshop. She bought almost all the available volumes of The Duke’s Nightly Routine. She cleaned out the shelf."

Gladys’s eyes sparkled. "I found out from a reliable source. A good friend of mine who works as a seamstress in the palace. She saw the book on the Queen’s reading table. She said the Queen was... very absorbed."

Ines leaned back against the window frame, feeling a little dizzy.

"Wow," she whispered. "That’s... that’s huge."

"That’s huge," Gladys agreed, nodding vigorously. "Mr. Arthur Pendleton is now a royal favorite. If they ever found out it was you... oh, Ines. You would be a legend. Or you would be exiled to a remote island. One of the two."

Ines laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. "Let’s hope for the legend part, but keep the secret so I avoid the island."

Gladys chuckled, carefully straightening the pages of the manuscript. She was preparing to put them away, to take them to the printer who would turn Ines’s secret memories into London’s newest scandal.

But then, Gladys paused.

She held the papers in her hand, but she didn’t put them in her bag. She looked at Ines. Her expression changed. The excitement faded, replaced by a thoughtful, slightly puzzled look. It was the look of the tutor, analyzing a student’s sudden, unexplained progress.

"By the way," Gladys said. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were sharp.

Ines stiffened. "Yes?"

"I’ve been meaning to ask," Gladys said slowly. She tapped the manuscript with her index finger. "Where do you... where do you now get your inspiration from?"

Ines’s heart gave a hard, painful thump against her ribs.

"Inspiration?" Ines asked, playing dumb.

"Yes," Gladys said. She walked a few steps closer to Ines. "Before... well, you know. Your writing was lovely. It was romantic. But it was... it was soft. It was like the other books."

Gladys looked down at the scene she had just read.

"But these scenes," she said, looking up, her gaze searching Ines’s face. "They are so... perfect. They are precise. The details about the... the physical reactions. The feelings. It’s like... it’s like I can feel what Doris feels. It doesn’t feel made up anymore. It feels... experienced."

She tilted her head.

"Did you buy a new book?" Gladys asked. "Is there some scandalous novel you managed to smuggle in? Or a medical journal?"

Ines let out a nervous chuckle. It was wet and shaky.

Where do I get my inspiration?

Her mind flashed.

I get it from the taste of Carcel’s mouth.

I get it from the weight of his body pressing me into this desk.

I get it from the way his voice sounds when he is whispering sweet nothings in my ears.

I get it from the semen he wiped off this very floorboards with his handkerchief.

The images were so bright, so real, she was terrified Gladys could see them reflected in her eyes.

She couldn’t tell the truth. She couldn’t even hint at it. Gladys was her friend, but this... this secret was too big. It was too dangerous. It would destroy Carcel.

She had to lie.

"Ummm, yes," Ines stammered. She forced herself to nod, to look sheepish. "Yes, I did. I... I bought a new book."

She looked at the floor, feigning embarrassment. "I... I found a very rare, very... explicit volume. From the continent. I didn’t think you would notice the difference so quickly."

It was a weak lie. Anyone who knew Ines knew she had no way to procure such a thing. But it was the only shield she had.

Gladys looked at her. She studied Ines’s flushed face, her fidgeting hands, her inability to make eye contact.

Gladys was smart. She knew Ines rarely left the house. She knew Ines had no way to buy illicit books.

But Gladys was also a loyal friend. She saw Ines’s discomfort. She saw the panic in her eyes. And she decided, in that moment, not to push. Whatever Ines was doing, whatever secret source she had found... it was making her writing brilliant. And it was making her happy—or at least, it was giving her a purpose.

"It’s really good," Gladys said simply, dropping the subject.

She smiled, a warm, reassuring smile that said, I know you are lying, but I will let you keep your secret.

She shoved the papers into her large leather bag and buckled it shut with a decisive snap.

"Alright then," Gladys said, her voice returning to its professional, brisk tone. She picked up a grammar book from the table. "Mr. Pendleton has done his work. Now, Lady Ines must do hers."

She gestured to the chairs.

"Let’s begin our lesson."

Ines let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She slumped slightly, relief washing over her.

"Yes," Ines said, walking to the table. "Let’s begin."

She sat down, opening her German grammar book. But as Gladys began to explain the conjugation of verbs, Ines’s mind drifted. She looked at the empty spot on the desk where Carcel had sat.

Inspiration, she thought sadly. Yes. I have plenty of inspiration.

But I would trade every word of it, she realized, staring at the empty air, just to have him sitting there again.