Chapter 89
To think about intimacy in broad daylight while fully awake… it was a good thing her thoughts had drifted elsewhere. Otherwise, she would have spent quite a while struggling to hide her expression.
“But why did I think that?”
“Huh? What do you mean, milady?”
Julia finished her conversation and left the workshop, but only then could she make a puzzled expression. Was Ian’s story really something that needed to be said so urgently? She couldn’t forget Cayente’s expression as he held onto her. It was as if something would happen the moment she left; he was unusually flustered.
“Did you leave something behind?”
“Huh?”
“You kept looking back, my lord.”
Julia turned at Lucy’s words and saw Cayente, who had stopped walking as he distanced himself, glancing back at her.
“Is something wrong…?”
Cayente was capable enough to handle anything, of course, but part of her couldn’t help worrying. The way he had held onto her so urgently felt like one of those moments when he needed her desperately, like when they had hidden from the thunderstorm.
Of all people, Julia seemed to understand Cayente’s fragile side. Sometimes, she worried about him this way. If others knew, they would probably laugh at who was worrying about whom.
“Milady!”
“Who are you? Don’t come any closer—stop right there!”
Julia had been watching Cayente head toward the office, wondering if he would tell her later, when someone called her from afar. Before she could see who it was, Lucy stepped forward to block a woman in shabby clothing who was approaching.
“Does this lady have business with you?”
The woman stopped at a reasonable distance, but Lucy remained cautious. The woman, catching her breath from running, pulled a small leather pouch from her bosom and held it out.
“I came to return what you gave me before.”
Her expression had changed completely since last time, almost unrecognizable. Only when Julia saw the pouch did she realize who it was: the woman from before, who had chased the carriage down the back path of the office, saying her daughter was ill. Julia had worried if the pouch had survived the woman’s hurried throw, but fortunately, it seemed she had kept it safely.
“I can’t tell you how surprised I was when I opened the pouch. Thanks to you, I was able to treat my daughter and buy groceries. Thank you, milady.”
“Is your daughter well now?”
“Yes. It was a disease that could be cured with medicine, so she’s completely fine now.”
The woman repeatedly bowed in gratitude, but Julia couldn’t smile entirely with joy. Since most of it had been in checks, the pouch had hardly any money. And yet, without that little money, the woman couldn’t even buy medicine for a treatable illness—a situation Julia could hardly imagine.
This was what life for commoners was like.
Even if Cayente hadn’t intervened, Julia thought the rest of her family had a low chance of becoming vagabonds. The baron and baroness had good relations with other nobles, and even if not, no noble would welcome the downfall of another.
As the times changed and more commoners amassed wealth, nobles began to feel their positions threatened, making their alliances more crucial.
There were nobles who would lend enough money to last a few months indefinitely or even offer a country house. They had the means to do so.
But commoners were different. Although some had grown wealthy through business, most of the wealth was still in the hands of nobles. The majority of commoners still lived hand-to-mouth.
“It would have helped if you sold the pouch too,” Julia said.
“The neighbor did admire the leather, but… how could I? Having received such an unpayable favor, I thought I should at least return this and wondered every day when I could give it back.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I should be the one thanking you.”
Even if one wanted to help, they might not have the means. So it fell to nobles, who had some surplus, to help. Apart from charity events in winter, they generally paid little attention to commoners’ lives.
Julia forced a smile as she accepted the pouch, and the woman cautiously indicated another part of it.
“Also… inside, there’s a bracelet my daughter made to thank you. It may not suit you, but please accept it as a token of her gratitude…”
Opening the pouch, Julia found several thin thread bracelets twisted together. They weren’t valuable by any measure, but she picked one up and held it to her wrist.
“Can I really accept such a precious gift?”
“Precious? It’s just made from leftover threads from sewing.”
“I like the variety of colors—they’re so cheerful.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I’ll treasure it.”
The woman bowed repeatedly in thanks and then disappeared down the alley. On the way back home by carriage, Julia thought seriously about what she could do—not just for the people in her lands or her factory workers, but for those wandering the streets.
“Ah!”
A good idea suddenly occurred to her.
Cayente had told her that morning whether he would be late or not, and Julia had planned her bedtime accordingly. Since he had said he would be late, she had eaten early and gone to bed. But in the middle of sleep, she sensed someone climbing into bed and had to groggily open her eyes.
“Brother?”
“I didn’t expect you to be asleep already.”
Cayente, in his gown with wet hair, climbed onto the bed.
“You said you’d be late today.”
“It’s only ten o’clock now.”
Surely he had said he would be late… did she mishear in the morning?
Still groggy, Julia straightened her side to face the ceiling. Cayente settled near her thigh, held her, and kissed the back of her hand.
Though the act of intimacy hadn’t changed—just different touches and positions—it never felt boring to Julia.
“Ah…!”
When Cayente pressed his stiffened fingertips from cello practice against her, she couldn’t help but gasp. Even a trivial kiss while half-asleep heated her quickly. She didn’t grow numb from familiarity; rather, her body anticipated what would come next, igniting even faster.
Eagerly, she wished for Cayente to enter her.
“…Brother, I have something to say first.”
Before fully opening herself to him, Julia needed his permission for something. She had thought of it on the way home after retrieving the pouch.
“Tell me after we finish.”
Cayente, already restless with desire, seemed desperate to enter her, but Julia kept her legs closed and continued.
“I want to hold a concert in the garden.”
“A concert?”
Cayente, partially touching her chest, asked again. He didn’t immediately refuse, which was a relief—Julia’s request was a gamble, and now seemed the only chance to obtain his consent.
“I want to hold a charity concert. I could donate with my own money, but if several people contribute, we could help more.”
Even though the little girl was well now, she might fall ill again. Julia thought of the woman who had cried over medicine she couldn’t afford. That pain inspired Julia to act.
Hence, she thought of the cello.
Concert tickets, even if costly, could attract nobles willing to pay generously for charity. Julia didn’t see this as a one-time event; she wanted to gather like-minded people to consistently support those who couldn’t afford medical care.
“Is that okay?”
For that, she first needed his permission. Locking eyes stubbornly, keeping her legs closed, she pressed on. Cayente, even more impatient than she imagined, urged her on.
“Alright….”
“Really? You’ll allow it?”
“Yes, so hurry…”
Though Cayente enjoyed their intimacy, Julia had underestimated his eagerness. After several confirmations, she finally opened her legs slightly. Cayente, restless until he could enter her, finally exhaled in relief once he did.
