Chapter 43
Approach Me Honestly
It was obvious where a maid who went into the city would go. From what he had observed, her movements were so predictable that he didn’t even need to investigate.
A car rolled slowly alongside the maid walking with a red typewriter in her arms.
Lily, deep in thought, didn’t even notice how close the car was brushing past her.
Even as the window slowly rolled down, she had already decided not to entertain any advances from a stranger—
“Miss Elizabeth.”
—if not for the familiar voice.
“Is your foot better now?”
“If it weren’t, I wouldn’t be walking around like this.”
Lily kept walking, trying not to look at him leaning out the window, brows drawn into a straight line.
In her effort to hide her limp, she ended up walking even more slowly. To forget the embarrassment of the last time she saw him, all she could do for now was keep moving forward.
If she kept walking, his car would eventually pass her.
But contrary to her expectation, the car slowed down to match her pace.
Unable to stand it anymore, Lily spoke.
“There’s a carriage to the hotel up ahead.”
“I already sent it back.”
He had a habit of blocking her escape routes before making suggestions.
“What?”
“That looks heavy to carry.”
Her foot wasn’t fully healed—it was true. And his car was crawling along, obstructing people passing by.
When Lily finally stopped, the rear door opened as if it had been waiting.
The driver’s seat was completely separated from the back by a partition.
“This is coercion.”
Inside the car, he seemed to have been drinking. He picked up ice with tongs from a small table and dropped it into a glass.
Soon, golden liquor poured over it.
“Does getting in willingly still count as coercion?”
“It does when there’s no other choice.”
Lily replied, placing a bouquet of peonies on her lap. The car filled with their fragrance.
A faint scent of whiskey clung to him—likely why he wasn’t driving.
His flawlessly handsome face, so neat and composed, somehow gave off a decadent air when they were alone together.
Denying the way she was drawn to him, Lily had long concluded it must be because of his expression.
I grew up in a convent.
She repeated the words to herself.
“You should listen to me.”
“Are you that important?”
“You’re asking the wrong question. You should be asking if you are that important.”
Her face flushed instantly. It was impossible to keep her usual composure around him.
He spoke in a tone that made it unclear whether he was joking or serious, without changing his expression at all.
“Why did you buy a typewriter?”
“I went to a handwriting analysis institute and ended up receiving it.”
“Impressive person.”
Lily nodded in agreement. Smiling, he poured a little more liquor into his empty glass and held it out to her.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet.”
She didn’t mention that she had intended to write a letter.
“Well, it won’t dry out like a quill pen. You can take your time.”
He was different from before—no longer teasing and sharp.
He seemed more relaxed, even… pleased.
Because of that, instead of his inhuman edge, his well-sculpted features stood out more.
“You seem to be in a good mood.”
At her sudden remark, he hummed lightly, swirling his glass before offering it to her.
Having nothing else to say, Lily took a small sip.
“Ugh—it feels like my throat is burning!”
She winced and looked at him. Finding her reaction amusing, he finally took the glass back.
“You’ve never had it before?”
Feeling treated like a child, Lily snatched it back.
“I’ve had wine before. We make it every year at the convent. But this is too—”
She stopped herself before saying it tastes like terrible wood.
“This is more expensive. Better quality. You won’t even get a headache the next day.”
Lily shook her head as she looked at the glass. She had barely taken a sip, yet her throat burned and her body felt warm.
It clearly wasn’t ordinary alcohol.
As the heat rose, she leaned toward the window. Then she realized they were passing the same scenery again.
She turned to him.
“Where are we going?”
“Londinium Cemetery.”
He answered shortly and drank.
“If that’s your destination, why am I here?”
“It’s not gentlemanly to pass by a lady carrying something heavy. Especially one with an injured leg.”
When Lily leaned toward him to protest, he mirrored her movement. The gesture felt strangely familiar—like something only long-acquainted people would do.
“Who are you visiting? Can I come with you?”
Looking down at the peonies, she answered quietly.
At least she had flowers. They were meant for Room 301 anyway.
“Someone irresponsible… who taught me responsibility.”
For a moment, his dark gray eyes filled with shadow.
Was it her imagination, or did that cold sentence carry pain?
“You’re being deliberately harsh, aren’t you? The dead deserve pity.”
The dead could not speak. Yet she felt he carried both resentment and longing for someone within him.
Her words stirred a distant memory in Christopher.
“Only the dead deserve pity.”
It was at the funeral.
Christopher Archibald Belmore clearly remembered the pale face of the one who had died during the cholera outbreak in Londinium.
He hadn’t shed a single tear.
“Master won’t be coming. We’ll proceed to the cemetery.”
“How cold. His only son…”
“The young master takes after him. Look at his face—he almost seems relieved.”
“That bloodline is cruel. Did you see the will? If the late duchess knew—”
“Shh, he’ll hear you.”
He had thought he would feel relieved when the “disgrace of the family” his grandfather spoke of was gone.
Holding his glass in his right hand, Christopher lightly brushed Lily’s left hand resting on the seat.
At the small flinch of her fingers, his mood lifted.
He moved more boldly.
Before she knew it, her trembling hand was completely enclosed in his large one.
His touch wasn’t rushed—but not slow enough for her to avoid.
“Stay still.”
Lily instinctively tried to pull away but stopped.
His hand fully wrapped around hers—large and warm.
It felt as though her heartbeat had moved to her fingertips… as if he were holding her heart itself.
She couldn’t stop trembling.
The scenery outside disappeared from her awareness.
The two remained like that, hands clasped the entire way.
* * *
“This is where commoners are buried.”
Watching him walk among the modest graves, Lily spoke curiously.
“Where is your nun?”
The gravestone of Sister Brigid stood out slightly among the worn ones. True to a nun loved by the poor, someone had left fresh flowers.
“I haven’t been able to come often lately.”
He stood silently before the grave.
It looked unfamiliar—he wasn’t someone who bowed his head easily.
“There’s no need to come often. The dead are meant to be forgotten.”
He pointed to a gravestone almost erased by moss and vines.
“How can you say that when your family is buried here?”
At her words, he grabbed her hand and led her forward. Several times she nearly stumbled, but he caught her.
[Ruari Mode and Lucretia Mode — True lovers rest here.]
Their names were engraved side by side on a single stone, as if they were one.
No explanation was needed.
Mode. Christopher Mode.
Lily quietly studied the name.
The simple gravestone bore their birth and death dates—only days apart.
A tragic end.
“And yet you came… without even bringing flowers.”
Lily placed her peonies on their grave.
He pretended not to notice and walked on without lingering.
She hurried after him and grabbed him.
With a cold smile, he said,
“I don’t plan on coming again. I came to try to understand… but I still don’t.”
“You at least know. Whether your parents are dead or alive. I don’t even know what to do when I miss mine.”
He stopped walking.
“Died of cholera. Standing before a miserable grave like this, it’s hard to stay optimistic.”
“……”
“Disappointed? That my father rests in a grave like that?”
“No. I don’t care what kind of father you had.”
Lily lifted her chin and looked straight at him. Her eyes shone.
“I don’t care who you are either. It would be nice if you did the same for me.”
He walked forward between the moss-covered gravestones.
This time, he didn’t walk ahead of her.
