The Villainess Just Wants to Study

Chapter 27 ~ Mom?

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The next morning, the sun rose bright and the sky was without a cloud. Dylan convinced the Duke to let her visit her mother's grave in town before she returned to the academy. Few people were out in the streets, but several vendors and merchants had already opened their shops.

"Looking for flowers, little miss?" one of the merchants asked.

Dylan stopped to smell the flowers at the booth. Their beautiful petals were like silk, their scent strong and fragrant. 

"What's this one?" she asked, pointing to a purple flower. 

"Bellflowers," the merchant explained, "they represent everlasting love and gratitude."

She smiled up at him sweetly. "I'll take one bouquet please."

'These are perfect for you, mom.'

"Come again!" he said, gratefully accepting the coins from Jessie.

Dylan breathed in the fresh morning air, clutching the bouquet close to her chest. The quiet walk through the village was relaxing, something she hadn't felt in a long time. The Duke sent several guards with her, but they followed from a distance, giving her more than enough room to breathe.

She turned and lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. The familiar sight of the hill in the distance made her feel strange. 

"Will you be long, milady?" asked Mina.

"I'm not sure," she replied, shaking her head. "I'll come down when I'm ready."

She climbed the hill alone, clutching onto the bouquet. Atop the hill, leaning against a tree, was a tall man puffing a cigar. It was the same man, she was sure of it.

"Lord Whittle," she called out to him.

"Well, isn't this something?" said the old man, smiling. "It's not everyday that my business partners ask to meet outside of the office, Jonas Ferguson."

"I have my reasons," she said with a sigh. "If you'll please excuse me for a moment."

She knelt beside her mother's cross to place the flowers. She remained beside the grave for a while, silently praying, then rose and turned.

Whittle was smoking, and coughing with each puff. "Here," he said in between coughs, "sign here and then we're in business."

"All the conditions are included in this contract, right?" she asked, reading over the document he had handed her.

He nodded, his gaze strolling over her face absently. "I get to make and sell your invention in exchange for paying you inventor royalties," he explained, rolling his cigar with his fingers. "I won't share your designs with anyone nor will I talk about your identity."

Dylan nodded her approval. "Very well, it looks good. Do you have something I can sign with?"

"Do I?" he said with a slight smile, pulling out a prototype of Dylan's invention. "Go on, give it a try."

The pen glided effortlessly across the paper. 

"Amazing," she muttered, turning it over in her hands. "This will sell well."

"Well, a product is only as good as its inventor," he chuckled, slipping the contract into his coat pocket. "If you have any more ideas, you bring them to me first, kid."

Dylan nodded absentmindedly. In the future, her connection with Whittle would come in handy. Not only did she just acquire a way of making money to use when she runs away, but she also made a business ally.