The Duke's Kamasutra

The Library

I sit at a grand writing desk in the library of my new employer and work on a 300 year old essay of a south Indian philosopher. My notes and books are sprawled over the desks surface as I reference and cross-reference my translation and search for the most adequate words and sentences.

The room is large and I have never seen so many books in a private household. And they are well used and thoroughly read, more so than in most aristocratic households. Most of the books are on shelves though there are some locked cabinets I haven't been able to procure a key. Kepler, hinted that the master of the house has them but the Duke didn't return from his travels yet.

The library has floor to ceiling windows which brighten the room and make my work much easier, but it is dark now as supper was an hour ago. I ate with the servants in the kitchen. They are a pleasant lot and gossip freely about the houshold and its master. After all, it is a bachelors house and the bachelor himself seems to be anything but celibate. I strongly had to keep my features straight as to some descriptions of his nightly companions were quite immodest. At least the low lighting kept my heated face in the dark and my overheated imagination a secret.

Now I sit at my desk again as I have a creative streak. When inspiration strikes, I can hardly stop the quill which catches my ideas on paper. The last three evenings, I felt asleep over my work and woke up at midnight to stumble back to my room under the roof. Kepler and the servants seem to get used to my antics and don't mention anything anymore. I rise rather late in the morning, work hard into the night and the pile of my translations is rising on the sideboard.

It is the same tonight. I dip the feather into the inkwell and lie my head onto my arm. I close my eyes to think about that word I didn't recognize at first. Sometimes the answers appears and dances in front of my closed eyes like the words want to play hide and seek. I must have slumbered away again and dream of floating through the rooms, hold by strong arms. I feel secure, the first time ever since my father died. And then I sink into a soft mattress, surrounded by soft pillows and a warm blankets. And there is a kiss. What a dream.

I open my eyes and find myself in a spacious bedroom which surely is not mine. The first rays of sunlight peak through the heavy curtains and I hear the maids scurry around in the corridors. I groan and sit up in my bed. No, not my bed. It must be the blue guest room but I am not sure as this house has an obscene amount of rooms I saw only once when Kepler showed me the house. How did I end up in this room? My memory is hazy at best and I am still fully dressed, only my shoes are neatly placed on the floor.

I am tying them on, exit the room and hurry to the servants quarter to tidy myself up. Kepler intercepts me and frowns at my appearance. „Miss Bentley, his Grace returned last night and wants to see you in his study."

„Thank you, Kepler. I will freshen myself up a little and see him at once."

I hustle to my room and gasp into the mirror. I look a mess, two ink smudges grace my cheek and my dress is wrinkled all over. I am mortified that anybody had seen my in this feral state. I quickly undress and hang the dress up for the maid to clean, wash myself with the sponge from the pitcher and dress myself in my second dress, black too. Well, I wanted to be a governess and all my dresses would have fitted this position perfectly: black, black, black and black. And as a secretary, it suits my work as well: Any inkblott will be unvisible. Black again.

I hurry back and knock at the Duke's study door.

Thank you very much for reading!

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Any new read spurs me to continue this exciting search for sensuality.

Lavinia Perla