Distraction on the Orient Express
Lit Up — February Prompt: Letters
Lightly smutty epistolary flash fiction.
The Orient Express
Nearing Lausanne, Switzerland
My Dearest Amelia,
I have decided that I simply must write. You have ensured that you are constantly in my thoughts, you devious creature, with your little gift of the marble egg. It is secreted where you placed it, most intimately, though I have yet to brave the corridor without my drawers and leave the little bell free to tinkle on its tiny chain as you so amusingly suggested.
The Aunt is keeping me entertained somewhat; as you know, she is a witty old scoundrel. However, I suspect her of matrimonial scheming. We were, earlier today, attended upon by Lord Chatham of all people, over luncheon. I have no doubt you are acquainted with the gentleman for he is a notorious rogue. Nonetheless, it seems his obvious material charms outweigh considerations of propriety, at least among the more auntish of the species. I dressed myself most demurely in a simple grey suit with a terribly long skirt and I am sure that Chatham thought me some strange little ingénue, for I was rather distracted all through the meal and seemed quiet and withdrawn. In truth, I was merely thinking of our last meeting. Your red dress, in which you looked so ravishing, I cannot put from my mind. I think it so completely captures your spirit.
It seems a hundred years ago, that first time we properly met. The party! I knew of your set, of course. Who does not? I had thought you cold, trifling, haughty and aloof like the rest — a wanton, a committed libertine. Well, perhaps I was not mistaken on the last point. Yet your lessons have taught me passion and desire. I could not call you cold again, or aloof. You are the most charming and devoted teacher and I your most avid pupil, as well you know. I was a different girl then. Now, well, I think you would agree that I have changed.
I am quite distracted merely thinking upon these things. I have an hour alone at most in this little private carriage before The Aunt returns. Then, I think I am to be paraded once more before my prospective. I don’t know what my aunt thinks she’s about. What a strange paring we would make. How could he tolerate such a bookish and awkward creature? I’m sure I don’t know. Yet, The Aunt has implied that her own late beloved was something of a rogue in his youth. I wonder, am I to tame him or to turn a blind eye? I am sure we could conceive of some distraction or other to keep me busy. I may spend these last moments thinking of such. Perhaps, as I change, I should remove my under things, though I wonder if it would show under my satin dress. It adheres rather to ones curves — I think you would approve. I wonder what Chatham would think if he were to notice. And then, as we walked along the corridor for our evening meal, would he think to himself, “How curious, is that a little bell I hear tinkling?”
I think I may even be brave enough, for you. I am so excited just thinking of it that I wonder if, in my moistness, it might slip right out. “Oh!” I shall say, “do forgive me, my Lord, but Amelia’s egg seems to have slipped from my vagina and rolled off down the carriage. But do not think I would be so careless with our marriage vows.”
What a silly, giddy mood I’m in. I do so wish you were here.
I am honoured to be your most devoted pupil,
Evelyn Bell
