Olivia opened her mouth to offer some grand, aristocratic wisdom, but found her throat dry and the words missing.
"Umm... well," she began, the syllables feeling clumsy and foreign. "The first night. I assume... you know the basics, correct?"
Lillian's face deepened into a feverish scarlet. "Well, yes. But... is there something I should do, besides simply adorning myself?"
Olivia stared at her, a wave of internal panic rising. She cursed the girl silently. By the heavens, I am the last person on this earth you should be asking. My own first night was nothing short of a catastrophe.
A jagged memory pierced through her composure. She saw herself again, sitting on the edge of a cold, expansive bed, draped in a slip of white silk.
She had drowned her terror in sedatives until her mind was a fog, yet her body had still betrayed her, trembling at the mere thought of her husband's touch.
