Lords, Ladies, Butlers and Maids Read online

  She wondered which one her father would choose, and decided it would probably be Charlie, just to vex her. He was family, after all, and it would mean that the old Earl would see his title passed on to his daughter and grandchildren, but she would rather be cast into poverty than marry her idiot cousin. No, she would have to choose, so it wouldn’t do to alienate any man until she’d decided.

  They were to play a game of croquet in the afternoon, with Frances and her husband, Lord Jack. Anna wasn’t sure if she was looking forward to it or dreading it, but she carried herself with decorum and displayed the correct level of eagerness. Her father should be pleased, at least. He was surely expecting her to do something drastic at any moment, but she’d behave. She had to.

  Behind closed doors, however, was another matter. She’d refused to let the feelings between her and Jane rest, and their kissing and caressing, especially during the times when Jane was required to dress and undress her, were growing ever more heated as the two women explored and their desire grew.

  Even now, half-listening to Lord Robert chatter on about something in London, she grew flushed thinking of how, just this morning, she’d dared to slip the small red berry of Jane’s nipple between her lips, licking and sucking at it to elicit delightful gasps of pleasure and arousal from her beloved maid. Jane had returned the gesture, lifting one of Anna’s full breasts to her mouth and kissing it with such worshipful adoration that Anna had wondered if she could achieve the summit of pleasure from Jane’s mouth alone.

  Her father would probably die of shock if he ever found out, but their interludes had become as vital to Anna as air, and she thought she would die or let her father cast her out before she gave Jane up.

  The day, as days with suitors went, was an easy one. Richard was polite and kind, and though no one could hold a candle to Jane in Anna’s heart, he was quite tolerable. Still, to have to marry him – to have to go to bed with him as his wife, whenever he desired it – was difficult to contemplate without feeling that familiar stirring of panic and dread.

  At least, she thought so – until she entered the library one evening and found Richard speaking quietly to a footman. Before Jane, she would never have known what to look for, but with her newly experienced eye she was sure she saw the marks of forbidden desire on his face, particularly when the footman turned to leave and Richard followed the man with his eyes.

  ‘Lord Richard,’ she said, announcing herself. He spun, fixed a polite smile on his face and bowed over her hand as she offered it.

  ‘Just the lady my eyes were desperate to see,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a lady you’re desperate for at all.’ It was a gamble to say it. He was the best of the lot, and, if he were insulted, she would have driven off her most promising suitor, but … her eyes flicked toward the door through which the footman had left, and Richard paled slightly before recovering.

  ‘Why, of course I do! Especially one of such breeding and beauty as yourself, my lovely Anna.’

  ‘Indeed. I fancy a walk in the garden. Will you join me?’

  He glanced toward the windows, which were dark with night. ‘Is that appropriate, Lady Anna?’

  She smiled. ‘I doubt it, but I think we should talk. Lord Richard, I think we have more to gain from an alliance than even you realise.’

  He was intrigued, she could tell. And puzzled. He glanced around as if expecting the censorious arrival of her father at any moment, but, when he didn’t immediately burst in upon them, Richard offered her his arm.

  She led him to the darkest part of the garden, well away from the main house and any prying eyes or listening ears. ‘I am in love, Lord Richard,’ she said. It was the most dangerous way to start this conversation, but she knew in her heart that she was right. And if she was, it would probably be the most effective. She prayed she was not about to ruin herself, but the thought of Jane made her bold enough to risk it.

  ‘What? With me, Lady?’ He stopped, shocked, and turned to her.

  ‘With my maid. Jane. And I think that perhaps you would be sympathetic to someone in such a plight.’

  He stared at her for long moments, a thousand thoughts flashing behind his eyes as he took in the implications of this conversation. ‘You propose an alliance of convenience. But Anna, my family must have an heir, whatever my personal desires.’

  ‘Yes. I’m a well-born lady, and, whoever I marry, an heir will be the price of my position. I accept that.’ She put a hand on his chest, leaning close, seducing him not with her body, but with everything else she could offer. ‘We will lie together to produce our heir, my Lord. And I shall lie with no other man, and you with no other woman, just as a husband and wife should.’

  ‘My dear lady, I’m quite sure I don’t deserve you,’ he said, his voice still thoughtful. She held her breath and watched his eyes, thoughtful under the light of the moon.

  ‘I hope … I hope that you will have me anyway.’

  ‘Marriage to you would solve many of my problems, Lady Anna. How could I do any less than to solve some of yours?’ He took her hand, squeezing it in imitation of a handshake, and kissed her knuckles. ‘Shall I tell your father that we are announcing our engagement?’

  That night, Anna felt as if she could have danced her way up the stairs to bed. Her parents thought she had fallen in love with Lord Richard. Let them. The secret smiles they exchanged were not those of two people who adored each other, however, but those of two who shared a delightful secret.

  Anna rang for Jane, who appeared only moments later, looking worried. ‘I heard you accepted a suit, my Lady!’

  ‘I did indeed,’ and she twirled with excitement. ‘Oh, Jane, I can’t wait to tell you! He’s perfect!’

  Jane’s face became a neutral mask, and her skin turned to the colour of fresh ash. ‘I see. Good news, my Lady. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Oh, Jane, don’t think I’m putting you aside. Don’t think it for a second!’ She grabbed her maid and pulled the woman close, pressing their bodies together with desperate fondness. ‘I don’t love him, you silly girl, I love you. It will always be you.’

  ‘But Lord Richard …’

  ‘The marquis and I apparently share a certain perversion,’ Anna said, her voice wry. ‘We must produce an heir – that we can’t escape – but he shall be free to give his heart to the man he chooses, just as I am free to give mine to you.’

  Jane froze as the words registered. She opened her mouth, shut it and opened it again without making a sound.

  ‘Say something, won’t you? You will come with me, Jane? Say you’ll come with me to my new household and be mine.’

  ‘Yours?’ Jane squeaked.

  ‘Mine. My heart. And I shall be yours. Please, say you’ll come.’

  ‘Mine? My Lady … my Lady?’

  ‘Say my name.’

  ‘Anna,’ Jane breathed. ‘My Anna. Of course.’

  Anna nearly sobbed with relief as she swept the other woman into her arms. She kissed her deeply, letting her tongue tease across Jane’s lips with the expertise she’d gained over their months of secretive practice. Soon she’d be wed, and have her own room in her own household, where Jane would be allowed to share her space and her life, at least privately. Heaven!

  The joy of it came tumbling out of her, spilling from her heart and infecting Jane until their passions had them both reaching for buttons and ties, fumbling in their haste, laughing and kissing whatever they could reach.

  When Jane stood entirely naked before her for the first time, Anna saw that she’d been right. ‘You see?’ she whispered ‘We’re just the same.’ They kissed again, a deep, sweet kiss that swept both of them away. Then Anna took Jane’s hand and led her to the large turned-down bed. She longed to give Jane the same sweet pleasure she’d given herself night after night with Jane’s scent still in her mind.

  She dipped her fingers into Jane’s folds, finding them as hot and slick as she’d ever found her own, and teased at the opening at the cen
tre before sliding her finger up to find that hard nub of pleasure she’d so often caressed on her own body. Jane gasped and sighed, struggling with the urge to cry out, and Anna paused, smiling as she waited for her lover to catch her breath. She lifted her fingers to her own lips and licked away the sweet cream that had collected there.

  Then she returned to her sensual attack, rubbing and teasing as she had done so often to herself until Jane buried her face in Anna’s neck and cried out with pleasure. Nearly sobbing, Jane pushed Anna back until she lay atop her, their naked bodies soft and yielding as they pressed together and their legs tangled.

  ‘Is this a dream?’ Jane asked. ‘Is my heart killing me with a foolish dream of my most secret desires?’

  ‘Not unless I’m dreaming, too. Soon, my love, my Jane, soon we will share a bed and a life, for real. For ever.’

  ‘For ever,’ Jane whispered. She moved to kiss Anna, and Anna cried out softly as the other woman shifted and sent a bolt of pleasure from between her legs. Jane saw and smiled softly, shifting her hips again in the same way, building up a rhythm that soon had Anna stifling her cries with her own hand and rising beneath her.

  When the pleasure washed through her, she threw her head back and whimpered, amazed at how much ecstasy one body could contain. Jane laughed quietly and kissed Anna until she was breathing normally again.

  ‘I need to get back downstairs before I’m missed,’ Jane said, sounding reluctant. ‘Shall I braid your hair?’

  ‘We’ve taken too long, I can manage. But Jane?’ Her maid paused, half-dressed. ‘When we have our own bed together, I shall delight in making you scream my name.’ Jane’s face was still flushed and smiling when she finished dressing and hurried out of the room.

  The Architect

  Mina Murray

  Lady Hargreave had sent her man to meet me at the station and I was grateful for the escort, for it was bitterly cold out and growing bleaker by the minute. Once Ralph handed my bags into the carriage and joined the driver in the front, I was much more comfortable and free to ruminate at my leisure while watching the countryside, such as I could see of it, roll by.

  When the summons had arrived from Hartfield, I had meant to attend to it immediately, but the death of my father intervened. The business of settling his affairs drew me north and detained me longer than anticipated. The Hargreaves had originally expected me in May, when spring would show the house and its grounds to best advantage, but it was now November and I was uncertain of my welcome. Nonetheless, it was a great relief to leave the London smog behind. I could feel my head and my lungs clearing as we travelled deeper into the woods surrounding the estate. I must have dozed, for the next thing I knew we had slowed down and a pair of heavy iron gates swung open to admit us.

  I’ll never forget my first sight of that place, its battlements rising shadowed out of the gloaming, its spires and finials threatening to pierce the clouds that hung darkly overhead as the last remnants of daylight faded away.

  A lone figure stood at the end of the drive to greet me.

  ‘Wentworth?’

  ‘The same, sir.’

  The butler had a dour look about him. Whether that was his customary appearance or an attempt at gravitas I don’t know. He eyed me warily.

  ‘If you’ll allow me to take your coat, I’ll show you to the library. Lady Hargreave will be with you presently.’

  She was not. She kept me waiting for the better part of an hour. I occupied myself by perusing Rufus Hargreave’s superbly appointed library, which boasted several volumes so rare I was almost loath to touch them.

  As the minutes dragged by, I found myself growing irritable. I was tired, hungry and, I admit, insulted. While the Hargreaves were paying for my services, I was a gentleman of some renown in my own right and they knew very well I was not relying on their fee to keep myself. I had not been forced into taking up an occupation. I had elected to do so, rather than idling my life away in drawing rooms or gentlemen’s clubs or, worse, pontificating in the House of Lords. By the time the library door opened again I had worked myself into a righteous state.

  The woman who entered was not at all what I expected. She was attired simply, in a plain green dress without a bustle or the puffed sleeves that were currently in fashion but forced the wearer to negotiate doorways at a forty-five-degree angle. Her quick step and bright eyes spoke of action, intelligence and wit and none of the indolence so typical of the highborn ladies I usually met.

  ‘You must be the architect. We were beginning to despair of your ever arriving.’

  ‘Charles Morgan, my Lady, at your service.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I am no Lady, sir. I am Felicity Drummond, Lady Hargreave’s companion. She is indisposed, and asked me to welcome you on her behalf.’

  Ah.

  ‘Now, Mr Morgan, we do usually dress for dinner, but we shan’t stand on ceremony tonight. No doubt you have a prodigious appetite after your long journey.’

  I could not have wished for better company. Miss Drummond’s conversation was intelligent and well informed; neither too serious nor too frivolous. Never before had I been so immediately at ease with a woman. The prospect of spending several weeks in residence at Hartfield – undoing the architectural outrages it had suffered at the hands of its former master, a man with more money than taste – seemed rather a joy than a labour.

  *

  It was several days before I met Lady Hargreave, whose continuing ill health kept her confined above stairs. I had been on my way to join Ralph for a tour of the grounds when Wentworth appeared and conducted me to her sitting room. Lady Hargreave was settled on a divan, a book open on her lap.

  ‘Please, do sit down.’ She motioned to the armchair beside her. ‘Mountebank, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Morgan, your Ladyship.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. My husband was impressed with the work you accomplished on the Templetons’ estate.’

  ‘Is he expected back soon?’

  ‘Not for a month, at least. Rufus is on the Continent, attaché to a diplomatic mission. I should like your sketches to be complete before he returns.’

  ‘Did he leave any particular instructions?’

  ‘None, other than to correct the house’s anomalies of style. You may refer any questions to Felicity. She is authorised to speak for me, and has an excellent knowledge of the house.’

  Throughout the tête-à-tête that followed, I got the sense that she was taking my measure, for some obscure reason. The directness of her gaze was most unnerving.

  She stood to indicate that our interview was over. The hand she extended was slender and elegant and tipped with severely filed nails that looked capable of drawing blood. Her grip was surprisingly firm for one reputed to be ill. But then illness came in many forms, not all of them physically manifest.

  Over the few weeks, I saw little of Lady Hargreave but a great deal of Miss Drummond. She soon became an asset to my work, demonstrating a particular facility for draughtsmanship. We spent many a rainy afternoon closeted in the library, sketching the proposed modifications. It was on one such afternoon that I realised I was in love with her.

  Felicity was seated by the window, writing in her journal, and I had been staring at her for a full quarter of an hour. Her mouth especially fascinated me. It was full and generous and ruby red, and she bit it enticingly when absorbed in thought, as she was now. I ducked my head, hoping she hadn’t noticed. While we had a genuine rapport and she seemed to enjoy my company, that did not necessarily translate into a deeper regard. I had no desire to make a fool of myself by declaring my affections without being more certain of hers.

  I received a sign sooner than I’d hoped. We were walking in the greenhouse the very next day when I said something amusing that made her laugh, and she threw her arms about my neck and kissed me. So great was my surprise that I did not immediately reciprocate. She must have misinterpreted this as a lack of interest, or, worse, as offence, for she pulled back immediately
.

  ‘Oh, Charles,’ she cried, ‘oh, Mr Morgan, forgive me!’

  Her expression was stricken; her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

  ‘Please, you must say something!’

  ‘“The curves of your lips rewrite history.”’

  ‘Charles, do not mock me!’ She stamped her foot, and I was heartened by her anger, which was infinitely preferable to despair. ‘This is serious.’

  ‘So am I,’ I replied, and bent to kiss her.

  Everything about her was like a drug to me, some powerful opiate that clouded my judgement and blinded me to propriety. She smelled like lavender, and her soft lips tasted of honey as I coaxed them open. She seemed to know what to do instinctively, for her tongue began to play with mine and she rubbed herself against me, gripping the lapels of my coat to keep me close.

  Without breaking the kiss, I walked us some ways forward, until her back was against the greenhouse wall. My cock was as stiff as a fencepost and I’m ashamed to say that I pressed my hardness against her softness and plundered her mouth with rather more intensity than I had intended.

  The sound of footsteps outside, the crunch of gravel, brought me to my senses and I released her. Her shoulders slumped against the wall, palms pressed flat against it for support. A moment later John walked past the window; I don’t believe he saw us. I was grateful to him for the interruption, though. Another minute and I would have plunged one hand under Felicity’s skirts and the other under my breeches and manipulated us both to climax.

  When I was sure the danger of discovery had passed, I reached out to cup her chin in my hands.

  ‘Look at me, love, there’s no need for shame.’