Lady Alicia Milburn smiled as she sat at her dressing table, studying her reflection in the gilded mirror.The local dressmaker had outdone herself this time, coming up with a dress, which perfectly captured the spirit of Cleopatra. Made of the finest silk, it wasn’t quite see-through, but it was close enough to turn heads.  Not that she’d chosen it to turn heads. She’d chosen it because she wanted to look attractive for her Italian lover, Count Calastro.The coming masquerade was the ideal opportunity for intimacy and she wanted to make sure he only had eyes for her.

When she was younger, Lady Milburn would have been scandalised by the thought of having a lover, but now it seemed the most natural thing in the world.  The strange thing was it was her husband who had first given her the idea, indicating she was free to do as she wished, as long as she turned a blind eye to his own infidelity, which tended to involve foppish young men.
Glancing impatiently at the clock, Lady Milburn picked up her mask — a masterpiece of silver satin and sequins in the shape of an asp’s head – and put it on. It was funny how time seemed to slow to a crawl when you wanted it to pass quickly.

The masquerade Lady Milburn was attending was being held at the Earl of Salisbury’s mansion. Arriving at the entrance, she accompanied her husband inside.She glanced across at him as they made their way to the ballroom.  His jester’s outfit was not unflattering, but he was still a long way from handsome.They had barely spoken since they left home, and as soon as they reached the throng of revellers, he made his excuses and took his leave of her.
Lady Milburn took a deep breath, savouring the atmosphere of the room, with its crystal chandeliers and bright wall hangings.  Things were relatively staid at present, but they would heat up later.  That was the thing about masks — they melted away inhibitions.  And what masks she saw, encompassing everything from classical gods to fairytale monsters!
Suddenly, Lady Milburn spotted Count Calastro. She knew it was him, because he’d told her he would be wearing a Plague Doctor costume, consisting of a leather gown, a wide brimmed hat and a pale mask with a long beaklike nose. Seeing him now, she found the ensemble a little sinister, but also oddly alluring.
Slowly, he approached.  She opened her mouth to speak to him, but he walked straight past her, pausing only to run his hand through her hair.  Staring after him, she absently mimicked this gesture and discovered a tiny roll of parchment stuck into one of her combs.  There was but a single sentence written on it – “Meet me at the lake in two hours.”
So it was Lady Milburn found herself slipping out of the house just under two hours later and hurrying to the lake, which one of the other guests had informed her was situated in a nearby copse.  As she stood gazing across the moon-dappled water, a pair of arms encircled her from behind.  Identifying Count Calastro from his garment, she snuggled into his chest, saying softly, “Good evening, my love.”
Without answering, the count began to stroke her breasts.  Feeling her pulse quicken, she turned towards him.  He raised his mask slightly and he bent to kiss her.  In that moment, everything else ceased to exist; there was only the velvety touch of her lover’s lips, fanning the flames of desire inside her.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all evening,” she told him as they parted. “Dancing’s nice, but it makes your feet ache after a while.”
Nodding sympathetically, the count led her to the edge of the lake.  Swathed in his eerie costume, he was the very embodiment of mystery. He gestured for her to be seated.  Then, as she sank down onto the grass, he removed her sandals and lowered her feet into the cool water.  Straight away the tension eased. “That feels wonderful,” she said.
Still the count didn’t speak. His silence was unusual, but added a novel dimension to the encounter. Lifting Lady Milburn’s feet out of the lake, he dried them on the edge of his gown and raised the right one to his mouth, kissing it reverently.  Lady Milburn lay back, closing her eyes, as his lips travelled up her leg to her knee. He paused to peel back her dress and petticoats, exposing the lower part of her body to the gently gusting breeze, and then turned his attention to the soft flesh of her inner thighs.  By the time his tongue pushed through the tangle of hair at the top, there was already a pool of moisture beneath her. With agonizing slowness he began to lick her swollen vagina, sending her into a fit of ecstasy.  She bit her lip as he built up speed, losing herself in the throes of orgasm.
“I want you inside me,” she said as she regained control.
Turning away from her, the count removed his mask and put it back on upside down. It was an odd thing to do, but before Lady Milburn could ask him about it, he had dropped to his knees in front of her with his head between her thighs. She let out a low gasp as she felt the mask’s long nose nuzzling into her pubic hair and realized what he had in mind.  “Please tell me you aren’t thinking of putting that thing inside me,” she said nervously, her body tensing.  “It’s enormous.”
Moving his face back a little, the count began stroking her vagina.  His touch was so tender that she found herself relaxing in spite of herself.Then, as the mask crept closer again, her heart began to race.  She opened her mouth to voice a further protest, only to close it with a reluctant sigh.If the count had made up his mind, she wasn’t going to try and talk him out of it.  She was too afraid of the consequences.  The man had a voracious appetite for sexual experimentation and had told her long ago that if she wasn’t willing to accommodate him, he would find someone else who was.  Ensuring this didn’t happen was worth a little discomfort.  Besides, he had taken her on voyages of dark discovery before and she’d always ended up enjoying herself.  Why should this time be any different?
Lady Milburn watched the enormous artificial nose approach her vagina with wide eyes.  The thought of having it inside her filled her with fear, but it was also deeply arousing.  Her breathing quickened as the cool tip touch her quivering outer lips.  The next thing she knew, it was forcing its way inside her.  Clenching her fists, she gave a loud cry of pain.  It felt as if her vagina was about to be torn apart.  She spread her legs as far as she could, ignoring the impulse to tighten her muscles.  The nose edged forward, pressing painfully against her inner passage.  She gave another loud cry, which tailed off into a frantic whimpering, but this only made the count push harder.
Deeper and deeper the nose went, stretching Lady Milburn’s aching vagina ever wider.  By the time it reached the halfway point, she was seriously considering pushing the count away.  She felt like there was a fire raging between her thighs and knew the sensation was only going to get worse.  She leant forward, preparing to plant her hands on the count’s shoulders, and then fell back again, as she thought about losing him.  She had let things get this far; she wasn’t going to back out now.

At last the nose was all the way inside her.  The count paused to let her catch her breath, before settling into a rhythmic thrusting.  Harder and faster he went, until suddenly, Lady Milburn realised the pain had faded away, replaced by a tidal wave of explosive pleasure.  Her body shuddered and she started shrieking as she was carried to a second dizzying climax, which eclipsed anything she had ever experienced.
Part of Lady Milburn wanted the count to continue what he was doing all night, but that would have meant forfeiting the delights of his manhood, so she pushed him away.”Enough,” she said. “I want your you know what.”
Nodding, the count ducked behind a tree to remove his clothes.  He did not return.

***

“You look like you enjoyed yourself,” said Lady Milburn’s husband as they made their way back to their carriage a few hours later. “I wasn’t sure if you would, what with Count Calastro out of the country.”
Lady Milburn’s eyes widened.”Out of the country?” she repeated.
“Yes,” her husband confirmed. “As I understand it, he received word this morning that his mother had been taken ill and left for Italy at once.”
Lady Milburn was stunned. If it wasn’t Count Calastro she was with tonight, who was it? She glanced over her shoulder at the stream of masked faces leaving the house.  Finding the fellow wouldn’t be easy, but she was determined to do it. He needed to finish what he’d started.  Having a lover was all very well, but having two would be even better.

©2009 Christian Carter-Stephenson

Christian Carter-Stephenson was born in 1977 in the county of Essex in the United Kingdom. He has a degree in English & Performing Arts and a postgraduate diploma in Acting. He is currently flirting with careers in both acting and writing, while engaging in more mundane jobs to stay afloat on the turbulent sea of life. His ultimate ambition is to write a story so chilling the ink in his pen freezes. Recent publication credits include stories in the following magazines: The Willows, Dark Horizons, La Fenêtre, The Literary Bone, Thirteen, Seasons in the Night, Twisted Tongue, Sinister Tales, Legend, and Ethereal Tales. For more of his work visit his website: http://www.carter-stephenson.co.uk/

Lady Deloria was generally quite pleased with her new drawing room, which was the latest achievement in a series of domestic renovations planned and executed by her Ladyship and her devoted husband, Lord Daniel of Whittiershire. Together, the recently reunited couple had transformed their rustic country property from a cold, inhospitable fortress into a lush, intimate summer home. They had spent months designing the gardenia-lined pathways leading to fern-filled sunken gardens. They had personally supervised the sanding and staining of the rich cedar floorboards spanning the spacious dining room, and — in one of Lady Deloria’s not-so-infrequent strokes of genius — they had decided to expand the dining area into an outdoor lounge overlooking the pine-crested hunting grounds and nearby lake. The finest architects, vintners, estuarians, apothecaries, stonemasons, smithys, sculptors, and stewards in the land had ensured that Lady Deloria and Lord Donald’s latest property would attain a level of style and sumptuousness heretofore unbeknownst to the denizens of Mother England. This goal, like so many others in their blessed lives, had been accomplished swiftly and serenely.

The house was, in short, stunning. It was more than simply a home, in the crude, common sense of the word. It was to be Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel’s crowning domestic achievement, as well as their legacy. They were nearly as proud of their new abode as they were of their three children—who, incidentally, were currently making their respective ways from various points of the earth to rejoin their parents for a month-long summer soiree.

“Mama! Papa!” the dulcet tones of Miss Oleander and Miss Alexis chimed harmoniously from the entrance. Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel beckoned their daughters inside from their vantage point on the balcony. They had taken every care to ensure that the family reunion would be of a caliber befitting the status of their family—that is to say, outstanding. Lemon teacakes and watercress sandwiches awaited the sisters on a tiered tray, and a bottle of fine champagne was nestled in a bed of ice cubes beside it. The afternoon sunlight warmed the balcony terrace, and a mature citrus tree provided just the right amount of shade. Both mother and father were dressed in their finest garments—Lady Deloria in her raw silk bodice and full skirt with an imported sash from the Orient and white kidskin gloves that buttoned up to the wrist, Lord Daniel in a linen summer suit, his signature pearl cufflinks adding a touch of jenes se quoi. They stood with arms outstretched, beaming with pride as Oleander and Alexis, flushed from their travels, bounded into their waiting arms. One could not have wished for a more picturesque homecoming scene.

“It is ever so good to be home!” cried Oleander, tears streaming down her face. “The French are absolutely dreadful, I could not wait to return to civilization!”
“Oh, do not speak to me of dreadful!” cried Alexis, rolling her eyes impetuously. “The Australians are utter heathens!”
“Girls, girls, there is no need to remind us of England’s superiority,” chortled Lord Daniel.
“Yes, we are more than aware than our homeland is unrivaled in every respect!” added Lady Deloria, taking her husband’s hand in her own.
“Oh, how wonderful to be British!” laughed Oleander, clasping her heart gaily.
Alexis raised a glass of champagne, admiring the bubbles skipping upwards to the curved surface of the glass.
“Here’s to Mother England!”
“To England!”
“And, to Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel’s new home, which is surely the finest gem in England’s Crown.” A dapper young man leaned gallantly in the doorway, a large canvas music bag hanging foppishly over his wiry shoulders.
“Master Bernard! When did you arrive?” Lady Deloria rushed over to embrace her eldest son. “And where is Lady Marietta?”
“She is tutoring young convent girls at a nearby nunnery. Violin lessons, I believe. She will be joining us on the morrow.”
“How marvelous,” sighed Oleander. “The entire family, together at last, for the entire summer.”
“Perfection itself,” agreed Alexis. “It certainly feels as though nothing can possibly go wrong.”

The family raised a second toast in silence, gazing in unison at a wayward butterfly that floated from the direction of the lemon tree, coming to rest momentarily on the tip of the bottle of champagne, before alighting once again and disappearing into the darkening twilight.

***

Morning arrived bearing three dreadful shocks in quick succession. Firstly, Lady Deloria’s handmaiden Georgina had neglected to iron the morning papers, and as a result they were terribly crimpled. Secondly, Miss Oleander’s letters of progress from her Parisian Academie de Mathematiques had arrived in the post, and her results were dismal indeed. Thirdly, and perhaps most distressingly, Lady Marietta had still not returned from the nunnery and Master Bernard was in a mood most foul.

“I don’t understand what could be keeping her!” Bernard fretted and fussed over his morning croissant. “I was under the distinct impression that she would arrive first thing in the morning!” He scowled, shoving away his uneaten breakfast in irritation. “You don’t think something might be…you know, going on…with her and one of the men at the convent?”
“The only men at the convent are priests, you silly man,” exclaimed Alexis. “I should think that your beloved would be safe in their company.”
“Yes, but in her last letter she went on and on about this Irish fellow, Father Bruno,” sighed Bernard. “And then another missive dwelled upon Father Otto, a Moorish missionary from the Afrikas.” He frowned. “I realize I’m being a tad unreasonable, but I can’t help feeling agitated when we’ve been separated for so long!”
“There, there,” soothed Lady Deloria, offering a porcelain cup of steaming tea, tempered with a splash of fresh cream. “I’m certain that Marietta is already progressing homewards. In fact, I imagine she will arrive at any moment.” Lady Deloria took a luxurious sip of her tea, setting her china teacup down in finality. “In the meantime, why don’t you take your sisters to the lake? The day is fine and life is short!”
“To the lake! To the lake!” cried Oleander, suddenly revived from the gloomy effects of her academic progress card.
“Last one there is a rotten éclair!” cried Alexis, scampering towards the pine trees that bordered the private lake.

“Off you go, then, children,” said Lord Daniel, enrobed in his fine-woven flax dressing gown. Turning towards his wife, he took her face in his hands, cool in the morning mist, and leant forward for a warm kiss.
“Good morning, my love.” Sitting beside her, he shared a sip of her tea and rested his hand on the inside of her thigh. “And how will my Lady Deloria be spending the first day of the summer holidays in her new country home?”
“Oh, I imagine it will be exactly the same way Lord Daniel will be spending his,” she teased, turning towards her husband and clamping his hand playfully between her warm thighs.
“Well, if that is so,” laughed Daniel softly into his wife’s ear, “let us hope Lady Marietta is very, very belated in her arrival.”
“Yes, it will take the better part of the day to properly arrange the cutlery,” nodded Deloria sternly, rising abruptly and striding towards the open door. “Will you be coming?”
“Apparently so, though not in the manner in which I had hoped.”

***

Lady Marietta was flummoxed. She had specifically requested that her carriage be made ready at dawn, but when she descended the stone steps to the courtyard in front of the nunnery where she had recently completed her tenure as a music tutor, the only sentient creatures to greet her were a quartet of noisy crickets.
“Hello?” she called out, in the hopes that her carriage was positioned just around the corner. The distant clatter of an industrious woodpecker was the only reply she received.
“Hmm. Well, this is most unacceptable.” Turning to collect her clothing trunk, she jolted upright with a start. Father Otto stood watching her from the top of the stone steps, silent and commandeering, the very image of an angry Othello.
“Goodness, Father Otto, but you gave me a start!” Marietta laughed, nervously. “You wouldn’t happen to know when my carriage might be arriving. I’m quite inexcusably late as it is.”
“Your carriage will not be arriving, Miss Marietta.” Father Otto’s gaze drifted away, nodding appreciatively at a passing trio of twittering young convent girls. Marietta felt her stomach knot in disgust.
“Not arriving, you say? Whatever can you mean?”
“Exactly what I said,” he replied impassively. “If you’ll reflect upon our initial conversation regarding the duration of your employment at this religious establishment, I think you’ll find that the right to extend the length of your occupation falls solely into my capable hands.”
Marietta blinked in disbelief. “Well, yes, you certainly have the option to extend my employment, Father Otto, however I should think that my consent would be a key factor in such an extension…”
“I think you’ll find that the matter of your consent did not factor at all into the text of our binding legal agreement,” he interrupted smoothly. “I have the documents in my chamber, if you care to peruse them at leisure.”
“I will not be perusing anything at leisure, Father Otto!” Marietta stamped her heeled foot expressively, but the sound was muffled by the heavy stone step. “This is utterly preposterous. I demand that you release me from any and all obligation this very moment, and summon a carriage as we previously agreed!”
“I’m afraid I cannot,” sighed Father Otto, though his sigh was more like the hissing of steam kettle. “We are expecting a major financial donor this evening, and I will require your services in the music hall. You will be conducting the young nuns in a new composition of my own devising. You’ll find the necessary supplies in your quarters. Good day, Miss Marietta.” Father Otto turned and strode unhurriedly towards the convent’s inner sanctum.

Marietta was aghast. Many miles from the nearest town, and with no messenger to carry a plaintive letter to her beloved, she was trapped. The woodpecker clattered its beak against a stiff pine once more, breaking her reverie.
“Oh, do shut up!” she screamed at the offending fowl. “Let me think!”

But there was little to think about, and even less to do about it. With a woeful sigh, she began the steep ascent to her teaching quarters. If she were going to make a run for it, she would need to change into a much shorter petticoat, for starters.

***

The high noon heat warmed Alexis, Oleander, and Bernard, who lay prostrate on the sun-baked slate rocks bordering the lake, still dripping from their vigorous morning swim.
“I have the oddest feeling that something is terribly wrong,” admitted Master Bernard, shielding the sun from his eyes with a troubled hand.
“You mean concerning Miss Marietta?” asked Oleander, turning to face her brother.
“Yes. I can’t explain. It’s just a feeling. I feel as though I ought to investigate.”
“Well, shall we return to the manor for lunch? She’s probably sipping a cup of tea with Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel as we speak,” offered Alexis, with her characteristic optimism.
“I suppose you’re right. Yes, let’s return post haste.”

The three siblings scampered up the rocks and entered the thick woodlands, where the freshly cleared pathway to their parents’ home was dappled by flickering shards of sunlight.

Back at the manor, Lady Deloria was busily barking order at a cowering Georgina, who was demonstrating her usual levels of incompetence.
“Forgive me if my written orders lacked the clarity to which you are apparently accustomed, Georgina,” spat Lady Deloria in frustration, “but I cannot comprehend what is so outrageously difficult about preparing a simple summer salad?”
“I…I…I sometimes ‘ave trouble reading your ‘andwriting,” spluttered Georgina, stricken with panic.
“Well, if that is the case, allow me to orate my previous request in a verbal fashion: a summer salad! Now!”

Georgina fled, her frantic footsteps carrying her deep into the bowels of the scullery.

“Everything sorted out for lunch, then?” inquired Lord Daniel, casting a glance over his shoulder from his reading chair on the terrace.
“Nearly,” Lady Deloria replied, shaking her head gravely. “You have no idea the lengths one must go to these days, simply to procure light midday refreshment.”
“Is that so?” Lord Daniel arose and strode purposefully over to his wife, who was diligently preparing a fresh list of specified tasks for her household staff to complete.
“Darling,” he cooed, taking hold of his wife’s waist with a firm embrace. “Now that the meal has been arranged, perhaps we could retire to the bedroom for a brief…ah…respite?”

Lady Deloria cocked an auburn eyebrow at her husband, a knowing smile spreading across her pink lips. Turning to face her handsome beau, she wrapped her arms about his collared neck and pressed her bosom into his chest with a sharp intake of breath. Lord Daniel found his hands instinctively moving downwards to encircle Lady Deloria’s full bottom and pull her closer to him. Lady Deloria’s eyes flashed with excitement, and Lord Daniel’s eyes – along with certain other key features of his anatomy – indicated their own variety of approval. With a gasp of dismay, Lady Deloria pulled away from her husband, her hands fussing busily at her mussed red-gold tresses and disarrayed petticoats.

“The children are back,” she whispered hoarsely, casting a meaningful glance at the manicured lawn that spread before the manor.

Lord Daniel peered in the direction indicated by his wife, and let out a heavy sigh.
“Ah, so they are,” observed Lord Daniel wearily, waving vaguely at his triumvirate of offspring as they labored up stairwell.

“I’m exhausted,” breathed Alexis.
“I’m starving!” cried Oleander.
“I’m worried,” announced Bernard.
“Worried?” asked Lady Deloria. “About the whereabouts of your beloved, I would imagine?”
“Precisely.” Bernard sank onto an ottoman, pressing his hands to his temples. “I just have the most peculiar impulse to…well, to go to her. Wherever she is. I fear her detainment may indicate some more pressing issue.”
“Her tardiness is certainly unusual,” noted Lord Daniel, with a contemplative nod.
“Most unlike Miss Marietta, certainly,” added Lady Deloria.
“Right. Then it’s settled. If you’ll forgive me, I’ll have to excuse myself for the remainder of the afternoon. May I borrow a steed, to expedite my search?” Master Bernard was already taking confident strides towards the doorway.
“You may,” confirmed Lord Daniel. “But the idea of you scampering off on a wild goose chase without any moral support of a masculine nature, well – frankly, it troubles me.”
“Moral support? I need not add that, having only just arrived, Master Bernard is ill-equipped to navigate the surrounding woodlands and byways,” added Lady Deloria.
“Too true,” agreed Lord Daniel. “Right you are, my pet,” he added, winking rakishly at his wife, who was still pink-faced from their hastily aborted frottage.
“Well, what do you suggest?” asked Bernard in exasperation, utterly oblivious to the intimate signals setting the air between his mother and father ablaze. “Do you wish to accompany me on this mission?”
“They most certainly do,” announced Alexis. “We’re all coming with you, Bernard!”
“All of you?” inquired Bernard, dubiously.
“We planned a family holiday, and a family holiday we shall have!” announced Lady Deloria, with a luminous grin.
“Ooh, what an adventure,” clapped Miss Oleander.
“Georgina, it’s a blessed day for you!” howled Lady Deloria in the general direction of the kitchen. “Your incompetence has been spared. We shall not be requiring a summer salad after all!”
A clattering of cutlery and coarse river of expletives from behind the scullery door greeted Lady Deloria’s abrupt announcement.
“Yes, let’s depart before Georgina razes our new home to the ground,” said Lady Deloria, snorting in irritation. “We can grab some lamb pasties on the way.”

And with that, the five impeccably dressed members of the LeFolii family commenced to exit the manor.

***

Encased in the confinement of her solitary cell, Marietta began to weep. Father Otto’s hideous musical composition lay scattered about her, each taunting note a blasphemous proclamation to the high heavens. They was simply no way she could coax sweet melodies from his horrendous intonation, let alone train the inept convent girls to perform the piece in any manner befitting a distinguished guest. And worst of all, she had no method of informing her beau of her detainment. She felt imprisoned, helpless, and utterly forlorn. But dared she traipse off into the murky woodlands? She would escape her vile fate here at the nunnery, to be sure, but she risked encountering a creature far worse than Father Otto, with his intolerable pretentiousness and grotesquely inflated sense of self-worth. There were wolves in the woods – bears, too. Yet she would have almost preferred a bear, at this point. At least bears don’t intimidate young women through legal trickery!

A knocking at the door roused Marietta from her dour musings.

“Father Otto and the young nuns are waiting in the refectory,” chirped a virginal voice from the hallway.
“I shall be there presently,” moaned Marietta, who felt as though tearing her brown hair directly from the follicles would be a preferable way to spend the afternoon. Summoning strength heretofore unbeknownst to her, she walked gravely to the meeting hall, violin case in hand.

If only Bernard were here. The thoughts swirled in her mind, useless as a glass of bourbon at communion.

***

Several miles away, Master Bernard was terribly, inexcusably lost.

“We must have misread the map,” he said curtly, smoothing the wrinkled pages with both palms. “Who’s in charge of navigation?”
“That would be Lord Daniel,” sighed Lady Deloria, fanning herself profusely.
“Right. It says here that the Holy Nunnery of St. Calvin’s Trinity Cross of Our Lady the Blessed Virgin Mother is right…” his index finger wavered over the map, “here!”
“No, father!” groaned Alexis, affixing her red spectacles to her nose. “You misread the page. That’s the location of the Sacred Convent of St. Paul’s Holy Dominion of Our Lord and Savior!”
“Is it really?” Lord Daniel peered at the map, unconvinced. “Ah. It would seem that Miss Alexis is correct. The fault is entirely mine. Mea culpa, as they say in Latin.”
“Oh, God…” moaned Bernard, plopping down onto a mossy stump by the roadside. “We’ve already wasted so much time! The sun will be setting in less than an hour!”

The family stood silently, privately considering their options. A glistening toad hopped merrily across the embankment, springing in the direction of a small, winding pathway.

“We could try a short-cut,” suggested Miss Oleander, who was fashioning a chain of daisies for her hair.
“We could split up and reconvene at twilight,” offered Alexis.
“We could abandon this folly and return to the manor, where Marietta is no doubt awaiting our delayed company at this very moment!” cried Lady Deloria, who had been growing increasingly displeased with the little midday jaunt as the afternoon progressed and longed to return to her sumptuous parlor for a much-needed cup of tea, and possibly an almond biscuit.
“No,” stated Bernard firmly. “We began this ill-advised excursion together, and we’ll complete it together, as a family.” Drawing himself up to his full height, he stood with his back to lowering sun. “We shall tarry onward – on the correct route, this time – and no one returns home until Miss Marietta is safe in our custody!” He marched decidedly in the direction of the Holy Nunnery of St. Calvin’s Trinity Cross of Our Lady the Blessed Virgin Mother, without looking back.

Unable to protest, and lacking more enviable alternatives, Master Bernard’s family followed suit.

***

Marietta knew her way to the refectory by heart, but today her steps were leaden and unsure. She felt a strangely ominous sensation of foreboding spread across her chest, as if each step carried her closer and closer to certain doom. When she finally arrived at the enormous oaken door, she was surprised by the unusual quality of silence. No playful chatter, no scuffling chairs, nothing to signify the presence of the dozen or so teenage convent girls who normally greeted her arrival. She placed a tentative hand on the door’s brass handle, and pressed it open slowly.

Father Otto was seated in an imposing, leather-hewn chair with his back to a raging fire. He stood as she entered, poking idly at the inferno with a white-hot steel rod.
“Come in,” he stated – or rather ordered.
“Will the girls be arriving soon?” Marietta inquired, tensely. “We have so much to practice if we’re to perform your composition this evening, per your request.”
“The girls will arrive soon enough,” replied the priest, with unnervingly self-assuredness. “Sit. Rest yourself. Would you care for a cup of hot licorice?”
“No, thank you, Father. I’m perfectly fine.”
“As you wish.” Father Otto drank deeply from his streaming red clay mug, smacking his voluminous lips in earnest. He raised his heavy-lidded eyes to appraise Miss Marietta in a mercantile fashion.
“Before devoting myself to the Lord, I myself was a wandering musician, you know,” he stated, by way of conversation. “Quite the artiste. Had every maiden I could ever wish for. They simply fell into my lap like Parisian Pomeranians.”
“How charming,” said Marietta, maintaining a civil twelve feet of separation between her and the lounging priest.
“It was an ephemeral lifestyle, of course. I pledged myself to God a full fourteen years ago, and have never regretted my decision.” He drained his mug and tossed it into the fire, where it cracked from the heat, cracked, and collapsed, joining the smoldering charcoal and rubble.
“How nice for you,” Marietta replied, taking a cautious step backwards to increase the distance between them to fifteen feet. Father Otto had a vacuous look in his eyes – one that either reflected complete absence of thought, or of moral judgment. Either way, Marietta prepared herself to strike, if need be. Her fingers clenched her black violin case in readiness.
“I still have musical aspirations, as you are no doubt aware,” Father Otto continued, rising from his seat to scratch a staff of five parallel lines onto the floor with the fireplace poker. He twisted the poker deftly, carving a bass clef into the stone.
“And I still have…other needs.”
Marietta suspected that these “other needs” had little to do with taking the holy sacrament. She felt the blood drain from her face as Father Otto strode purposefully towards her, his arms swaying ape-like at his sides. Time seemed to accelerate and suspend all at once, and in her panic she felt her knees buckle. Scrambling for her violin case, she swung it high over her head.
“What is your answer, Miss Marietta?” snarled the priest, who was now a mere three feet away, dragging the rod behind him like a battleaxe with one fleshly palm while the other ripped away the cord that affixed his robes to his waist.
“I should think that her answer would be a resounding NO!” called a triumphant voice from the far corner of the refectory. Marietta turned, her heart swelling with elation. Master Bernard, flanked by his stern-faced family, ambushed the startled (and now pants-less) priest, wrenching the metal rod from his fingers and pinning him to the floor.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Lady Deloria, in an outpouring of vehemence the likes of which even poor Georgina had yet to endure.
“You filthy, horrible man!” screamed Oleander, purple-faced in her hysteria.
“Hypocrite!” cried Alexis, who was simultaneously scribbling essential details about the confrontation in her moleskin notebook, for future reflection.
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” stated Marietta plainly, having recovered command of her mental facilities.
“Ah, that would be me!” Lord Daniel notified the miserable man of God.
“And I for one will see to it that every financial donor on the district knows the full extent of your appalling behavior,” added Lady Deloria, with a menacing glare. “Your convent will not receive a penny in remuneration as long as you are presiding over its operation.”

Father Otto lowered his head, humiliated and hot-faced.
“Don’t you feel you owe an apology to Miss Marietta, you shameful hedonist?” demanded Master Bernard, encircling his beloved protectively with a welcome arm.
“I…I…I was possessed! Yes! I was possessed by Satan’s minions. I had no control over my behavior. It was possession of the vilest sort, I tell you!”
“Save it for the jury,” snorted Lord Daniel. “Oh, and incidentally? The old ‘demon possession’ defense hasn’t carried weight in Mother England’s judicial system since the Middle Ages. But best of luck to you, Mr. Otto. No doubt we’ll meet again – in court!”

The family filed out of the refectory in a military fashion: Master Bernard and Miss Marietta leading the procession, followed by Miss Alexis and Oleander in rapid pursuit. Lady Deloria and Lord Daniel comprised the rear of the train, and cast a final set of withering glares at the ruined priest before slamming the oaken door shut.

***

“My goodness! How extraordinary!” Lady Deloria smiled broadly, genuinely impressed by the splendid presentation Georgina had somehow managed to arrange for the weary voyagers upon returning to the manor.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Georgina, wringing her hands as her mistress surveyed the sumptuous table spread. “A summer salad, as requested, an’ a roast turkey wif’ fine chutneys and Oriental spices.” Georgina gave a shallow curtsy, adding, “wine’s in the icebox, an’ those chocolates you like so much are the drawing room. Will that be all, m’Lady?”
“For once in your life, Georgina, that will indeed be all.” Lady Deloria jangled the silver dinner bell to rouse her family to the dining room. “Oh, and Georgina? Take this silver coin for your troubles. And why don’t you take the rest of the weekend off? You look like you could use a decent bath.”
“Yes, ma’am,” answered Georgina, with a furtive glance at her grimy petticoats. “I should like that very much, thank you.”

The wily servant scampered away, nearly bowling over Lord Daniel as he entered the parlor. The other LeFoliis arrived presently, freshly scrubbed and smelling of lavender. They arranged themselves at the table, and tucked into the meal with enthusiastic, yet genteel, voracity.

Mid-meal, Master Bernard tinkled a wine glass with a gleaming silver fork. The family sat in rapt attention as he stood, resting a gentle hand on Miss Marietta’s shoulder.
“We’d like to make an announcement,” he glowed with pride, and Lady Deloria held her breath. “Miss Marietta and I…are engaged to be married!”

The table erupted into cheers, embraces, and well wishes. Lady Deloria let her tears of delight flow unrestrained, and Lord Daniel embraced his future daughter-in-law with heartfelt joy.
“And might I add,” noted Master Bernard with a civilized bow, “that our lovely mother looks particularly radiant this evening?”

Far beneath Lady Deloria’s white-linen tablecloth, Lord Daniel slowly removed his slender hand from between his wife’s hot, quivering thighs. Lady Deloria strained with every fiber of her being to keep from screaming aloud with pleasure and drenching her fine oak floorboards with the liquid evidence of her rapture. An imperceptible smile crept across Lord Daniel’s face as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a starched napkin.
“Lady Deloria somehow manages to sneak her…how shall I put it…beauty rituals into her exceeding hectic schedule,” Daniel explained in a genteel tone.

His wife could only nod in rapt agreement, having been temporarily rendered incapable of normal human speech. Her eyes scanned the faces of her three children, who had resumed their avid chatting and were enthusiastically tucking into a selection of imported chocolates – utterly oblivious to their parents’ dalliances, as usual.

And as twilight descended upon the country manor and its well-manicured lawns, surrounding woodlands, glades, and pristine blue lake, nowhere in the parish of Vicksburg did a more intense concentration of truest love – in its many forms – reside than in the new summer home of Lady Deloria, Lord Daniel, and their adoring brood.

© 2008 A E Franzen

At age twenty, A.E. Franzen abandoned the trappings of life in Los Angeles and spent the next three years flying helicopters, fixing computers, drawing comics, and frolicking about New Zealand. These days, she lives in Minnesota with her goldfish, Atticus Fish. She is thrilled to be making her erotic fiction debut in Lucrezia. You can check out her blog and strange, rambling podcast at This is Out of Context.

Lady Deloria huffed as she adjusted her olive-green bodice with a strict twist. She was a woman of importance — a woman to be heard, as well as seen. A woman to be reckoned with. And everyone in Vicksburg knew it.

Georgina, the family handservant, was on the brink of tears. She would do anything to please her mistress, but she was so intimidating! Georgina had been lucky to even be accepted into the LeFolii household, let alone promoted to the position of first handmaiden. She speculated that her fine singing voice had endeared her to her stern mistress, who was a great patron del arte in their parish. But at the moment, it would take a great deal more than pretty tunes to delight the Diva of the household.

“And where is my carriage?” snorted Lady Deloria. “I distinctly recall requesting you to summon it a full five minutes ago…or were you too busy mutilating my petit dejeuner?”

Lady Deloria enjoyed flaunting her grasp on French, almost as much as her equally vise-like grip upon her devoted husband, Lord Daniel of Whittiershire. Georgina inhaled sharply, ashamed of her incompetence. What was it about Lady Deloria that filled her with such anxiety, to the point where she could not carry out the simplest domestic tasks? Rushing to the gilded doorway of Lady Deloria’s sunlight parlor, she managed to mumble some pathetic placation to her glowering governess.

“I…ah…I… I will see to it, ma’am!”

“I should certainly hope so,” replied Lady Deloria coldly, and she took a strong pull of Earl Grey from an imported Russian carafe. “At least my tea is satisfactory.”

***

After Georgina had fluttered away, her pink cheeks moist and her brow furrowed with self-doubt, Lady Deloria reclined lavishly upon her burgundy chaise lounge, teacup in hand. She hadn’t intended to be so harsh on the girl, but for God’s sake — she could scarcely be expected to import gentle civility before she’d imbibed her morning tea! Her life was far too busy to indulge slovenly slatterns like Georgina. What with her social engagements, her estate to manage, the theatre, the music hall, her various employees and recipients of generous patronage…and then of course, there were the children to think of. There were matters far more meaningful than manners, she concluded with a prolonged sigh of ennui.

And the first matter this morning was the new Valet.

With Lord Daniel attending to legal matters in the Colonies, Lady Deloria was intolerably lonely. Georgina, with her flustered countenance and insufferable ineptitude, had proved a stupendous disappointment. Lady Deloria needed someone trustworthy to assist her in successfully striding through life’s daily troubles. Someone to anticipate her every need, to tend to her every whim, to satisfy her every desire. And while male butlers were usually only employed by gentlemen, Lady Deloria was never one to conform stiffly to the times. She wanted a Valet. And a Valet she would have.

Mr. Rufus Reginald III had come highly recommended by Lord Daniel’s American business partner, Mr. Frunton. Frunton had sent a handwritten note, embossed with his official seal, in praise of Rufus, whom he purported to have known personally for several years. Lady Deloria affixed her silver monocle in order to peruse his notation at length:

Nov 14th, 1818

Dearest Deloria,

May I begin by expressing my apologies with regard to your wayward husband, that incorrigible Lord Daniel. He is simply too fine a barrister to release to you just yet, and I’m afraid my American colleagues have insisted that he remain in Virginia for a few more weeks. He is currently immersed in his study of our relatively youthful legal system, and has been asked to advise a newly forming council of gentleman scholars like myself on the topic of integrating Greek practices of ethics and morality into everyday culture and legality. I am sure you can see why his services here are truly invaluable, and I thank you for your generous understanding. I can assure you that he will be home in time for the Christmas holidays, by way of the HMS Leonora.

Now to the real business at hand: it has come to my attention that you are in dire need of a Valet. I may have just the solution to your predicament. My manservant, one Mr. Rufus Reginald III, has expressed to me in no uncertain terms a strong interest in visiting Mother England. I will soon be retiring to my winter estate and will happily spare him to your service until the spring. Of course, should you find him compatible, we can discuss a more permanent arrangement, as you deem appropriate.

Words can do no justice with regard to Mr. Rufus. I cannot fathom any circumstance in which he would disappoint you. Simply know that he is full of delightful surprises.

Yours Sincerely,

Patrick Frunton

Well, let us hope so, thought Lady Deloria, as she took one final sip of steaming, subtly sugared tea. She had been informed via telegram that Mr. Rufus would be arriving no later than 12 noon today, and she —

“Lady Deloria?” a meek voice inquired tremulously from the doorway.

“Yes, Georgina?” Lady Deloria replied without casting her gaze upon the girl.

“I, ah, your carriage is here, but it seems you also have a visitor. A Mr. Rufus, ma’am.”

How extraordinary. Lady Deloria had hardly expected her Yank Valet to be punctual. Would wonders never cease?

“Tell Mr. Rufus to prepare himself for a carriage ride. He will be accompanying me to the city. That is all.”

Georgina disappeared in her typical mousy fashion, carrying herself like a broom that had seen better floors. Lady Deloria sighed, and extended herself upward in one fluid movement. With one fond glance at the framed portrait of Lord Daniel that adorned the hearth, she descended the marble staircase and entered the foyer.

“Let the day begin, if indeed it must,” she muttered.

***

The brisk English autumn air greeted Lady Deloria like a Catholic headmistress’s stiff smack with a pandybat. She gasped momentarily, running a be-gloved hand through her auburn tresses as she blinked in the cool, white sunlight. A guiding hand suddenly pressed gently, yet firmly, into the small of her back. Lady Deloria turned with a start, emitting another small gasp as she took in the sight of the strange man who was presumably her new Valet, or possibly an overly attentive trespasser on her grounds. And what a sight indeed! Standing nearly six feet tall in flat, polished boots, he was a slight, yet sturdy fellow with a dignified waist and long, artistic-looking fingers. His strong jaw line reminded her of a divine portrait of a Viking warrior she had once chanced upon in a Swedish gallery, and his charcoal black hair was softened by a soft breath of silver about the temples. He wore a fitted grey jacket that draped past his knees in a daring fashion. A crystalline white ruffled shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons added a feminine, yet not effeminate touch to the starkly masculine figure.

Lady Deloria lifted her eyes to rest upon his countenance, which could only be described as ruggedly intelligent, yet not overly worldly or withered. A peculiar white eye-patch made of silk was fastened with another mother-of-pearl bauble and arranged to cover his left eye, giving him the appearance of an extraordinarily wealthy, unusually refined pirate. Lady Deloria mulled for a moment, and then decided that she liked the curious accoutrement. It added character, and a good one at that.

“Lost in thought, Madame, or in step?” A mellifluous tenor voice entered Lady Deloria’s be-jeweled ears, and she gave an involuntary shiver. Gathering herself, she countered, “Perhaps it is you who has lost his place.” Nodding graciously in understanding, the mysterious stranger withdrew his hand from Lady Deloria’s corseted waist.

“I meant no harm, good Lady. You merely appeared stunned and imbalanced by the garish sun, and I would scarcely have my Lady fall before I had properly introduced myself.”

“Are you insinuating that this Lady has fallen without knowing her companion’s Christian name on previous occasions?” she countered with a half-smile.

“I was not suggesting that she was a Fallen woman, not at all,” the stranger returned smoothly. “But even the best among us are known to stumble.”

“Well, in any case, I am not sure I can stand for any more of this banter,” she laughed crisply, unconsciously resting a slender finger upon the sumptuous topaz stone that adorned her collar.

“Nor should you have to, my Lady. Shall we press on?” He removed Lady Deloria’s ruffled parasol from her right hand and replaced it with his left. With the grace of a dancer and the assurance of a steed, he guided her towards the ready carriage.

“On second thought,” Lady Deloria sang out suddenly, with a flutter of her hands to her hips, “let’s take the horses. It’s a beautiful day — and I’d like to see how you ride.”

“I can assure you that you will not be disappointed,” stated the man with a debonair bow from the waist.

“Oh, that’s what I’ve been hearing,” smiled Lady Deloria with a devilish batting of her curled eyelashes. “But I’m the sort of woman who likes to learn of her own experience.”

***

The stranger did indeed prove to be Rufus Reginald III, formerly esteemed Valet to Patrick Frunton. As Mr. Frunton had promised, Lady Deloria was wont to find a single thing amiss in his character, countenance, composure, or cooperativeness. As the autumnal weeks flurried into winter, Lady Deloria grew increasingly impressed by Rufus’ breadth of skill and knowledge. He was not only an efficient and earnest man-about-the-house, but he proved himself a worthy and charming dinner companion, a gracious and congenial theatre goer, a selective and sincere reviewer of literature, and a man of surprising artistic abilities.

One evening, Lady Deloria returned from a soirée at Lady Martina’s country manor to find Rufus hard at work on a new oil painting. Embarrassed, he initially refused to reveal the portrait, but Lady Deloria puled and mewed until he finally indulged her fancy. She was surprised at both the quality of the painting (excellent) and the content (her Ladyship). From that moment forward, Lady Deloria imagined a hint of humbleness in her new Valet’s cornflower blue eye (as the good reader will recall, the other eye was strangely hidden beneath a silken eye-patch). All in all, Lady Deloria had never met a less disappointing — or more mysterious — man.

One wintry afternoon, just a few days before Christmas, Lady Deloria received a telegram of the most distressing nature from her husband, Lord Daniel. It read, bluntly: “Darling. STOP. Won’t be back by Christmas. STOP. Frunton wants Valet back post-haste. STOP. Love to offspring. STOP. Ta. STOP.”

Heavens! Was it really so? Was she to spend Christmas alone, with neither beloved husband nor esteemed Valet to warm her cockles? Was she simply to “lie back and think of England,” as the vulgar saying goes, and accept such a vile fate? With a moan of piercing dismay, she reached out for her silver Valet bell. If there ever was a moment in which she needed his services, this was surely it.

Before her trembling fingers had slipped through the pale green ribbon that held the bell, a firm, yet respectful knock rapped upon the door.

“Oh, do come in!” she wailed. It could be bloody Georgina for all she cared.

Rufus placed one foot inside the sanctum of her bedroom, his head turned conservatively towards the hallway in case his mistress should be indisposed or indecent.

“You’ll forgive me, Madame,” he answered with an unexpectedly husky, oaken tone, “but I simply sensed your distress and thought I might inquire if you needed anything. Anything at all.”

Lady Deloria shook her head in impudent frustration, and then froze, her blood rushing toward her scalp. A hot flush glowed beneath her skin, and suddenly she knew exactly what she needed. Arranging herself atop a cloud of imported Chinese pillows and tear-stained, satin bed sheets, she allowed one feathery strap of her emerald-colored nightdress to drape in a most unrespectable fashion. Emphatically, she snuffed the luminescent candle that was resting on the burnished silver tray beside her canopied bed. Her hazel eyes, freshly watered with tears, burned from the heavy, scented smoke.

“Come in, damn it. Come. In.” Her usually silvery voice was strained with emotion.

“Sit. Sit beside me,” she demanded.

Rufus sat. He uncovered eye betrayed deep emotion, though he held himself stiffly, almost sternly.

“Snuff that damn candle, Mr. Rufus.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

“Rufus–?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, no.”

“No?”

“No. No, yes!”

“Yes or No?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rufus?”

“Yes?”

“I never thought I’d want it. I never thought — it would come to this. I am disgraced. I want to be — a fallen woman. I want you! Yes, Rufus. I do.”

“My dear,” said Rufus, with the faintest touch of a smile. “You shall not fall, nor are you fallen. You have merely fallen for me — again. Just as I have fallen for you — forever.”

“For — what?” gasped Lady Deloria, clutching at her breast in bewilderment.

In one swift wolf-like movement, Rufus threw his Lady upon the bed, and with one hand tore the eye-patch from his face. His charcoal locks spilled forth, and his silver temples glowed in the rising moon. Lady Deloria be-strode him, her hands searching his chest, then framing his face, and then encircling him in rapture. She sobbed upon his bare shoulder, then lifted her eyes to meet his own, which, in turn, filled with manly tears.

“My own Lord Daniel! What folly! You trickster! Whatever did you do it for?”

Lord Daniel shrugged, and gave a choked laughed as he gripped his wife with newfound fervor.

“What began as a mere game became an elaborate ploy…falling in love with you and having your love returned over twenty years ago, my Lady, was quite simply the most exquisite experience of my sordid life. Forgive me for my impetuous greed, but I could not bear to think that I would never experience that same glorious pleasure again. I reinvented myself as a Valet that our love might be renewed, anew.”

“You silly man!” Lady Deloria cried, with a playful slap. “So all this time it was you? I can hardly believe my own folly, my ignorance—”

“They say love is blind,” laughed Lord Daniel, cradling his wife and caressing tears of joy from her still-stunned face.

“In that case, I have not seen clearly for over two decades, and I shall surely be blinded for the rest of my days.”

“Thank goodness that monocles are still in fashion, then” chuckled Lord Daniel.

“We can surely thank goodness, indeed.”

And with another quiet laugh in unison, the lovers turned to watch the rising moon cascade its light through the paned glass, sending a prism of moon-light across their joined bodies. Leaning closely and wrapping his arms about her, Lord Daniel recited the words of that fashionable poet of the day, Lord Byron, in his silvery tenor into his true love’s ear:

There be none of Beauty’s daughters
With a magic like Thee;
And like music on the waters
Is thy sweet voice to me:
When, as if its sound were causing
The charmed ocean’s pausing,
The waves lie still and gleaming,
And the lull’d winds seem dreaming:
And the midnight moon is weaving
Her bright chain o’er the deep,
Whose breast is gently heaving
As an infant’s asleep:
So the spirit bows before thee
To listen and adore thee;
With a full but soft emotion,
Like the swell of Summer’s ocean.

“I must say, Mr. Frunton was entirely correct,” sighed Lady Deloria, turning to give her wanton husband a soft kiss. “You certainly are full of delightful surprises.”

© 2007 A E Franzen

At age twenty, A.E. Franzen abandoned the trappings of life in Los Angeles and spent the next three years flying helicopters, fixing computers, drawing comics, and frolicking about New Zealand. These days, she lives in Minnesota with her goldfish, Atticus Fish. She is thrilled to be making her erotic fiction debut in Lucrezia. You can check out her blog and strange, rambling podcast at This is Out of Context.