Katherine

“Goin dahn ter Brunnington next weekend Miss Katherine” Kate’s Ladies Maid, Jenkins stated, matter-of-factly, as she brushed out the thick, curly brown-black hair of the young woman seated in front of her.

Kate took off her necklace, laying it out in all its finery in the velvet lined jewellery box which stood open on her dressing table. She made an “mmhmm” of bored acknowledgement before the girl continued on as she disengaged from her combing and went to the chest of drawers to lay out a new nightdress for her Mistress.

“I do love a trip to Brunnington, Lady Brunnington, the Dowager Duchess, she always makes sure those maids as are visitin’ are given a favour of some kind when they leave.”

Jenkins went to close the curtains as Kate stood to slip out of her petticoat and into the nightdress. The two women performed this little dance each evening, an easy way of allowing her to dress without causing the servant any embarrassment. She could hear the girl wrestling with the heavy drapes, clearly doing the best she could despite her diminutive stature.

“Will that be all Miss?” Jenkins asked, and Kate replied in the affirmative as she clambered into the bed. The maid bobbed quickly, a half-curtsy and withdrew into the house beyond.

Kate liked the girl, despite her rough, East London accent, she had performed well below stairs in the family’s house in the capital city, and had been promoted first to Parlour Maid, and then to Ladies’ Maid in rapid succession, prompting many an annoyed, discrete opinion from some of the longer serving members of the household.

When the family had come up to their country seat for the summer, Jenkins had accompanied Kate and her sister, Lucy, together with her sibling’s maid in the uncomfortable, hot, carriage journey out into the country.

As soon as the maid had bid her goodnight, retiring down the back stairs to the servants’ quarters, Kate threw back her covers and gently turned the key in the lock of her bedroom.

She hauled the nightdress she had only just donned minutes before over her head and tossed it over her dressing table chair, revealing her lithe, nubile body, almost perfect in its proportions, firm, oval tits crowned with flawless pink nipples giving way to a flat stomach and round hips. Her dark tresses flowed over her shoulders, the curly pubic hair in a triangular patch at her crotch similarly coloured.

She crossed to the window, where a parting in her curtains left by the maid’s frustrated efforts to close them fully, let in a shaft of moonlight. Stepping into it, her smooth skin became almost luminescent in the darkness. Down the hill, in the hollow between the house and the village attached to the Estate, the lights of the Parsonage could be seen.

One occupant of that house fired Kate’s imagination, and she idly moved one hand to stroke and fondle her right breast, bringing her friend Elizabeth, the Parson’s daughter, into her mind’s eye. Lizzie’s golden hair, Lizzie’s full bosom, Lizzie’s full, moist lips upon hers.

She slid onto her bed, the sheets still retaining some heat from the withdrawn copper bed warmer, and pushed her fingers down to her already moist slit, whispering the name of her beloved as she imagined Lizzie’s fingers doing the work.

She curled her spare arm round her feather pillow as the pleasure increased, pressing her thumb against her clitoris as she plunged two fingers deep into her cunt over and over again.

The tension in her nethers and her belly increased as she whispered “Ughhh Lizzie! My Elizabeth!” to herself in the darkness, her arm working in ever more frantic motions between her smooth thighs until the glorious release spread its ecstasy through her body.

It blossomed from a place deep inside her as she held the object of affection in her mind, imagining her naked body entwined with her own.

Her head slammed down onto the pillow as she came, and she continued to work her clitoris furiously until she squirted warm, wet orgasmic juices, her back arching on the bed.

She wondered she was done until a little aftershock made her convulse again, the wonderful warmth suffusing her limbs following the delicious release of tension in her abdomen. She collapsed, her bosom heaving and her tummy rising and dipping as she recovered.

The tiny pang of guilt she felt about fantasising about her best friend she pushed away quietly in her mind. She knew she was unlike many young women in Society — the numerous young gentlemen that she encountered either at home, or at other Great Houses, where families would often decamp for whole weeks at a time — left her entirely cold.

One of them had even tried to get her to indulge in the aristocratic bed-hopping that often went on during these gatherings, and she had eventually resorted to jamming a chair under the door handle to deter his unwanted attentions.

She had begun to gain a reputation amongst that set as a quiet, bookish girl who would end up as a spinster rather than making a decent match if she continued in the same vein of behaviour.

Women, on the other hand, were an entirely different prospect, and practically no-one, she was sure, ever noticed her admiring glances of a graceful neck, a pretty smile, or a heaving bosom boiling over the top of a bodice.

She knew that the maids, in their sparsely furnished rooms, often slept two to a bed. She envied their casual intimacy, and thought how many, if any of them had taken that intimacy further.

When she had become aware of how women could pleasure themselves without the need for a man, she had found that it was Lizzie’s face, and Lizzie’s body that had come into her thoughts, quite unbidden.

Lucy had at all times been the more daring of the pair of the daughters of the house. She was the elder sister, at twenty years old, by a little less than two years to her sister Kate. Some would even have called brazen, though not to her face.

Did Lucy know of her particular proclivities, she thought? She knew of the stories that were whispered amongst the servants and estate folk — that she had taken a fancy to one of the groomsmen that took her out riding, and that she was not a virgin, the two of them having been overheard indulging in riding of an altogether more indecent sort.

Recovered and satisfied, she rose and used the basin of water left by the maid to wash herself before slipping her nightdress back over her head and climbing back into bed, her head full of more romantic than sexual thoughts about Lizzie, holding her hand by the riverbank or curling her golden hair behind her ear until sleep took her.

Lucy

Lucy walked back into the house in her riding gear, and handed one of the staff her hat and crop before making for her room to change. So it was that she heard the raised voices of her parents coming from their wing.

Later, she thought what may have happened, how the future would have been different, had she not lingered in the hall to listen to their words. Flattening herself to the wall, she could see the two of them standing in their morning room, in front of the tall windows that looked out onto the formal gardens beyond.

“For God’s sake Georgina!” her Father raged. “She’s bringing the house into disrepute, you know what they call her in the village, don’t you? Whore.”

She saw her Mother’s pained expression at this, and for a moment felt for her usually cold and unsympathetic parent, whilst cringing that her extra “riding lessons” were clearly not the secret she had previously assumed.

Who would have talked? Not Her sister, surely. Her sister was her closest confidante. More likely the man himself, the damned fool. He risked his position, but clearly could not withstand his boast that he had lain with one of the fine ladies of the big house.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all. She clearly has her Father’s immoral nature. I had hoped that under my influence the girl would grow to become a person of good standing and character. Well, it would seem blood will out in the end. It pains me to say it, the man was my friend after all, but Cordingley was a degenerate devil-worshipper!”

Her Mother’s reply came back and she was surprised. She hardly ever stood up to her Father. “May I remind you, Charles, that your family was on the edge of financial ruin until my Father rescued you by making this match. God knows I have tried to love you since then, but you do make it terribly hard. “

Lucy felt a shock grip her heart at the revelation implied by the words of her parents, that the man she wondered was her biological Father was in fact no such thing, and she had clearly been conceived out of wedlock.

More than that, that her real Father was Arthur Cordingley, the man who had died in the fire that had gutted the Great House of the neighbouring estate some 20 years earlier, in the autumn of 1844.

She had once asked her Mother, Lady Georgina Belmonte why nobody had ever rebuilt the blackened eyesore that even now was still clearly visible from the main road to London and had been swiftly rebuffed.

Her shock only increased when she heard the slap of her supposed Father’s hand against her Mother’s cheek and her sob as she held her hand to where it had stung her.

“I had thought I had made my feelings clear on this matter previously,” he told her in a sneering tone. “I will not tolerate insolence in my household, either from you, or your bastard daughter.”

He began to walk in Lucy’s direction briskly, and she pressed into the corner between the door and the corridor, holding her breath as he marched away. Her Mother had seemingly retreated to her boudoir to compose herself.

She let out her breath once she was alone, and softly walked back to her room. Her mind reeled as she went about stripping from her clothes. The scent of sex still clung to her so she went about cleaning herself down below where she was still moist.

She sat on the edge of her bed, naked, and tried to process the secret that had just been revealed. Arthur Cordingley had sired a child with her Mother out if wedlock and then had died leaving her Mother as it was so often euphemistically put “in trouble”. She could scarcely believe the Duchess had ever had it in her, even as a young lady.

And her marriage was clearly one of convenience, to prevent a scandal on one side, and to save the fortunes of the Duke’s family on the other. It wasn’t an unreasonable or unknown tale, but what of the last bit? A devil-worshipper? Did he mean it literally?

She dressed in a light summer dress as quickly as she was able. She went down the stairs and nodded to the Housekeeper whose icy stare told her all she needed to know about the state of her reputation amongst the servants, many of whom had close ties to the village.

She found her sister in the Drawing Room, seemingly lost in wondered, her head turned to look out of the window, her book open on her lap. The book nearly fell to the floor as she was startled by her sister’s approach and Lucy stole a glance out of the window, smiling as she saw the Parsonage off in the distance. She kissed Kate’s cheek from behind the sofa.

“Good afternoon sister,” she said, moving to settle into the sofa facing Kate.

“Hmmm?” said the other girl, turning her head as Lucy sat down, coming out of her reverie. “Oh, Lucy, I’m sorry, I was lost in thought, ” she replied as she closed her book. “Someone on your mind?” Her sister replied mischievously, noting the pinkness in Kate’s cheeks as she was quizzed on precisely whom might be on her mind.

“Of course not,” she replied, batting the dangerous subject away. “Are you ready for Brunnington?” she enquired, which provoked a sigh of boredom from Lucy.

“Maggie has all but finished packing if that’s what you mean” she said, referring to her ladies maid. “If you mean enduring a day or more in a sweat box of a carriage to listen to our Great Aunt drone on for two weeks then no.”

Lucy was amused to see the slight upturn in her sister’s lips at her stinging response. Kate was at all times better at behaving like a patient young lady at these societal gatherings, a distinct contrast to her own restlessness, the release from which had, on their last visit to Brunnington, manifested itself in a night with one of those young men whose attentions her sister was at all times so anxious to avoid.

Kate sighed “It won’t be so very bad” she said, clearly as much to convince herself as Lucy. “Though I do agree the journey itself can be frightfully dreary. But there’s always games, and music, and riding, for you at any rate.”

Lucy smiled broadly. “Yes well, you do know how I love a good ride” she replied, lowering her voice conspiratorially, causing her sister to blush scarlet. “Lucy!” Kate hissed at her.

“You could make an effort to be a little more…” and Lucy raised one eyebrow at the pause “A little more what?” she replied, before Kate continued “A little more discrete.”

Lucy for a brief moment considered informing Kate about the exchange between the man she now knew was not her Father and her Mother, and how it had made her feel even less inclined to toe the line of authority and decency, but for the moment refrained, taking up some needlework but continuing to smile.

Emily

The journey to Brunnington was hard on Emily and Maggie, the roads outside the towns were sometimes in a poor state of repair in the summer heat, with the ruts any previous conveyance had cut into the earth hardened fast by the sun.

They sat in the open carriage which at least had the advantage of any breeze generated by whatever speed the horses could generate, and more than once one or the other would opinion on the small mercy of not having to travel with their employers.

The pair of them winced as they bounced over another large divot as Emily insisted to Maggie that all things considered, the two of them could not wish for more agreeable Mistresses than Miss Lucinda and Miss Katherine.

This contention however, met with a snort from her counterpart. “That’s easy for you to say,” Miss Katherine doesn’t go cavorting with stable lads twice a week and then expect you to make sure nobody notices the state of her clothes. There’s only so many grass stains you can explain away with a fall before people begin doubtin’ her safety on an horse.”

Emily blushed, the allusion to sex gave her that funny feeling inside. A mix of shame and curiosity that pointedly reminded her of her lack of experience.

She knew the facts of the matter of course, but it was a topic which always made her feel foolish to discuss, especially with Maggie, who she had walked in on once in the Buttery with one of the footmen, her doughy breasts exposed from her dress, kissing and fondling each other. She had slammed the door quickly and scuttled off down the corridor before anything more could be said.

She did like it in the winter, when she and Maggie had to sleep close together for warmth. The other, more solidly built, buxom girl would spoon up at her back, her legs entwined with hers. She would lie there awake, even after Maggie had slipped off to sleep, the scent of her companion in her nose, the soft breath on her chee

k. Was that wrong, sinful even? She didn’t believe so.

“I do worry about Miss Katherine, she seems sad sometimes. Lonely, like,” she replied, slightly altering the subject.

“How can she be?!” Exclaimed Maggie. “Miss Elizabeth visits her, or she goes visitin’ the Parsonage at least three times a week!”

Emily kept her own counsel at this point. She knew her Mistress to be very friendly with the Parson’s daughter, more friendly than she was even with her own sister. Once or twice she thought she caught more than one admiring glance between them, but had always dismissed such notions.

“Hmm, I suppose you’re right, she has her books too, I do believe she’s read every book in the library.” She laughed and gave Maggie a dig in the ribs with her skinny elbow. “You’re right! I do ‘ave the better Mistress!” prompting the girls to laugh heartily as they bounced along the last few miles towards the enormous country seat of the Duke of Shorebridge, Brunnington.

Lucy

Lucy rode him for all she was worth, until she felt him go rigid and then spend his seed inside her, shooting into her depths, his hips rising as he strained his body, and she slipped off him to flop down onto the bed, her pale skin sweaty, her blonde hair spread over the pillow. Her perfectly toned stomach rose and fell gently as she regained her composure.

He too lay there recovering from his efforts for a minute as the energy returned to his limbs before he rolled to kiss her again, his dark moustache prickly against her face for a moment.

“I missed you” he told her simply as she spread her arms round him and rested her head on his chest. “I could tell,” she replied with a small smile. “I was so delighted to discover you were arriving only a few days after ourselves Oliver.”

The three of them, Lucy, Kate, and Oliver, their cousin had been fast friends in childhood, but as they had come into adulthood, the relationship between Oliver and Lucy had become closer, and physical during these summers spent together at Brunnington. After a while, as they recovered, she spoke again.

“Oliver do you know anything about…Arthur Cordingley? The man who owned Northcroft House?” Oliver frowned, yet his expression was nonplussed rather than wary. “Why do you ask? He was a contemporary of my Father, a man of somewhat ill repute they say.”

Lucy remained still, not wishing to arouse any more suspicion in her bed partner than was necessary. “Oh no reason really. It was just a name I heard in passing, that’s all.” And yet Oliver had already given her a piece of valuable information — that the Duke had been part of that set as well. She resolved then and there to wait for an opportunity to speak to him privately on the matter.

Exhausted, and for the moment satisfied with Oliver’s warmth against her skin and inside her, she drifted into sleep.

The next morning, she uttered a curse under her breath when she woke to find the early sun peeking into the room at the edges of the drapes. She had slept longer than she intended. Dressing rapidly, or as best she could, she opened the door a crack to determine if the coast was clear for her to sneak back to her own bedroom, where she should have been.

Maggie was no simpleton in these matters, she would know that her Mistress’s bed was cold and unslept in, but she trusted the girl not to make her indiscretions too public.

As she stole along the landing towards her room she heard voices down the corridor. Luckily, her sister’s room was the next door along, and she hurriedly knocked on the oak.

“Lucy!” her sister hissed in a whisper as she opened the door to find her semi-clothed sibling. “You’re impossible! Quick, before anybody else sees you!” And she was ushered into Kate’s bedroom, the younger woman clad in her nightdress still, the outline her nipples showing under the fabric.

She raised a dark eyebrow and asked simply “Oliver?” Lucy flopped down on the Ottoman at the end of the bed with a sigh. “Is there any point denying it?” she asked. “None” replied her sister with a smile. “You two have at all times been as thick as thieves since we were teenagers.” Lucy gave out a frustrated groan “Ohhhh Katie I wish I could marry the man, but he’s our cousin, and it’s simply not done anymore. Mother certainly wouldn’t allow it.”

“That’s true. It is a shame I suppose” Kate replied, though she did not see the attraction herself. “Come on, let’s get you properly dressed. I’ll get Emily to fetch something for you and we shall say we wanted to match today.”

She rang the bell, knowing she would be attended by the maid shortly. She tried not to look at her sister’s taller, slightly larger body in her undergarments. It was quite unnatural to admire one’s sister in such a fashion of course, but objectively, there was no doubting Lucy’s athletic beauty.