This is a longer story than I usually write and it's my first true period piece. Let me know what you think about the length and the quality of the tale. Enjoy!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.
Chapter One
I was fortunate to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth. It was the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twenty-one. My father was the Duke of Rutland and was the master of a 1500 acre estate in Leeds. My mother was famous in her own right, having been recognized for her landscape paintings, which appeared in the finest salons in Europe. We lived in a fifty-seven room residence. There were five of us in residence served by a staff of twenty.
I was the second of three children, with an older brother and a younger sister. I was the fair one, with fine blonde hair, blue eyes and the face of an innocent child. My fondest childhood memories were of me and my sister giggling and hiding under the covers when my father would come to bid us a good night and stealing steaming hot baked goods from the kitchen and eating them quietly in the pantry. I often spent time walking the grounds with one of our Irish Setters and sailing on our small lake. Each of the children had their own tutor. Mine was from France. Chantal taught math and science and was fluent in French, Spanish, Italian and English. Chantal also taught my sister French.
At an early age I was betrothed to a member of the English gentry, a William Watkins of Manchester. I had met William on two occasions but had not seen him in a number of years. He went off to the recently established Royal Naval Academy and was commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He was posted to the sixth class frigate HMS Garland, and ultimately stationed in the Cayman Islands. I knew that this territory had been ceded to England in 1670. I gathered Lt. Watkins was now part of the English colonization efforts.
In my teens, I passed most of my time reading, learning to play the piano and harpsichord, speaking and writing in French and Spanish and perfecting my needle point. I had almost no contact with eligible young men, both because I was already promised to Mr. Watkins, but also because my parents had a healthy distrust for adolescent boys and young men. My father would just laugh and dismiss me with a wave of his hand when I asked if young men could visit me. He was a bellicose man, overweight and balding, ruling his fiefdom with a firm hand. He had little tolerance for incompetence or indecisiveness. He expected all of his exhortations to be followed to the letter. He viewed all women, including me, as mere frivolities, to be admired and pampered, but not to be intellectually challenged. I did have a great deal of intellectual curiosity but kept it hidden for the most part lest I be chastised by my father.
The biggest social activities were the balls given by the wealthier families in our area. We hosted our share as well. My most memorable ball was one last year when I had just turned eighteen. I spent the better part of the day getting ready, with my sister Alicia taking at least an hour to comb my hair and help me dress. We had to summon the maid to help with the corset. I had just started wearing a corset and the constrictiveness of that device of torture was literally breathtaking. But it did accentuate my already comely figure and I came to understand that our society's view of beauty required considerable pain. I looked at the mirror to admire my outfit. A stylish hat from Paris with a broad floppy rim. A ball gown that had a pannier so it expanded out just so. The gown itself was a cream colored silk. Its bodice revealed the tops of my now well-developed snow white breasts, no doubt providing a hint to the treasures beneath.
It was a giddy affair for me. An English country estate with a tree lined driveway. A queue of fine horses and carriages as far as the eye could see. Proper English gentlemen and ladies dressed in their finery, accompanied by coachmen and footmen. We presented our cards and were announced by a master at arms when entering the ballroom. The ballroom itself was magnificent. Most of the wall panels were covered with intricate paintings depicting the English countryside and the ceiling was covered with ornate hand hammered copper tiles. The room was festooned with large chandeliers and decorative sconces. There were already at least a hundred guests already in attendance. There was a quintet playing an assortment of folk songs and waltzes, all of which were dance worthy. There was a swirl of activity in the ballroom as the dancers revolved the dance floor as if choreographed by a higher power.
I knew little of the real world and of men, so I was easy prey for the legion of eligible young men that attended that ball. Many approached me but I managed to turn away all of them, except one. One was particularly persistent and I finally agreed to dance with him. It was a waltz. The man, a handsome officer in the Royal Navy, was a skilled dancer and led me around the dance floor with a practiced precision. As his hand caressed my back my heart skipped a beat, and when he looked into my eyes I saw nothing but dark pools of desire. He was the most handsome man I had ever met.
He introduced himself as Commander Neville Osbourne and kissed my hand. His lips lingered on my hand as goosebumps rose on my arms.
"Let's go out on the veranda to get some fresh air," he suggested.
I was in no position to refuse him. I took his hand and he led out onto the veranda and then into the formal English garden bounded by tall boxwoods. It was a moonless night and a chill was in the air. He helped me put my shawl on my shoulders and stayed close to me. He put his arms behind me and drew me close.
"You are so beautiful. How come I haven't seen you before?"
"I just turned eighteen. My mother wouldn't permit me to go to a ball before my eighteenth birthday."
"Ahh, then it's my good fortune that I saw you first."
"You should know I've already been promised to another."
"That's a pity. I know that I could come to love you."
"I'm flattered sir."
Without warning he kissed me on the lips. It was my first kiss. He held me tight and as our lips were pressed together. I instinctively parted them, allowing him to find my tongue with his. I sensed this was to be a passionate kiss, but I didn't feel any sense of arousal, just pleasant warmth. We broke the kiss and he took his leave.
"Your intended is a lucky man. Don't tell him that I stole a kiss from you."
My parents had never discussed sex with me so at that time I knew nothing but what I had heard from my girlfriends and my brother and sister. I knew it was supposed to be pleasurable and that of course it was necessary for procreation. I gathered that my first kiss was an erotic experience to be filed away and savored.
I talked the next day to Chantal. She was spending most of her time with my sister since I turned eighteen, but still worked with me on my French with her. During our daily lesson I shared with her that I had had my first kiss the previous evening. After regaling her with the grandeur of the ball and the handsomeness of my male suitor I confessed that the kiss was a bit disappointing, probably because I had never kissed anyone or been told what to do.
"Don't despair Elizabeth. Kissing men is simple and you're a quick learner."
"But there's no one to teach me," I despaired.
