Submitting to the Marquess

by Brown, Em Browint writing as Georgette

  “It is also known as the ‘Château Debauchery.’”

  “The Château Debauchery?” Mildred echoed, amused and intrigued.

  “The late Monsieur Follet was once imprisoned with the Marquis de Sade and the Comte de Mirabeau.”

  Mildred’s eyes widened. “How wicked.”

  “Yes, wicked indeed.”

  “But you say you met Uncle Richard here?”

  “I did, but Château Follet is no place for love. It is a simply place where men and women indulge their prurient desires, without the judgement and condemnation that society would render.”

  Mildred looked carefully at her ladyship to ensure she did not jest, though it did not surprise her that Lady Katherine would speak of such things. The two women had formed an unexpected bond after her ladyship had come across Mildred and the stablehand in a compromising way in the greenhouse. Mildred could not have been more mortified, certain she had ruined herself and her family. But, to her great astonishment, Lady Katherine had not castigated her. Instead, she had allowed Mildred to take her into her confidence.

  “I shall not commit so dreadful and shameful an act again,” Mildred had promised.

  “Nonsense, child. You cannot quell the natural desires of your body,” Lady Katherine had replied.

  Mildred had never been so stunned in her life. Thus began an unusual rapport. Lady Katherine spoke to her of unmentionables, of subjects no proper woman would ever speak, not even to a sister. But Mildred, eager to learn, and relieved that her carnal cravings might not be so odd and reprehensible if a woman like Lady Katherine shared in them, drank in every word.

  “Is it still known as the Château Debauchery?” Mildred inquired.

  “More than ever, I think,” her ladyship replied.

  “And we are to stay here for the night?”

  “You will stay here. I am far too old for the goings on of the château, and, without Richard, it is not the same. And you will enjoy yourself better without my company.”

  Mildred stared at Lady Katherine with eyes agog. “You are not staying?”

  “Worry not. The guests are most discreet, and Marguerite—Madame Follet, that is—will watch over you. I will speak with her.”

  “But where will you stay?”

  “I’ve an old friend who lives not far, and I mean to pay her a visit. I will return the morrow to fetch you.”

  Mildred felt the luster of her prior elation diminish. “I am to be alone at the château?”

  “My dear, you are a woman after my own heart. I promise you will have a fine adventure at Château Follet.”

  “But I know no one. What am I to do?”

  “Anything you wish. Madame Follet will acquaint you with all you need know.”

  “But where shall you stay?”

  Still astonished and now discomfited, Mildred felt her mind in an unsteady whirl. Her ladyship placed a reassuring hand over hers.

  “Do not fear, my child. Château Follet is wondrous. If you are to marry that Haversham fellow, you ought to grant yourself one last adventure before you are shackled to the tedium of marriage. Trust me, without Château Follet, as much as I loved your uncle, I wonder that our marriage would have lasted as well.”

  Mildred did trust Lady Katherine. She admired her ladyship’s unabashed honesty of carnal matters and her knowledge of the libidinous. The consummation of the marriage was the part she most dreaded with Haversham. The man fumbled to kiss her hand and had a painful propensity for planting his foot atop hers whether strolling, dancing or even sitting. How could he possibly fulfill her corporal cravings?

  The opportunity presented to her in Château Follet was rare and special. She pressed Lady Katherine’s hand in gratitude.

  “I had recommended Château Follet to another before,” her ladyship said. “It did not disappoint. I think you will have a most memorable stay. Be free. Be bold. Be wanton.”

  Mildred glanced out the window and saw that they were about to draw up to Château Follet. It was a little petrifying, but she felt her excitement return. Even greater than before.

  * * * * *

  With equal parts apprehension and anticipation, Mildred followed Madame Follet through the Château. Madame Follet, though several years older, possessed a youthful vibrancy. Mildred had taken to her in an instant and felt she would have done so even if Lady Katherine had not extolled her friendship with the woman. Madame was one of those fortunate women whose beauty did not fade easily with youth. She was much what Mildred was not: stylish in her turban and Turkish shawl, fair in countenance and hair, and slender everywhere from her neck to her fingers. In contrast, Mildred had dark locks, almost as black as the d'Aubigne tresses, and a cherubic face.

  “I have the perfect room for you here in the west wing,” said Madame as they continued down the corridor. They passed by a room with an open door, and Mildred thought she saw a couple, both only partially dressed, upon the bed kissing.

  Noticing the look of surprise, Madame smiled. “Some guests do not mind if others watch and observe.”

  “Truly?”

  This was beyond anything Mildred had considered. It was…provocative.

  “Would you like to watch?”

  Her breath caught. “Pardon?”

  “Being a voyeur can be quite titillating.”

  Mildred hesitated. She had not been here above an hour and had not thought to be thrown into the activities already. She had thought she would have more time to adjust to her surroundings, though she knew not how one would prepare for a place like the Château Follet. For certain, watching another couple in congress was extremely naughty. But her response came far more easily than she expected.

  “Yes.”

  Turning around, they went back and stood at threshold of the couple's room. The woman, dressed only in her shift and stays, was lying upon the bed. The man, in only his shirt, hovered above her, kissing her lips, her throat, the top of her bosom. The woman arched her back, trying to press her body closer to his.

  “Pray, tease me no longer. I must have you,” she murmured.

  Mildred stood as still and as quiet as she could, hoping they would not notice her. Her mind screamed that what she did was wrong. Nevertheless, warmth stirred in her belly.

  The man straddled the woman, laying his hips over hers. There was a familiar thrusting motion, a sigh from the woman. Mildred felt the heat travel up her cheeks. Was she truly watching this? The man rolled his hips at the woman, who grasped his arms and alternated between grunting and gasping. Their brows furrowed, their cheeks flushed. A mix of emotions churned inside Mildred. She knew their pleasure, knew the corporal cravings that were being simultaneously stoked and satisfied. Thus, she felt as if she were sharing in their interaction. It was naughty to bear witness to such an intimate act, but it was a titillating sight.

  The woman's gasps quickened, as did his grunting. His hips hammered into her ferociously. She gave a gasping cry. Seconds later, he roared as he spent before collapsing atop her. They lay, still entwined, breathing hard, their mission complete. Mildred did not move, but she did not know if she ought to stay. For certain, if they saw her, her face would ripen into a tomato.

  Sensing her unease, Madame quietly withdrew and Mildred followed. They continued down the corridor. Mildred was silent as she tried to calm the tumult inside her. She had enjoyed the scene, had envied the woman upon the bed. Would she herself ever be so bold?

  "You are much like Lady Katherine," Madame said. "She, too, is possessed of an adventurous spirit."

  Glancing at Madame, Mildred was filled with a sort of gratitude. For years, until that fateful encounter with Lady Katherine, she had thought herself a most depraved young woman. She knew no one she could talk to. Nothing seemed to stymie the wicked urges within her—not attending church, not reading the Bible over and over, not filling her days with mundane activities, nothing. It was truly a strange affliction because the satiation of it was ever only temporary. In the quiet of her own chambers, she
would attend that craving by hand. But, time and time again, the yearning would return. And when she had given of herself to the stableboy, it seemed she had only unlocked an appetite for more.

  “Here are your chambers,” Madame said, showing Mildred into a nicely appointed and perfectly respectable anteroom.

  No one would suspect anything untoward occurred between its walls. Even the pastoral painting upon the wall, of a woman entertaining the attentions of a man on either side of her, seemed tame. Mildred took in the rose-colored, printed silk and golden candelabras upon the walls, and how the late afternoon sun filled the entire room with light. The mahogany furnishings were finer than any in the Abbott house, but it was the general cheerfulness of the room that Mildred found delightful.

  “I thought these chambers would suit you.” Madame smiled. “As you have no maid of your own, I will have one of mine attend you. Her name is Bhadra. Supper will be at six o’clock. Till then, you are free to roam the château as if it were your own.”

  Madame gave her a parting smile. Mildred would have liked her hostess to stay. She would have liked to acquaint herself more with the woman, and how the Château Debauchery had come into being, but she would not keep Madame Follet from the other guests.

  Alone, she opened the door to the bedroom to see a beautiful post bed clothed in fine linen. She grazed the back of her hand over the soft bedclothes before sitting down.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed upon seeing her reflection in a large gilded looking glass above the fireplace. The glass was tilted toward the bed.

  How very lecherous, she thought to herself with a smile. Giddiness percolated. She could hardly believe she was to spend the night here. Alone. A part of her wished Lady Katherine would have stayed but perhaps it was, as her ladyship suggested, better this way. Without reminders of her present life, she might lose herself more readily in the world of Château Follet.

  She did worry what would happen if she should somehow be discovered here, but Madame Follet assured her that only the most discreet persons were permitted within the château’s walls. Any breach of confidence resulted in a permanent ban, and the guests were too devoted to the freedom and opportunities afforded by Château Follet to risk expulsion.

  “Some guests come as a couple,” Madame had explained. “Others may find their partners upon arrival. I have many individuals who are unattached, and I know there will be a gentleman who would suit you well.”

  Mildred was not as confident as Madame Follet, though the hostess had named more men than women. If she were not selected, should she take her leave?

  “Nonsense,” Lady Katherine had replied. “I do not intend to return to collect you till noon the morrow. And I expect, when I return, to receive a rousing account of your time here.”

  Mildred was, therefore, stuck. It had even seemed to her that Lady Katherine had been in some hurry to leave the château.

  Unbuttoning her spencer, Mildred lay back upon the bed and looked at the painted ceiling. Naked cherubs gazed down at her. Her mind wandered back to that other room, to the man rutting atop the woman. The heat between her legs had not completely dissipated.

  Slowly, she pulled up her skirts and reached between her thighs to find that little bud of sensation. Replaying the memory of the couple, she sighed as she stroked herself. Yes, she would have liked to be the woman below his bucking hips.

  The sound of the door opening made Mildred jump off the bed.

  “Miss Abbott?”

  It was the maid. Composing herself, Mildred entered the anteroom to find a lovely young Indian with hair of ebony and large almond-shaped eyes.

  “You must be Bhadra.”

  “Yes, miss. Your effects are being brought—ah, here they are.”

  A groom came up behind her and set down a trunk and portmanteau. He was rather a handsome fellow, Mildred thought to herself, wondering if the servants took part in the château’s activities. If she could not find a partner among the guests…

  “Shall I dress you for supper, miss?” Bhadra asked.

  Mildred marveled at the peaks and valleys of the maid’s intonations as she spoke.

  “I’ve not an impressive wardrobe,” Mildred said as Bhadra opened the trunk.

  “Fine clothing is hardly necessary here, miss. Some guests go without clothing at all.”

  Mildred imagined what it might be like to walk about in the buff. She had not the confidence to do such a thing but was impressed there were those who would. She wondered how she would react if she came across a nude? How did one stop oneself from staring?

  “Even at supper?” Mildred asked.

  “Not the first night, lest Madame requests it so.”

  Mildred faltered. She could not conceive of sitting down to supper sans clothing. How could one concentrate enough to eat? She hoped Madame would not make such a thing mandatory. Mildred would not mind if others wished to shed their garments, but she had no desire to parade her nakedness. If she had a body worth revealing, she might feel differently. Instead, her thighs were a bit wide in proportion to the rest of her legs, there was a tad too much swell to her belly, and she would have preferred a less buxom bosom.

  With Bhadra, she undressed from her traveling clothes and selected her finest muslin for supper, the same dress she had worn for Lady Katherine’s soiree. It was a simple gown of white with lace at the hem and a lavender sash. In the spirit of the debauchery, Mildred wore only two layers of petticoat. Bhadra had laced her stays extremely tight and this caused her breasts to swell above the décolletage more than usual.

  “Do you wish for powder?” Bhadra asked after finishing the coiffure, leaving a few tendrils to frame the face.

  Recalling Alastair’s comments from the soiree the other night, Mildred shook her head. After applying rouge to her lips, she looked in the vanity and was pleased with what she saw. She looked as pretty as Mildred Abbott could look.

  “Monsieur Laroutte will escort you to supper,” Bhadra informed.

  “Who is Monsieur Laroutte?”

  “Madame Follet’s brother.”

  Monsieur Laroutte was at least ten years Madame’s senior, but Mildred found the man captivating. They conversed in French, and by the time they had reached the dining room, Mildred decided she would be quite pleased to be paired with the man. However, after seeing that she was seated at the table, he sat at the end of the table opposite where Madame sat at the head, and began conversing with a superbly dressed gentleman to his left. By the manner in which the two men exchanged glances and leaned toward each other, Mildred wondered if they might possibly be lovers.

  Looking at the rest of the company about the table, she saw the couple she had witnessed earlier, and immediately a warmth recalled itself into her loins. The man seemed to feel her gaze and looked in her direction. He winked. Mildred flushed to the roots of her hair and quickly looked down at her soup.

  Good heavens. She supposed she ought not feel chagrinned, but the more outlandish aspects of the château required some acclimating. Despite her discomfort, she found herself more eager than ever to engage in the château’s purpose. With a life of married ennui before her, she ought to soak in what Château Follet offered.

  “Forgive me for introducing myself,” the man to her right said, “though we do dispense with the customary formalities here at Château Follet.”

  “Indeed? I would not have guessed,” Mildred replied.

  The man smiled in seeming appreciation. “Charming. I must have your name?”

  "Miss, er, Abbey."

  "Miss Abbey, a pleasure. I am the Viscount Devon."

  "Pleased to meet you, my lord.”

  “You are new to me. Is this your first time?"

  "Yes."

  With interest, he turned his body farther toward her. "Then you are in for quite a delight."

  Happy to have someone to talk to and hopeful that she would not have to spend the evening in her own company, she gave him her most winning smile. Though barely average in height, L
ord Devon was quite attractive with his golden locks and bright blue eyes.

  He looked to see who sat to her left. It was a woman of striking beauty. Mildred expected he would attempt to make the acquaintance of the woman beside her, but he returned his gaze to her.

  “Are you here with someone?” he asked.

  “No, I am alone.”

  “As am I.”

  The palpitation of her heart quickened. Could this debonair man—a Viscount, if he gave his name truthfully—possibly be interested in her?

  Just then, she thought she heard a familiar baritone come from the doors behind her. A mouse coming face to face with a hawk could not have felt more ill.

  “Marguerite, your pardon for my late arrival. I am most sorry,” the gentleman said.

  “La, Andre! You are not sorry for being tardy.”

  “I am sorry I was thrown from my horse, which was the cause of my delay.”

  Mildred did not hear Madame Follet’s response. The blood had drained from her.

  It could not be. It could not be!

  She wanted to turn and look to confirm her fears, but she could not risk revealing herself.

  “Miss Abbey, are you well?” Devon asked. “Forgive me, but you look pale of a sudden.”

  As she faced Devon, she discerned that the man she suspected to be Alastair stood near the other end of the table, where Madame sat.

  “The soup does not agree with me, I think,” she whispered.

  “But you have hardly touched it.”

  “I was unsure if you would come,” Madame said, “but I have saved you a seat for dinner.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the man rounding the table. She recognized the build, the height, the jet-black hair. Dear heavens, it was Alastair!

  In a panic, she bent down behind the table as if she had dropped something.

  “Miss Abbey?” Devon inquired, bending down as well.

  “I think one of my earrings fell,” she said, pretending to look about the floor.

  “They are both of them in your ears.”

  She blinked several times, her mind in a whir. “Oh, well, thank you.”