The Private Affairs Of Lady Jane Fielding

by Viveka Portman

  ‘Certainly, still, I shall not stay here whilst terrible things may be underfoot. I must join the search.’

  She tied the green ribbon beneath my chin, and without farewell I hurried from the room and down the stairs.

  It was bright outside, but already the sun was moving towards the horizon. A lazy summer breeze heady with the sound of bees wafted around me as I hurried towards the kitchen gardens and greenhouses.

  I was certain I should find Arthur with Mary Anne there. No carriage had left the grounds, of this I was most certain, and I should have heard if he had left. I walked past the stables, and there I saw Matthew’s luggage, piled awaiting a carriage. My stomach sank upon the sight. The situation with Matthew was one that must be rectified, and quickly, before he left and neither my husband nor I would ever see him again.

  I turned around the corner of the building, towards the walled kitchen garden. I paused, my slippers crunching loudly on the gravel pathway, and listened for sounds of activity.

  For a time, not a sound hailed on the breeze except the occasional chirp of birdsong and buzz of insect life. Slower now, and with a calmness my heart seemed to lack, I pushed the gates open.

  The kitchen garden spread forth beyond, green, lush and lovely. No one graced the grand expanse of vegetation, not gardener nor maid. I sighed in relief.

  Perhaps all would be well?

  Almost the moment the thought left my head, I heard a muffled cry, somewhere beyond. My heart lurched, and despite the heat, I shivered. I looked around, hoping that perhaps Maeve may come so that I may investigate the cry with her. Yet as I carefully closed the gate, and hesitated once more, I knew no aid would come. I paused, listening, trying once more to fathom the direction of the unusual sound.

  The sound repeated, and I turned to face the greenhouses. Fielding was fortunate enough to have three — an older orangery, and two large fine glass and iron structures of the latest design. As I stared at the structures, I realised swiftly it was the orangery from which the sounds came.

  As I moved towards the beautiful, white brick and glass building, the cry sounded again. Was it Mary Anne and Arthur? Was I to happen upon them in coitus? I hoped not, for although I find myself questioning my own apparently lax morals, I had no desire to witness the depraved acts of my brother-in-law.

  My slippers crunched on the gravel and with every step I verily cringed with anxiety. I pushed the door open.

  The instant I entered the orangery, a cloak of citrus scented humidity covered me. The orange trees lined the glass windows, and ripening vibrant fruit swelled on the branches.

  I heard a male grunt, then a grotesque, unfamiliar and peculiarly wet sound. I wished to call out, but with difficulty refrained as another guttural grunt was followed by what I could only describe as wet retching.

  What the devil was happening? Certainly these were not the sounds of a man in ordinary coitus with a woman. I felt the very hairs upon my neck stand erect. The curious and vulgar sounds repeated once more.

  With considerably more anxiety now, I searched the lines of greenery; the gardener had placed some other exotic fruiting plants, some of which towered high above me, and offered the reprobate clever hiding.

  As I turned and followed a path to the further side of the orangery, I spied them.

  I have never seen a sight quite like it, and hope never to again.

  Poor Mary Anne was on her knees before Arthur, whose breeches puddled around his ankles. His hands were tight around the simpleton’s neck, and his member embedded root deep in her mouth.

  I could not stem my horror. It was a grotesque mimicry of the act I sometimes partook in with my husband. Similar but brutally different.

  A cry of utter dismay and disgust crawled up my throat.

  Mary Anne’s face was alarmingly red and it was clear she was suffering both acute choking and strangulation.

  I started forward as Arthur thrust into Mary Anne’s widened mouth. Tears streamed down her furiously burning face, and the sounds she made were simply ghastly. Slick wetness oozed down her chin from her retching.

  ‘Stop, Arthur! You’re killing her!’ I cried as Mary Anne’s hands moved up weakly, trying to bat his strangulating grip from her throat.

  He seemed not to hear, nor notice me. His concentration locked upon the unfortunate before him as he pumped into her with devilish force.

  Why did she not attempt to bite him? Was she too simple to even consider it?

  Again, Mary Anne attempted to release herself.

  For a very brief time I was torn — should I run and seek help? But Mary Anne may well be dead from choking by then.

  No, I must intervene.

  ‘Arthur,’ I yelled, ‘stop it at once.’

  He turned, his eyes heavily-lidded in his lust. He offered me a sneer and tightened his hold about Mary Anne’s neck. ‘I invite you to try and stop me.’

  He continued his filthy pastime.

  My skin was glowing in the humidity of the orangery, and I confess I had never felt quite so inept as at that moment. How could I stop the monster?

  Mary Anne was making piteous sounds now, and I was urged into action.

  I scoured the surrounding area, looking for something that may assist me. It was then I noticed a tarnished garden implement. It was a strange, cruel-looking contraption with three prongs. I had then, and still to this day, no idea what the implement was used for, but nor did I care.

  I hurried towards it and took it in my hands; it was covered in soil and grime. I pointed the beastly thing at Arthur.

  ‘Let her go, now!’ I screamed, as Mary Anne’s eyes rolled back in her head.

  Again, Arthur offered me that indolent glare and continued his rut.

  There was nothing to it, I simply had to do something.

  Without any further warning or preamble, I rushed forward, the three pronged implement aimed at my foul brother-in-law.

  I do believe my first strike took the fiend by surprise. The wicked prongs sunk into Arthur’s side with a satisfying thump.

  He gave a roar of outrage, his hands releasing Mary Anne’s throat and flying to his injured side, where I could see blood begin to stain the cloth of his shirt.

  ‘Hoyden!’ he bellowed and lurched towards me.

  I scurried back, sparing but a glance for Mary Anne, who seemed to have fallen into something of a faint.

  As Arthur lurched forwards, his manhood on obscene display, he stumbled on the knot of his breeches and released a howl of frustration.

  ‘Come near me, and I’ll strike!’ I cried.

  I had been edging away, and it was at that moment I found my back was placed against a glass pane of window. I pointed my implement forward, ready to strike should he encroach closer.

  ‘You foolish woman,’ Arthur hissed, hitching his breeches up and swiftly buttoning them, ‘you should have left me well alone.’ He stepped forwards again.

  ‘Leave me be.’

  ‘Mayhap I shall use you like I used that maid?’ he continued, advancing.

  My hands were beginning to shake now, and the three pronged instrument seemed unbearably heavy in my arms.

  ‘Mayhap, I shall place my babe in your belly for my brother? Do you think he’d like that?’

  He was only the length of the gardening implement away from me now. I lurched forwards trying to stab him once more, but he moved away, leaving me with no illusion that his injury from the first stab was more than minor.

  ‘Help!’ I cried, hoping that someone may hear me. ‘Help!’

  ‘No point in crying, Jane,’ Arthur sneered.

  Without a warning, the devil rushed me. I had one moment to make a move, and I leapt to my right. Arthur gave a cry of surprise, and crashed head-long through the glass pane.

  The sound of my scream was mirrored by Arthur’s anguished cry as he plunged through the glass and collapsed in the outside garden bed. I turned in horror to observe his fall.

  Arthur was a mess of blood. He was gro
aning, but red pulses of his life’s fluid gushed from the multitude of wounds.

  My head swam, I tried to breathe and Arthur gasped a terrible gasp. I tried to breathe again, but my stays were wretchedly tight. I blinked, trying to control my vision. I needed smelling salts, I needed to sit down.

  I struggled once more to try and get breath to my chest but found myself falling, and the last I recall of the incident in the orangery was the sound of my body collapsing on ground and my own breathless cry.

  Chapter 11

  I do not know if my faint was a lengthy one, but the next thing I find in memory was the anguished sound of my husband’s voice.

  ‘Janie! God, Janie…’ Gentle hands ran across my brow, and after a moment, his voice softened. ‘It’s just a faint. Matthew, see to my wife, I’ll…check upon Arthur.’

  My eyes opened, and I saw Matthew’s eyes looking down on mine; such concern dwelled in their depths, I felt fit to faint once more. With strong and tender arms he lifted me up, and carried me as one may carry a gentle-lady in a faint.

  ‘Take her to her rooms, I shall send for the physician for Arthur,’ I heard Jacob call.

  I closed my eyes, and rested my head against the hard cushion of Matthew’s chest. His heart pounded like a wild primal drum beneath his clothing, and his hands bit into the soft flesh of my thighs through the thin cloth of my dress and petticoats.

  I relished this contact, though it had only been less than a day since he had been in my bed. Despite the horrific circumstances, I felt that peculiar longing to behold him once more.

  Gently, he lay me down upon my bed. I could hear Esther tutting and fussing, and I knew that Matthew was going to make to leave.

  ‘Don’t go,’ I whispered to him, and caught his departing hand.

  He looked at me, his expression tight and a little grim.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘You do not need me here, and your husband certainly does not want me.’

  ‘He does,’ I assured, ‘he will need your assistance, particularly now Arthur is…’

  ‘Wounded,’ he offered. ‘He lives, Lady Fielding.’

  I had a brief moment of wickedness, and lamented Arthur’s wretchedly prolonged existence.

  I looked towards my maid. ‘Esther, you must go and assist Lord Fielding with his brother, he’s been frightfully wounded.’

  I could see in my maid’s careworn features how very must she loathed the notion, yet she nodded curtly.

  ‘Yes, Milady, if it’s what you wish.’

  ‘It is.’

  After a moment, Esther was gone and again Matthew made to leave as well.

  ‘Matthew, do not go,’ I repeated.

  ‘But why? My presence here at Fielding is nothing but pure discomfort, and…’ he hesitated, his smooth cheeks heating with shame, ‘your husband’s reaction to me in your bed has caused nothing but bitterness between us all.’

  ‘It is something he shall simply have to get used to,’ I said, and watched the surprise deepen into confusion on his face. ‘And you are right, there are many reasons you should leave. Yet you must realise, dear Matthew, that there are also many reasons for you to stay.’

  ‘To sire a child upon you? That is but only one reason,’ he quipped.

  My sex slickened at his words. ‘It is but one, true. Yet there is another, and far more important.’

  He took my statement with disbelief. ‘Is there? I think not, Lady Fielding.’

  ‘Jane,’ I corrected.

  ‘Jane,’ he repeated.

  ‘Arrangements such as this are naturally to be fraught with awkwardness,’ I began, choosing my words with care.

  ‘You are doing little to convince me.’

  ‘Then allow me to continue without intrusion.’

  He inclined his head almost graciously, thus I continued. ‘I was most steadfastly against this arrangement from the onset. Yet, I accepted you into my bed last night, and I state with acuity that it has changed my opinion, vastly.’ I hesitated, scarcely daring to speak the words that had lingered on the tip of my tongue since he’d slaked himself between my thighs last evening. ‘I liked it, I liked it very much,’ I said. ‘I liked experiencing you in my bed, and though it is strenuously difficult to admit, I would rather like you there again.’

  Matthew’s expression transformed into one of pure astonishment. He raised his hand to his head, and ran his fingers through his hair.

  For a terribly long time he said naught at all, but stood and paced the room like a caged bear. How long he paced, I dare not suggest, but I believe during this lengthy interlude I heard the physician come and go. It was clear Matthew was battling with his own thoughts, so furrowed was his brow. Of course, I wished him time to consider my words, but how much time should I offer?

  Finally, I could stand it no longer. ‘Please, you torture me with your silence and pacing. Answer me, Matthew, what say you to my confession?’ I asked.

  ‘I…’ Matthew’s mouth worked wordlessly, and I imagined that mouth on my breasts.

  ‘Then say naught.’ I pulled him towards the bed, and he sank down beside me, his face perplexed.

  ‘What will Jacob say?’

  ‘Jacob knows, I have spoken with him.’

  Matthew frowned. ‘You have?’

  ‘Indeed, yes, and I have had quite enough of words for now,’ I added.

  Without invitation, or giving an allowance to respond, I pulled him closer towards me. ‘Kiss me,’ I whispered, and I watched his brows furrow.

  ‘It would not be proper,’ he said stiffly, and resisted.

  ‘Kiss her.’

  Jacob’s voice startled us both, and Matthew flew to his feet, his face aflame.

  ‘Forgive me, cousin,’ he gasped.

  ‘It is I who should ask your forgiveness,’ Jacob said, his eyes catching mine. He moved towards the bed; there was blood on his clothes.

  ‘Is Arthur…?’ I began.

  ‘The physician has treated Arthur’s wounds. There is little else that can be done. All we can do is wait. Esther is with him, and the physician will return tomorrow to see how my brother fares,’ Jacob replied dismissively. ‘Please continue what you were doing.’

  Matthew offered a nervous look.

  ‘Kiss her.’ Jacob’s voice was soft.

  What was he doing? I wondered, but truthfully I knew.

  My sex slickened.

  ‘What depravity are you suggesting now, Jacob?’ Matthew asked, backing away from the bed. His expression was one of curiosity and horror both.

  ‘I realise I am a man of jealous nature,’ Jacob said, and moved towards the bed, tugging his blood stained jacket off. ‘I realise that I cannot abide my wife with another man, so I must be there. Moreover, I want an heir and I must be present when one is conceived.’

  My heart hammered.

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ Matthew repeated, his throat clearly constricted.

  ‘I am suggesting we share her,’ Jacob said, his eyes never leaving Matthew. ‘Only, of course, if my wife is amenable to the proposition.’

  Two handsome sets of eyes descended on me.

  Was I amenable?

  Once more I envisaged Matthew and Jacob’s hands on my body, discovering my slick wet quim, entering me, driving me to the height of passion.

  ‘Yes, I am amenable,’ I said.

  ‘Then, please, Matthew, kiss my wife. I do believe she has even requested it.’

  Again Matthew’s throat constricted and he hesitated. I heard Jacob tut under his breath. ‘If you shall not, I most certainly shall.’

  He moved swiftly towards me and crawled atop the bed, then pressed his lips to mine. His mouth was hungry against me. I could feel his anxiety burn through his clothing and knew without him speaking just how difficult this decision had been for him. His hands roved over my body, hot and hard. I felt him gather my skirts, and he breathed into my ear soft words of love and encouragement.

  I heard Matthew’s sharp intake of breath as Jacob’s hand
s gathered the cloth at my thighs.

  ‘Come, Matthew,’ I groaned, as Jacob released one of my breasts from my dress and suckled. ‘Please.’

  For what seemed like a long time, Matthew wavered, but eventually he sank down to the bed, his hands hesitating a moment before he captured my green silk slippers and removed them from my feet.

  As his caress reached my ankle I cried out in surprise. Jacob raised his head from my bosom, and offered Matthew a nod before returning his attention to my breast.

  Matthew’s hands were tentative as they moved slowly from my ankle northward. His fingers skimmed over the white silk stockings and caressed my knees.

  Wordlessly, Jacob pulled my skirts higher now, displaying the wet curls of my sex. I wore no drawers, thus there was nothing to impede Matthew’s observations of my most private place.

  A whimper climbed from my throat as Matthew’s hands curled around the tops of my stockings, drawing them down my leg, one by one. As he did, Jacob’s hand found my quim, and his clever fingers danced past that sweet place eliciting such heat and pleasure that I found my legs splayed wide as if I begged for something more.

  The sensation of two sets of hands upon my body was shocking, arousing and so delectable I could not help but release another moan.

  I heard Jacob’s masculine laugh as his hands left my lower parts to play elsewhere. I felt his touch firm on my bosom again, this time drawing the second breast from my dress. Matthew’s fingers began to tentatively touch my sex, and the softness of his caress made me arch towards him. I saw Jacob’s eyes darken as he teased my breasts with no such gentility. The contrast between their caresses was stark, and utterly sensual.

  I must have made some sound, as Jacob looked away from me to Matthew. ‘She needs you,’ I heard him say.

  Matthew’s grip tightened on my splayed thighs a moment longer. Then, blessedly, I heard the sounds of the removal of breeches.

  ‘Jacob, I want you too,’ I breathed, and in response, his hands travelled south to caress and splay my sex wide for Matthew’s anticipated entrance.

  ‘You shall always have me.’ Jacob kissed my neck and pulled in close to my side. I could feel the hot length of him and the hard ridge of his manhood grind against me.