The Private Affairs Of Lady Jane Fielding

by Viveka Portman

  What I saw then neither horrified nor distressed me. He was healing, it was certainly true. His manhood rested against his thigh, slightly turgid. Though I cannot say its colour was its usual ruddy pink, yellow bruising marring it slightly, it certainly looked well to me. I ran my hands gently over it, and it lurched towards me. I laughed softly. ‘Eager as ever,’ I murmured, then lowered my head and kissed it as my hands sought his stones, eager to check each one.

  ‘Janie,’ he groaned, ‘don’t.’

  I looked up at him and shook my head. ‘I must,’ I whispered before returning my attention to that part of him most cruelly hurt. It was true I noticed then that something was awry with his other parts. The skin containing his stones was no longer bruised, but where one side was full and heavy beneath my hand, the other was smaller and harder. I looked up at him, disallowing my fear to show. ‘Will it return to its former fullness?’ I asked softly, my hand gently stroking the soft silken skin.

  Jacob lifted my head up, and shook his own sadly. ‘The physician thinks not.’

  I hesitated for a moment, unsure what my response should be. ‘Well, I care naught for shrunken stones,’ I retorted, ‘you are as much a man to me as you have ever been.’

  Jacob snorted, ‘Janie, you’re a wicked girl to lie so.’

  ‘Mayhap I am wicked, but not for the reason you state,’ I murmured, and lowered my head again. To prove him mistaken, I took his manhood into my mouth. I suckled it for a moment, willing it to swell and abolish our fears. It was soft and large in my mouth and tasted of Jacob, sweet and salty all at once. He groaned, running his hands through my hair.

  ‘Wicked woman,’ he hissed as I carefully intensified my actions.

  As the moments passed, I felt him swell in my mouth and at length I pulled away, unable to contain my smile.

  ‘Shall we see if the healing is more than just superficial? I would have you make love to me. I shall delight in notifying the physician his prognosis is incorrect.’

  He smiled, but there was uncertainty there. ‘I — ’

  ‘I shall not hurt you.’ I mimicked the words he’d long since spoken on our wedding night.

  He laughed. ‘I trust you,’ he mimicked my answer.

  Without waiting further, I gathered my skirts about my waist. I wore no drawers as I disliked the new contraptions — so nothing could impede our intercourse.

  With a swift but careful motion, I moved atop my husband as he reclined. I know that many may think such a position for coitus wicked, but Jacob and I had long since discarded any such concerns. We had long taken great pleasure in experimentation of this nature, and I knew with certainty I would be less likely to injure my healing husband in this fashion.

  Carefully using my hand as a guide, I positioned my husband’s thickened member at the gates of my secret part. I was moist and swollen there in anticipation. The heat of his burgeoning staff made my body tighten. I braced myself against his chest and lowered myself down. For a moment his staff nudged blindly at my opening, so using my other hand, I parted the lips of my womanhood to ease his access. I heard a whimper, and looked down startled at my husband, before realising the sound had come from myself. I gently lowered myself down and the thick head of his manhood forced my sex open and it took yet another moment to slowly ease myself down the entire hot length of him. I wanted to weep with happiness. For one miserably long month I’d feared I may never have this joy again.

  As I sank completely down upon his staff, impaled to its root, Jacob groaned and for a brief moment I was fearful I had injured him. I looked down, but his expression was one of utmost pleasure. I offered my husband an insouciant smile and hesitated, wishing to relish this first intercourse, but could no more linger in this position than I could stem the pulsing of my heart. Though I tried to be gentle and slow, I found myself inadvertently sliding up his shaft, and slipping back down. I cried out as my body swallowed him again.

  ‘Janie, you are so beautiful,’ Jacob murmured as I repeated the motion. Sliding up and slipping down. More than anything I wished to grind myself down upon him, so that most delicate place could burn with wicked friction — but I dared not, I had some sense to remain careful.

  So I continued my movement up and down, trying frantically not to become over-enthused, though it was difficult. My sex milked his staff with as much intensity as I could possibly allow; a deep but sweet, coiling, intense pleasure was tightening in my womb. It would not be long before I found completion. I only hoped that my beloved would also be able to reach such a conclusion.

  In wordless understanding, Jacob’s eyes held mine, and I felt his hands move beneath my skirts, searching for that part of me so stretched and full. With knowing hands, Jacob’s fingers brushed past my mons, past that sweet spot that seemed to exist only for my pleasure. His hands found me slick, swollen and made impossibly wide by the girth of his staff.

  He moved his clever fingers once more, past that place and my sex contracted around him.

  ‘Jacob…’ My voice was high. ‘I shall — ’ But I did not get to complete my words. My world suddenly shrank to my womanhood and that tight, bright, sweet intensity. I gasped for breath and found myself convulsing as pleasure exploded between my thighs and radiated through my belly.

  ‘Oh Jane.’ Jacob thrust into me as I stayed planted firmly upon him. For the briefest of moments I was struck with the fear he could not find completion, but blessedly, within an instant, he cried out and shuddered beneath me. Together we remained as those final tremors of pleasure trembled their last and we both fell still.

  How long we stayed as such I could make no claim, but we remained intimately entwined when we were interrupted by a most unwelcome voice.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Well,’ Arthur sneered from behind, ‘it seems I should well have heeded your maid’s advice and knocked.’ He laughed and the very sound made me shudder. ‘But I am glad I did not. What a sight. The mare mounting her stallion, truly a scene fit for a whorehouse.’

  Imagine my shame and horror; it was all I could do not to cry. My hair was in disarray, my skirts to my knees and my husband’s member still locked within my sex. I dare not even turn to see the man. My face burned. I stared in mute alarm at Jacob, whose face had descended into fury.

  Jacob’s voice was taut. ‘What do you mean by this insult?’ His eyes flashed and, with a strength I’d forgotten he possessed, he lifted me from him and placed me down on the bed, so he would be free to defend my honour.

  I swept my skirts over for modesty, though I couldn’t dismiss the feeling that the time for modesty had since passed. Without further word, Jacob stood.

  His nightshirt fell, blessedly, to cover his slick, partially turgid member and damaged parts. He advanced on Arthur with such an air of danger, the skin prickled on my neck.

  I had not seen the brothers together for many years; as I have noted, they are not a close family. There is often an unhappy rivalry between the first born and second born sons within families of the peerage. The first born lives knowing his entitlement to the lands and title; the second lives in the macabre hope that something may happen to his older sibling so he may one day become heir. It is a sad thing, and something I very much wished my gentle Jacob did not have to concern himself with. Yet, for all this unhappiness, the family resemblance was plain to see. The brothers were of the same height, powerfully-built men, but where Jacob’s physique was honed to perfection from riding and hunting, Arthur’s had devolved into soft folds of flesh that were ill-contained by his waistcoat and breeches.

  ‘Did you mean to insult my wife?’ Jacob growled.

  Arthur’s moist lips contorted into the parody of smile. ‘Why, brother, no. I had come to Fielding Place to see if you faired ill after your accident. I find, however, my concerns are misplaced. For I have unbelievably witnessed, with my own eyes, you in rut with your wife. Hardly the actions of a maimed or incomplete man,’ he said bitterly.

  My face burned at his words.

>   ‘How long to do you propose to stay at Fielding?’ Jacob barked.

  ‘Oh, having seen what I have seen, I feel no great need to linger over-long. Perhaps a day or so, no longer.’

  ‘Then kindly remove yourself from my room,’ Jacob retorted, his tone leaving no room for discussion or argument.

  I watched, through partially closed lids, Arthur’s face contort and its colour deepen.

  ‘Really, Jacob, there is no need to be so sharp with me,’ Arthur replied before turning and sweeping out of the room.

  At first we lingered in silence, until Jacob broke the moment with an abrupt and pleased laugh. ‘I cannot begin to tell you…’ He paused, and walked carefully back to the bedside.

  I stared up at him as he grasped my face between his two large hands and drew my face to his. ‘How relieved I am…’

  He kissed me then, hungrily, passionately; in a way he hadn’t since the dreadful day my horse had kicked him. I yielded to his passion quickly, returning his kiss with fervour.

  ‘I had no doubts,’ I whispered when he pulled away. Yet what I said did not hold the ring of truth. I still had one little doubt.

  ‘I shall call Bolton to dress, I shall not lay abed any longer!’ Jacob smiled at me. ‘I am assuredly blessed to have you as my wife, for it was your actions that have coaxed me from my stupor.’

  ‘Not a stupor,’ I chided him gently. ‘Your injury was a fearful one and you were afraid, there is no shame in that. Mayhap your wife is just a wanton wench who could stand to be without her husband not a moment longer. Mayhap it was simple selfishness on my part.’

  ‘Whatever your reasons, Janie, I thank you for them.’ He kissed me again, and I laughed with him. After a moment he rang for Bolton, and I retired from his sick rooms. Though I smiled, relieved and grateful to have my exuberant husband returned to me, I knew as I walked to my own rooms that all was not quite right. For as I walked, betwixt my thighs lay the remnants of my excitement. I was moist there, certainly, but not as I should be. I knew without doubt that though my husband had reached his pleasure, he had not done so completely, for my thighs nor my sex held evidence of my husband spilling seed.

  ***

  It was our duty as hosts and family to eat with Arthur, though it was a courtesy Arthur did not deserve. Had Jacob not been in attendance, I would have forgone the displeasure, as I had little appetite. Yet I joined the gentlemen for a late dinner for my husband’s benefit alone. Perhaps the casual observer may think me unkind for my short treatment of the man, but events that evening conspired to prove my initial dislike of the man was most worthy.

  We were sitting in the dining room, the silence tight and uncomfortable. Arthur was plainly in his cups. I knew not how much he’d had since the altercation in the sick rooms, but the slurring of his words and the sloppiness of his manner indicated much.

  ‘You look well this evening, sister,’ he commented, and had an indulgent puff on his cigar.

  ‘It is not the time for smoking, Arthur,’ Jacob chastised. ‘We tend to smoke after the meal, as is proper.’

  Arthur released a dramatic sigh. ‘Can you not indulge me this once? I shall be away in the morning, and you will not have to suffer my presence, nor my meal-time smoking any longer.’ He puffed again.

  Jacob’s mouth closed and his lip fell into a thin line, but he did not speak on the matter further.

  ‘I took a turn about the grounds earlier,’ Arthur continued. ‘I must congratulate you on your new greenhouses, they are very fine. However, I found myself in the kitchen garden…’

  I stared at him. What manner of gentleman visits the kitchen gardens?

  Jacob arched an eyebrow but said naught in response.

  ‘I must say, my good man, you have some very comely maids in your employ. Lucky devil. I must say the woman who keeps house for me in London is a dry, mean old thing. Nothing like the ripe little wench I discovered upon my walk today.’

  I stiffened, and my mind flew to Esther. Had Arthur focussed his inappropriate attentions on her? I thought not, but her manner as she’d dressed me for dinner was cool and distant, much more so than I am used to. As I harboured this thought I glanced at Simpson, one of our younger footmen, and his usual ridiculously expressive face was a rare mask of neutrality.

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ Jacob asked, and took a fortifying sip of his wine. His blue eyes had taken on a peculiarly cold shine.

  ‘There was a young lass from the kitchens vigorously picking herbs,’ he chortled. ‘You should have seen the way she looked at me.’

  I glanced down at my bread, trying to ignore the conversation as a lady should.

  Jacob however took his jibe and retorted, ‘Pray tell, brother, how was it that she looked at you?’ His tone was frosty.

  Arthur laughed. ‘The way your wife looks at you, I’d wager.’

  I felt the heat burn on my cheeks at the insinuation behind the comment and picked at the bread beside my plate in sheer awkwardness.

  ‘I do not think…’ Jacob began, anger suffusing his face.

  ‘No!’ cried Arthur, and he lurched to his feet, holding his butter knife as one might a weapon. ‘No, no one could look at me like your wife looks at you, could they, brother? Not fat, lazy Arthur…the useless second son.’ A partially masticated lump of bread flew from his lips and landed on the high polish of the table.

  I took a worried glance at Jacob, but he remained seated. ‘Arthur,’ he spoke, ‘you’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing and you’re embarrassing yourself. Sit down immediately.’

  ‘Don’t know what I’m doing?’ he howled. ‘Your comely little maid didn’t say that while I fucked her.’

  I gasped aloud, and Simpson the footman lurched where he stood.

  ‘My staff are not here for your entertainment, and I will not ask you again to refrain from such vulgarity in the presence of my wife.’

  ‘Oh yes, your wife…’ Arthur leered at me with his small sparkling eyes. ‘Likes a good fucking as much as a scullery maid, doesn’t she?’ He gulped his wine.

  Jacob stood to defend my honour, but Arthur continued regardless. ‘Seeing your wife mounting you made me as hard as rock. Can’t blame a man for taking his ease on a round-arsed maid after witnessing a spectacle like that.’

  ‘Get out.’ Jacob’s voice resounded with fury. ‘You’re no gentleman, get out!’

  Arthur sighed, more food dribbled from his slack lip. ‘As you wish, Milord.’ He offered my husband a lazy bow and began to stumble from the dining room.

  ‘Simpson, my good man, assist my brother to his carriage please.’

  With a curt nod, the young footman began to steer Arthur out.

  ‘You can’t expect me to accept with graciousness the unfairness of it all…’ Arthur bellowed as he exited the room.

  Neither of us spoke, for a long moment, until the sounds of Arthur’s departure faded into the chill of the evening.

  ‘I must go and check Mary Anne, for certainly it is her to whom Arthur referred,’ I said, and swept to my feet.

  ‘Mary Anne?’ Jacob asked, draining the remainder of his glass.

  ‘You know, she’s Bolton’s cousin’s daughter. We hired her as scullery maid. She’s a little simple, and unlikely to be employed elsewhere. Poor child.’

  Jacob looked blank. He paid little heed to the housekeeping staff as that was largely our housekeeper’s and my responsibility.

  ‘Never mind,’ I replied, ‘I must check on her. It really will be a scandal if Arthur has abused her.’

  Jacob’s face darkened. ‘Yes, of course, Janie, go. Whilst you are downstairs, please tell Mrs Bates not to send up the pudding. I have quite lost my appetite.’

  I turned around to face my husband. ‘I as well. She may share it amongst the servants.’

  I left Jacob then, and hurried downstairs. As I stepped into the servants’ quarters I was surprised by the silence.

  ‘Mrs Bates?’ I called, and continued towards the servants’ d
ining area.

  ‘Milady! Why did you not ring?’ Mrs Bates chided as she rushed to greet me and the remainder of the staff rose and silently acknowledged me.

  ‘Pray, where is Mary Anne?’ I asked softly as I scanned the table.

  The faces there hardened.

  ‘She’s in the kitchen, Milady, watching over the pudding,’ Esther replied in lieu of Mrs Bates.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I replied, and swept from the servants’ dining area into the kitchen. I had not often occasion to visit the kitchen, but it was and remains a place of magic. Pots bubbled and the aroma of cooking never ceased to stimulate something within me.

  ‘Mary Anne?’ I called, closing the door firmly behind me.

  There was a startled shriek and the girl stood from the stool on which she’d been resting. ‘Milady!’ she cried, her round face reddening. Her hands flew to her cap in a gesture of unmistakeable alarm.

  ‘I have come to inquire as to your wellbeing,’ I began, eying her carefully for any sign of discomfort or shame.

  Despite her simple mind, I could see why Arthur had found her so comely. Previous to this moment I had never taken much consideration of the scullery maids; they were generally under the jurisdiction of Mrs Bates and it was a rare occasion indeed that I even happened to see one. I do recall I had personally agreed to Mary Anne’s employ at the behest of Bolton, who’d asked cap in hand if we may consider taking her on. Her simple nature made gainful employment a challenge — so I had agreed, and I was pleased to note she had been an excellent addition to the staff.

  I studied her. Mary Anne was a well-rounded girl, her scullery maid uniform stretched over a generous bosom, and there was no denying the ripeness of her, despite the modesty of her uniform. Her hair was tightly restricted by her cap, but her cheeks were still flaming and there was a glistening of her eye that bespoke of something ill.

  ‘It has come to my attention that you met upon Lord Arthur this afternoon.’

  The heat in the girl’s cheeks flared once more. ‘Please, Milady, don’t listen to what them other servants say. I love ’im,’ she whispered.