Footmen, Picture Books & Lieutenants

Footmen, Picture Books & Lieutenants

August, 1870
Missouri, United States of America

You could hear the servants scurrying around past your bedroom door as a maid wiped a grass stain off your shoulder with a sponge. It wasn’t surprising to hear all of the commotion really, seeing as today was the first day of what would probably be the longest summer of your life. Today, friends of your father’s, allies of the State, would be packed into the family home. By no means was the place small, but having so many people around would make it difficult for you to get away with anything. The soirée would be in honour of new business partnerships and everyone worth knowing would attend - Which meant you would no doubt get caught doing something you shouldn’t.

You were not poised and proper like your older sister, Melisande. Nor sweet and innocent like your younger sister, Charlene. You were, much to the chagrin of your father’s second wife, a problem child. Unlike any lady, you would often skip your schooling and leave your private tutor to play hide and seek with your ghost as you went frolicking through the grounds of the estate with whichever servant that took your fancy at that moment.

No, you certainly weren’t a shining beacon of virtue. Yet, despite the scoldings you received, it never bothered you much. You were the middle daughter, after all. What with Melisande’s soon-to-be-certain engagement to the eldest son of a wealthy ship builder, the pressure had been somewhat lifted off of you to find a knight in shining armour to boost your family’s own riches.

Still, despite you knowing this, nobody else seemed to care for the fact that you could play around. You were to turn nineteen in the winter and you’d be damned if you were married off before you got to have your share of fun. This was the reason why you had rejected several engagements already. That, and your father wasn’t quite ready to let you got just yet.

Coming back from rationalizing of your frowned upon actions inside of your head at the sharp tug around your waist, you let out a grunt. Your eyes land on the slightly older woman behind you via the reflection of the mirror you are stood in front of. Ignorantly going about her duty to tighten the sturdy corset around your midriff, the servant continues to pull the cords of the torture device tighter. Feeling the last of the air being forced from your chest, your nerves give out.

“Enough.” You try to snap but the lack of puff left in your lungs make it near impossible to give anything more than a groan. Nodding her head in apology, the maid ties the laces and turns away to collect the gown you’d be wearing.

Glancing over your own reflection in the tall mirror at the end of your room, you note to yourself how you always look better in your undergarments than any handmade gown; the delicate white muslin chemise and drawers not much lighter than your skin, the ivory silk of the imported corset giving your already feminine figure defined curves. And in the fragments of natural peeking past the lace curtains of the open balcony doors, the way the sunbeams highlighted the rose gold tones of the locks cascading down to you waist, there really was no wonder men skipped a breath when they saw you.

Seeing the silent maid stood behind you yet again, this time with a cream gown accented with powder blue trim in her hands, you raise your arms above your head and wait for the tent-like article to be slipped down over your body. Once again, you were nudged and pulled at as the older girl fastened this and that. The short brunette was just about to make a start on your hair when the shrill of your step-mother’s voice carried through the airy structure of the country mansion.

Gesturing for your dresser to hurry up, you couldn’t help but to fidget. You’d already done something that could irk the matriarch this morning, but whether she new about it yet was anybody’s guess. Perhaps that was why she was shouting.

Finishing up with a dab of perfume you’d been gifted some months ago by a potential suitor, you take as much of a breath as you can without your ribs threatening to crack before exiting into the landing. Tottering along the freshly polished hardwood flooring and down the grand staircase decorated with floral banners, you see your siblings and step-mother in the foyer.

“What took you so long?” The hag asked.

You halt unintentionally as you try to think of a reason that didn’t include the truth. Nothing was coming to mind and the tall man standing just behind the female trio was doing nothing to help matters with his slight side-eye and smirk.

It was his fault. That man - the First Footman - had stolen a good two hours from her just after breakfast. Well, not really stolen...You had given them to him rather gladly, actually. What had started as an innocent stroll through the garden had turned into a game of chase after you decided that you didn’t want to get ready yet. He had called, and you picked up the pace. He had no choice but to follow, as it was his duty to make sure you didn’t get into any mishaps. But that wasn’t why he followed you; it wasn’t duty on that instance, but rather the promise of a good time.

And it wasn’t the first occasion either. Out of all of the servants you’d toyed with, William was your favourite. He was handsome beyond belief and taller than you by a head with a strong, healthy. He was witty despite not being as well educated as yourself and had sexual experience that showed whenever you were alone together. He was like a well bred stallion without the worry of what would happen if you injured him.

Coming back from the replay of your escapade that had floated into your foreview, you notice that your step-mother is still staring at you. Clearing your throat, you skip down the final two steps. “I was reading in the garden. I lost track of time.”

Sour-faced, the woman scoffed. “I’m surprised you even know how to read when you run from your tutor.”

“The book had pictures.” Slipped from your lips and the employees went deadly silent.

Charlene chuckled only to be swatted by Melisande. “You’d better be on your best behaviour this evening, Angeliqué. Don’t ruin it for your sister.” Giving a warning glare, the woman masquerading as your mother turned on her heels. “Or else you’ll get a good caning.” Without saying anything else, she marched down the corridor with Melisande in tow.

Peeking over to where William was, you quirked your brow in jest over the threat. He was about to return the gesture when footsteps and lively chatter grew from just outside of the main entrance. Standing to attention, the Footman bowed in respect to the home owner walking through the open doorway. Wearing his riding clothes, the middle aged man was accompanied by a younger male you’d met twice before.

“Angeliqué,” Her father beamed upon spotting you by the bottom of the staircase. “I see you’re finally with us.”

“Did you need to speak with me?”

“Yes, what were you doing?”

“She was reading a picture book.” Charlene chipped in and gave a knowing look to you before inclining her head to your father and the younger man. Taking her leave, the petite girl with strawberry blonde locks skipped down the same way your older sister had skulked.

Passing his riding crop and jacket to the Footman, your father held out his hand in gesture to the short man in his late twenties. “You remember Lieutenant Jacob Milner, don’t you?”

You internally drowned a ‘how could I forget’. Forcing a smile, you extend you hand in politeness. “Good afternoon, Lieutenant.”

Shorter than yourself by a good few inches, and looking somewhat like a man-child, the first guest to arrive accepted you hand. “Mademoiselle Lé Paris, you look truly radiant.” He kissed the back of your hand and you were glad that you had managed to slip on a pair of white lace gloves before making it downstairs.

Unimpressed by the cheap flattery, you try not to scowl. “Thank you.”

You can feel your father’s eyes on you without even needing to look up. “The Lieutenant has asked for your hand.”

“Which one?” You shoot and the Lieutenant chokes on your wit.

“E-excuse me?”

Your father hissed. “Angeliqué.”

Smiling like the fool you knew him to be, Milner explained as if you didn’t know already what he meant. “Your hand in marriage.”

Clasping your hands in front of you, you blink twice as you examine the man’s face. “No, thank you.”

Sweating at the unusual route of the situation, the guest began to panic. “Please hear my proposition.”

Huffing a short breath through your nose, you tilt your chin up a fraction. Eyes boring down on the Lieutenant, you raise your brow. “I’m not a piece of land, there is no bargaining to be done.”

“Take the time to listen, please.”

Having enough already - of both the thick heat, the constriction of your outfit and the company that wouldn’t take no for an answer - you drop the mandatory politeness. “I refuse.” Holding your head up, you take the corner of your gown and hike it slightly as to not trip when you march away. “Enjoy your stay, Lieutenant Milner.”

Updated: 28th April 2014 - 20:48