by Dale Rogers
The large tires on the Silver Shadow made little popping sounds as the automobile turned off the main road and onto the tree-lined, two lane gravel drive that led to Crittendon Hall. Carlotta's young, angular face was pressed up against the window the whole time, hoping to catch an early glimpse of the large estate she'd only seen in pictures. However, when the facade of the gigantic brick and mortar house finally did come into view, she was so awestruck by its sheer immensity and its grandeur that she couldn't speak. Nigel, her new husband, never noticed as he continued to skim the London Times.
It had all happened so fast that she hadn't had time to prepare herself for her new role and her new life. Just three weeks ago, she had been plain Carlotta Walker, third daughter of Angie and Tom Walker of Arlington, Virginia. Tom was a carpenter; Angie was a school bus driver. Carlotta, after three uneventful and unsuccessful years at the University of the District of Columbia, landed a job as a receptionist at the American embassy. It was there she met Sir Nigel Crittendon, fifty-year-old British industrialist who had inherited his money, his property, and his title from his father. He was in Washington on business and had been invited to a formal dinner.
However, there was a rumor circulating that his wife had recently left him for an Italian race car driver so he needed a companion. It had been Carlotta's task to find him a woman who could serve in that capacity. Finally, unable to find a suitable date, she offered herself and he accepted. Although she felt a little awkward and out of place at the dinner, Sir Nigel made her feel so much at ease that, much to her surprise, she actually enjoyed herself. Later that night, after sharing a few drinks in the hotel lounge, she was relaxed enough to accept his invitation to accompany him to his suite. Throughout the evening, she had found this proper British gentleman to be not only dashing, but charming and witty as well. In spite of the huge difference between his world and hers, he actually paid attention to her, complimented her on her appearance and deportment.
That night, in his suite, Carlotta came on to Sir Nigel in a way that no man could refuse. In less than an hour, they were together in the king size bed, naked and soaked with sweat. The lonely divorcee ravished her twice, and she let him, relishing the feel of his body on top of hers. In spite of a lack of imagination, he proved to be an energetic and well-equipped lover. She ended up spending the night, sleeping in his arms. For the next two days, they were inseparable, making love whenever the mood struck them and taking their meals in the suite.
A week later, he proposed to her, offering her the chance to be the wife of a baronet, to manage a large household, to entertain important guests, and to travel. He confessed that he wasn't certain whether or not he truly loved her, that his first wife may very well have taken his heart when she left him. However, he promised to remain faithful, to help her make the difficult transition from middle class America to upper class Britain, and to father a child, if she so desired.
Carlotta thought about the offer for two days. She discussed it with her family and her best friend. They all advised her not to do it, that it was too sudden, that the gap between them was too wide. However, in the end, as she reviewed the first twenty-six years of her life, she realized that the best offer she'd had before Sir Nigel had come from one of the embassy security guards. And there it was: a small house in a Washington suburb, one baby after another, and a potbellied career security guard, or an estate in the south of England and a handsome baronet - not that difficult of a choice really. She informed Sir Nigel, and they were married in a small civil ceremony the next day. Then she kissed her parents goodbye and boarded a jet for Paris.
The newlywed couple spent a glorious weekend in the south of France, then a day in Paris before boarding a train to England. Now it all seemed so much like a dream that Carlotta had to pinch herself several times to convince herself that she really was driving up to her new home in a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. Outside the main entrance, the staff were gathered, just like in the movies, to greet the couple. Perkins, the veteran chauffer, stopped the car and opened the door for the new Mrs. Crittendon and her husband. Sir Nigel made a show of introducing his new wife to each staff member before entering the house. Each was appropriately polite and cordial; however, Carlotta sensed a tension in the air, although it could have been her imagination, her paranoia, her fatigue, or some combination.
Once inside the grand estate, she was escorted to the master suite in the west wing of the eighteenth century building. It was magnificent, larger than the house she had grown up in, with a balcony that overlooked a formal garden leading into a meadow. The bedroom had a high ceiling with gold trim and ornate crown molding. A fireplace occupied one wall, and there were several cushioned chairs near it. In an alcove was a desk in the French provincial style and a matching vanity. But the bed was the object that most caught her attention. It was a four poster with a purple velvet canopy. She could only stand in the middle of the room and let her eyes dart continuously from one corner to the other, while Molly, her personal maid, stood by.
"Can I do anything for you, ma'am?" the young girl asked. "Perhaps draw a bath... you have new clothes in the closet. Shall I lay out a fresh dress and undergarments?"
Carlotta had to suppress a laugh as she realized that Molly was addressing her. A little more than two weeks before, she herself had been addressing every woman that walked into the embassy as ma'am. Now it was her. She turned to Molly, who in truth was probably only two or three years younger than she was. "Molly, what do you recommend?" she asked, trying to sound confident but not quite making it.
The maid raised her eyebrows, then quickly lowered them. "I... don't understand, ma'am," she replied.
The new Mrs. Crittendon reached out and took the servant's hand. "Look, Molly," she started in a low whisper, "less than three weeks ago I was answering the telephone and greeting visitors at the American embassy in Washington. Sir Nigel married me because he needed a companion and I guess because I'm... well, I'm good in bed." Molly blushed. "Anyway," Carlotta continued, "I don't have any idea how to act or what I'm supposed to do. If you help me out... you know, help me get adjusted, I'll make it worth your while, I promise."
Molly quickly pulled her hand back and gazed at her new mistress. "I... will do what I can, ma'am," she said.
Carlotta stepped back a little, realizing that she was not in America and that the gulf between the upper class and their servants may just be too wide to breach here. "I'm sorry, Molly," she said. "What... what would the first Mrs. Crittendon have done right now?"
Molly blushed again. "I... don't know, ma'am... I didn't serve the first Mrs. Crittendon."
"What happened to the maid that served the first Mrs. Crittendon?" Carlotta asked.
"I don't know, ma'am," Molly said nervously. "She is not on staff here."
Mrs. Crittendon sighed impatiently. "Okay, Molly," she said. "What is my schedule for the rest of the day?" The maid smiled and pointed to a large, leather-bound appointment book on the desk. Together, they opened the book to the appropriate day and reviewed the activities scheduled. A few minutes later, Carlotta removed her travel clothes and slipped into the warm scented water in the ornate sunken bathtub. While Molly was laying out her wardrobe, the new wife carefully shaved her legs and, on a whim, her pubic area, removing all traces of her dark hair. "Nigel should love this," she said to herself.
A few minutes later, she emerged from the tub, dried herself off, and put on the underclothes and dress that Molly had selected for her. Then she went off in search of her husband. She found him in his office, reviewing accounts with Mullins, the butler, and Mrs. Humphreys, the housekeeper. As she entered the small, well-appointed room, the three occupants glared at her as though she had just escaped from prison.
"Is there something that you wish, madam?" asked Mullins, running his fingers through his graying hair.
Mrs. Humphreys leaned forward. "Where's Molly?" she asked before Carlotta had a chance to answer the butler. "Is she not seeing to your needs?"
"May I get something for you, madam?" Mullins asked. "Some tea perhaps? Or would you care to see the gardens? I believe Martino is weeding the beds near the fountain."
Carlotta shifted her eyes back and forth. I am not welcome here, she concluded... I have made a mistake. She backed up into the doorway. "I... only wanted to see the house," she stammered. "I... don't really need anything... I told Molly... I didn't need her the rest of the day, that she could go home."
The eyes of the three stalwarts of Crittendon Hall widened simultaneously. Sir Nigel looked at the housekeeper. She nodded. "I thought my instructions to Molly were clear," she said softly. "However, I shall have another talk with her and make certain she understands."
"I'm sorry if I caused a problem," Carlotta said meekly. "I shouldn't have intruded. I will... perhaps tour the gardens."
"Splendid, Madam," Mullins said. "Tea is at four o'clock."
For the remainder of the day, Carlotta Walker Crittendon did her best to stay out of sight. By evening she was feeling very sorry for herself as she sat alone by the fire in her bedroom. She knew when she agreed to marry Sir Nigel that the transition would be awkward; however, she had expected more help and support from her husband. But, except for the brief encounter in his office, she had only seen him at dinner.
At nine-thirty, just as she was preparing for bed, Sir Nigel came into the suite. Now wearing only her bra and panties, the new Mrs. Crittendon rushed over to her husband and threw herself into his arms. "Nigel, I... missed you... I've been so lonely."
The baronet embraced her for a moment and gently kissed her forehead. Then he disengaged himself from her and slumped into one of the chairs near the fire. "I know this is awkward for you, Carlotta," he started, "but Crittendon Hall is more than a house or an estate... it is a business. And when I am in my office, I am at work. Please don't intrude again."
She sat down beside him. "But... I only wanted to see you," she said.
"I know," he said. "But you must respect my wishes."
Carlotta brushed a tear from her eye. "Nigel, what... what am I to do here?" she asked. "I mean, I have been working since I was fifteen-years-old. I need to do something."
He stood up and approached her; there was a new light in his eyes. "We'll find something for you to do here, don't worry about that."
Carlotta looked at him, recognized the lust in his eyes. Part of her grew excited; part of her grew angry. "So... for now, I am to be your whore?" she said, the anger superseding the lust.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.