Story: Managing the Heiress. Chapter 1.

by Charles Ryder

Stephen Darnley straightened his uniform tie and checked to make sure his cap was square on his head. He tucked his swagger stick under his arm and rapped on the imposing door. It was answered almost immediately by Jenny the immaculately uniformed maid.

"Won't you come in Captain? I'll tell the young mistress that you're here sir"

Stephen merely nodded and stepped into the baronial hall. My word but it was an impressive room! The furniture positively groaned under the weight of its opulence. Magnificent hunting trophies decorated the walls. Extravagant silks and carpets were strewn carelessly around the huge space. He couldn't begin to fathom what it had all cost. And that was just one room in the vast mansion. His reverie was broken by a rustling behind him. He turned just in time to witness her descending the last few steps of the massive double staircase.

She was a beauty, of that there could be no doubt. Quite small even for a woman, blonde and very slim. She had a heart shaped face, dominated by bright blue eyes. He knew from previous observation that she had little womanly shape. Her breasts were very small and her buttocks almost non-existent. But on the other hand she was only nineteen years old. He had no doubt that she would develop in a most pleasant way.

"Captain Darnley, how good of you to come sir."

She held out her hand which he dutifully pressed his lips to. My word, she was an attractive young filly. Even dressed head to foot in black she was unmistakably a beautiful girl.

"Miss Conyngham, it would have been most remiss of me had I not done what was necessary. As you know I had the greatest respect for your dear mother and father. I consider it an honour that you have asked me to accompany you to the church on this most sad day."

He hoped his rather formal pronouncement would set the correct sort of tone; after all she was now quite alone in the world and as far as he ascertain would be in need of a protector. He could see tears start to form in her eyelashes. She was trying to be very brave but the mere mention of her parents was enough to make her cry. With his help and assistance she managed to survive the service and the dual burial carried out in the heat of an African summer. She cried of course, but generally managed to keep an appearance that reflected her upbringing and social class.

The days after her parent’s unfortunate accident and the interminable cruise back to Southampton had given me plenty of time to work on her. Although I was most desirous of a return to Blighty, I was equally determined to take Charlotte back with me. After a little initial resistance she came around to the idea so readily that she began to see it as her own.  Even I was shocked at her innocence and naivety. She seemed to regard me as some sort of cross between a guardian angel and lover. In fact nothing could be further from the truth. I know very well from my discussions with her father that she had a very sheltered upbringing, but even so! Having said that, it has made my task that much easier.  During the journey home, I became the epitome of a concerned and supportive friend. I listened with mock interest to her constant teenage whining. Truth be told we had very little in common. I am sixteen years her senior. I have seen and done things that she can't even imagine. What should we talk about? Considering that her only real experience was going away to school, that was pretty much her only topic of conversation. Ultimately there was a limit to her familiar stories of midnight feasts and merry japes. Eventually the discussion came around to me. What had I done in the Great War? Where had I been on my travels? Was flying an airplane as super as it looked? And so forth. One skill I do pride myself on is the ability to predict my audience. It was too long before she was spellbound by my tales. I related a heavily abridged version of my life, the one I like to give to impressionable young girls. It was a story she desperately wanted to believe. I could tell even after a few days at sea that her interest in me was more than purely platonic. Eventually she asked me the question that had been preying on her little mind for weeks. Was I married? And if not, was I betrothed? That was my opportunity, wiping away a manly tear I explained that my one true love had been killed by the Hun while I was away serving on the Western Front. Ever since then I had found it very difficult to speak to a woman, never mind socialise with one. Here she placed her little hand over mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

From then on it was merely a matter of time. We held hands for longer. We looked into each other's eyes with greater significance. We were soon inseparable. I proposed to her on a romantic moonlit evening. How could she refuse me? Even when I suggested that the obvious difference in our respective ages may be a problem, she simply laughed and hugged me tighter to her bosom. Obviously we returned to own cabins at the end of the evening. Her to imagine our perfect life together no doubt, whereas I lay awake planning a somewhat different outcome.

When we landed in England, it was the first time she’d ever stood on ‘home’ soil. I thought it prudent to formally propose. I went down on one knee and swept my cap off

“Miss Conyngham, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”I don't have much I'm afraid apart from my commission and a monthly salary.”

“Oh darling, of course I accept, and don't worry I imagine I'll have plenty for both of us.”

The two lovers were married at the local registry office. The next week were taken up with visits to her father's solicitors and house hunting. When she found somewhere she loved, a smart Georgian town house, she was quite prepared to buy it there and then. He loved it as well but had to point out to her that she couldn't own property in her own name until she was twenty one.

"I'm afraid it will most certainly be sold by the time you're legally an adult," he joked.

"I want it so very much darling, please say you have a solution?"

"Well, I suppose I'm an adult... But I wouldn't want you to think..."

"Nonsense darling, that's a simply marvellous idea. We shall buy it together, using my inheritance and your name, how simply perfect."

Well I agree with that last sentiment. It certainly was a perfect situation. Perfect for me that was, rather than her.

Charlotte doubted that she had ever been happier. She was living in her own house in London. Thanks to her dear, departed, much-loved parents, she had enough funds to do anything she wanted to do, but most importantly she was married to the most wonderful man. A handsome, dashing pilot. A reluctant war hero according to what little information she had been able to prise from him. Added to that they were now 'doing it '! Stephen had gallantry insisted on celibacy until they were legally married, but now they were making up for lost time. They were 'doing it ', making love, she hastily corrected herself very, very regularly. The only potential fly in the ointment was Charlotte’s almost total lack of housekeeping skill. She certainly couldn’t cook and she’d never washed, cleaned, ironed or darned anything in her short privileged life. She tried her best, but so far she hadn’t produced a single edible hot meal. Fortunately her ever- reliable, rock of a husband had a sudden inspiration.

"I think it's time darling for you to have a little help around the house. After all you have no experience in household management do you?"

Charlotte was a little flustered by this advice. She really didn't want to share her beautiful house with servants. But on the other hand Stephen was correct, as he invariably was she had come to realise. He often remarked that whereas she had the money, he had the experience. He didn't actually say she was still a mere slip of a girl, but the inference was clear. Well, she'd show him! She would find herself a respectable housekeeper and learn everything that it was possible to learn from her! He would be so impressed by her newfound ability. She was desperate to prove herself to him, to make her new husband ever so proud of her. She soon realised however that even finding a suitable housekeeper was beyond her limited knowledge. Where did one even begin to look for domestic servants? The problem was that she had absolutely no connections in the city. She had no family or network of friends to turn to, and therefore nobody to supply help or advice. Fortunately Stephen was at hand, as usual, to resolve her problems for her. He simply went to an employment agency, Charlotte had never heard the term, and apparently enquired about a suitable person.

The following Monday she was being introduced to Mrs Francis. She turned out to be a tall, dark haired, buxom woman, at least forty years old by Charlotte's reckoning. She was dressed head to foot in black which Charlotte would discover was her habitual work uniform. She was an austere woman. She took Charlotte's proffered hand in a very firm grip and looked her squarely in the eye. The young woman was slightly discomforted. She was much more used to the humble deference shown by her father's servants. This was England however, she reminded herself. Things were done differently. For the next thirty minutes she was questioned closely by the intimidating woman.

With a mounting sense of trepidation Charlotte realised that she knew next to nothing about housekeeping.

"Well, Mrs Francis, do you think my wife is capable of being taught the rudiments of your profession? I realise now that she's starting from a very base level."

Charlotte could feel the beginning of tears in her eyelashes. She blinked furiously to keep them at bay. What Stephen had said was true. She really didn't have the remotest idea. She felt like a small child in the presence of two adults. She didn't suppose a woman like Mrs Francis would want to take on a hopeless case like her.

"Have no fear sir; I have instructed many a young mistress in my time. Just so long as she's willing to listen to what I have to say, and willing to agree to my requests then I have no doubt that she'll learn her lesson. You'll be proud of her, I'll wager.”

Charlotte was so pleased with the older woman's reply that she promptly forgot her tears and gave a little squeal of delight.

"Oh Mrs Francis I'm ever so pleased you're able to take me on. I promise to be the most dutiful student ever!"

"I'm sure you will Mrs Darnley, I'm sure you will."

She was so happy that she missed the look that passed between her husband and their new employee.

There was no time to waste. Stephen Darnley helped his housekeeper with her bags up to the attic room which had been allocated to her. Shortly afterwards Charlotte’s training began in earnest. As she sat by her husband's desk taking note after note from the woman it struck her that it was not unlike her schooldays in Rhodesia. Rather than her schoolmistress, it was her housekeeper lecturing her from behind her husband's desk. By the end of the day she was exhausted. She hadn't had to concentrate so hard for such a long time. To compensate her though, she and Stephen made passionate love that night.

Stephen was even more energetic than usual. The fear that he might be amused by her lack of sexual experience had not come to fruition. Although she was inexperienced she found him eminently satisfying. She remembered with pleasure that first night after their marriage. He could tell she was terrified by the situation. However he had proved a considerate lover. At first they kissed and then she felt his knowledgeable hand sliding down between her legs, probing and investigating, finding the spot. She gasped as his hand insinuated itself into the delicate folds of her labia. Immediately she felt a finger on her hood. This was better by far than her own ministrations. She licked her lips and they kissed again. Slowly his finger rotated around her clitoris. She squealed a little. He responded by sliding down the bed a little and taking her erect nipple into his mouth. Gently he sucked and pulled at it before changing his attention to the other one. She was going to climax already she was going to climax! When she had first tentatively played with herself she had been able to avoid a climax for several minutes in an effort to prolong her pleasure. With him she was just about to.....Oh lord! Her climax was enormous! Far more intense and prolonged than anything she was used to. Would it go on forever? Would she die of pleasure? When it ended she held him as tight as she possibly could.

"Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you," she gabbled.

Laughing, he had wriggled free and guided her hand down beneath the covers. She touched his penis. It throbbed in her hand. Oh my word, it felt huge! She realised then that he meant to put that massive thing inside her! Where would it go? How would it fit? Her panicked thoughts were interrupted by a return visit to her sopping pussy. His knowing fingers teased her again. This time she instinctively squeezed his shaft and heard him groan with pleasure. A few seconds later he couldn't wait and mounted her as she lay there, terrified. Within minutes though she had swapped terror for pleasure. He had slipped into her easily. There was a slight pain as he penetrated her hymen for the first time but after that it was pure unadulterated pleasure. Again he brought her rapidly to a culmination. This time it was almost unbelievably bigger and deeper than the first. It felt that all the energy in her body was being sucked out of her from her toes upwards. As she curled up in his arms as he smoked a cigarette she remembered realising that she was a woman now, rather than a child.

She wasn't even a particularly good lay. She enjoyed herself no doubt, but I didn't much. I know she's inexperienced and was indeed a virgin but even so. I don't see much of a future for us together if that's the best she can do. Let's hope she's a quick learner. And speaking of which she doesn't appear to be making Mrs Francis very happy either. That's because Mrs Francis is trying to cram a lifetime’s accumulated knowledge into my wife's tiny, little, spoiled cranium. Charlotte is starting to panic. She hasn't said anything yet but I know the signs to look for. I find her confusion and shame every time Mrs Francis corrects her to be highly stimulating. Mrs Francis is playing her role very well. She's very strict with my little girl. She won't accept second best or lack of effort. Both these crimes are described by Mrs Francis as 'displaying a lack of respect'. Whenever she hears that particular term my wife blushes delightfully. Little does she know that she'll never make Mrs Francis happy. Nothing my wife does, on the domestic front at least, will ever bring a smile to the austere woman's face. I can see Charlotte's self-esteem receding by the day. Perhaps it's time to increase the pressure?

It had been the longest week in Charlotte's young life. What she thought might be an amusing interlude had rapidly become a nightmare. Mrs Francis had turned into a dreadfully blunt harridan. Not to put too fine a point on it she was downright rude. She had ordered Charlotte around the kitchen as if she were a skivvy. The sheets on the bed must be turned down just so. A fire is laid like this, not like that! That particular desk needs this particular brand of polish. And so on, and so forth. Really, who did the woman think she was? Did she think she was the mistress of the house, for God's sake? Even Stephen seemed to have abandoned her. He had business to take care of apparently and hadn't returned to the house that evening. As a result, Mrs Francis had woken her at 6am in order to show her how to prepare breakfast. At six I clock in the morning!

"It is hard work, young lady. I don't deny it. But imagine the pleasure you will bring to your husband when you finally master all the processes. He will be ever so proud of you. How old are you, seventeen? Already you're showing enormous improvement."

"Thank you Mrs Francis, but I'm nineteen actually."

If the austere woman heard her last comment she didn't reply to it. Once breakfast was finished and consumed, Charlotte busied herself with the washing up. As she did so a pan dropped into the soapy water and sent a cascade of it over her. She cursed silently and picked up a dishcloth to wipe herself down. Mrs Francis chose that moment to return to the kitchen.

"What are you doing now, you silly goose? Go up to your room and change out of that wet dress!"

Too shocked by the woman's annoyed tone even to argue she scurried upstairs and began to change. What on earth was she doing? Why was she rushing to obey her own housekeeper? Why didn't she just stand up to her? Where was a suitable dress? Of course she hadn't been able to bring all her clothes with her. Much of her finery was hanging in cupboards in her Rhodesian house. For a second the thought of her previous life overwhelmed her. She sat on the end of the bed and let the tears roll down her cheeks.

That was how Mrs Francis found her ten minutes later. She wrapped the young woman in her arms and pulled her to her ample chest.

"Don't worry little miss, Mrs Francis will take care of you. Hush now, everything's going to be okay."

After a few minutes she gently released her and went to the girl's wardrobe. She searched until she found something suitable. In this case a plain and simple knee-length black dress. Short sleeved and trimmed with white lace. She helped the girl to dress and then led her downstairs. Lying on the kitchen table was a white pinafore. Mrs Francis picked it up and slipped it over his mistress's head.

"I'm sorry Mrs Darnley I should have thought of this earlier. There's no point in damaging your lovely clothes is there? Now, let's wipe away those tears and get on with today's chores shall we?"

Mrs Francis smiled to herself as she left the room. Her spoiled little charge was coming along quite nicely. 

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