Serena. Seduced on her fathers orders

Written hopefully in the style of the mid 19th Century. Long sentences. Commas where today we would use periods.

A Country house in Devon in the 1850s


Serena

The sun was setting over the western horizon bathing the hill tops with a warm red glow and casting deep shadows across the valleys.

I stood on the terrace outside the ballroom admiring the view. I heard someone behind me, a rustle of silk. Dainty footsteps. Sweet Perfume. Serena Lord Melchett’s only daughter.

“I see you are admiring the view Mr Hardy,” she said quietly.

I didn’t look at her, “Indeed,” I agreed, “Quite stunning.”

“I fear I shall miss it,” she said, “When Bunty whisks me away to the metropolis.”

“It has its compensations,” I explained, “The Crystal Palace, The Thames.”

“The Opera, The Season, oh spare me,” she sighed as she stood beside me.

“You do not relish becoming a Countess then?” I queried.

“I merely state I shall miss this view,” she said coquettishly, “Of course I relish becoming a Countess, it is a dream coming true.”

We stood for a few minutes more talking idly while the sun slipped below the horizon as the band played and couples danced in Lord Melchett’s recently constructed ball room.

“I suppose I should find Bunty,” she said at length and she slipped away.

I continued to stare at the scene as the sun finally disappeared into the far ocean and the lights of the lighthouses twinkled in the far distance.

“Hardy,” a voice said behind me.

“Lord Melchett,” I replied.

“Spending a lot of time with Serena?” he queried.

“Oh, perhaps I have, I had not realised,” I admitted.

“Spoken for,” he said and he touched the side of his nose, “She’s going to be a Countess.”

“I am very pleased for her,” I agreed.

“So’s her bloody mother, over the bloody moon,” he said, “Christ Hardy look at the man,” he said.

I turned, even as we spoke Bunty was standing on a trestle table trying to reach a chandelier that he might swing across the dance floor like an ape.

“He is far from dull!” I laughed.

“An inch at most!” Lord Melchett harrumphed, “Bad business, bloody bad business.”
Serena sat with her friends Marjory and Valeria, I followed Melchett back into the ballroom, “Aren’t you dancing?” he asked Serena.

“Hardly father,” she said and she indicated Bunty who had just fallen off the table for the third time.

“Then Mr Hardy seems free, eh what Hardy, Quadrille with Serena?” he suggested.

“Indeed, would be honoured,” I agreed.

“Good, Good!” he smiled, “At least Hardy has remained sober enough to stand on his own two feet.”

Melchett strode towards the band.

“Ladies and Gentlemen please take your partners for the Quadrille.” the band leader shouted.

Melchett took him by lapel and whispered in his ear. The band leader argued.

“I pay the piper I call the tune!” Melchett bellowed, “Take your partners form the Viennese Waltz.” and he added, “Marjorie, please join me.”

Lady Melchett looked horror struck. Her husband who had at least two if not three left feet proposing to dance, but she left her friend, Bunty’s mother, the dowager countess and swept elegantly onto the dance floor.

“Serena, will you join us?” he asked.

Bunty staggered to his feet as I escorted Serena to the floor, “What a charming couple you make,” Melchett opined.

“I say, my girl?” Bunty butted it.

“Absolutely,” I agreed and made way.

He swayed and threw a punch. he missed by half a yard and the follow through sent him crashing into a table loaded with dirty crockery.

“One two three you oaf!” Lord Melchett ordered the bandleader and the band started playing the waltz “Devonshire,” by Ostler if I recall correctly.

Serena looked horror struck, “Hardy, take your partner,” Melchett ordered.

I tentatively took hold of Serena. My hand in the small of her back. Pulling her to me. Her soft breast against my chest. Her perfume.

“Mr Hardy!” she whispered withn a big smile, “Control yourself.”

My member was swelling, “I must apologise,” I said as we started to dance.

“I rather take it as a compliment,” she laughed as we whirled around the dance floor.

It was a magical moment, nothing else mattered but Serena as I held her, guided her, swept her around the floor. I barely noticed when Lady Melchett fell over Lord Melchett’s feet and they subsided gracefully into a heap, and I easily avoided Bunty’s several clumsy attempts to punch me as we danced the night away. It was only later I found Melchett and ordered the band to keep playing the same tune over and over until only Serena and I were left dancing.

We parted at midnight, no kiss, not even a handshake but merely a “Goodnight,” and I was gone.

Two days later and I was back at my desk at Bristol, the delights of Devon but a distant memory.

My task to plan the new railway line to the west and into Cornwall was well advanced, I had Melchetts agreement to pass over his estate which would save a mile and two river bridges. I admit I was no Brunel but then again while I had no spectacular success I had no disastrous failures either.

However by noon an emergency board meeting had been called for five o’clock that same evening.

I attended and when I was called in I saw Dawkins the lawyer looked most uneasy, and Hastings the accountant almost suicidal.

“What the hell have you done Hardy?” the Chairman asked, “Melchett has withdrawn his support!”

“Withdrawn?” I queried.

“Withdrawn,” he repeated, “Apparently you seduced his daughter and fought her betrothed upon his Lordship’s own dance floor.”

“Oh good god!” I gasped, “Lies, absolute lies.”

“Well the Plymouth and North Cornwall is done for,” the Chairman sighed, “We’ll never get royal assent without Melchett on side.”

“But it is lies!” I protested.

The Chairman stared at me, “Well you have until the stock exchange opens tomorrow Hardy for the shares are not worth the paper they are written on.”

I knew full well he was telling the truth.