The sounds of harps and violins filled the hallways and laughter from within drew the attention of the staff…some pausing. 

    “Why such the grand party for? This is the biggest one yet.”

    “Wonder how much this cost?”

    “Who is that?” Her heart beat faster and that warm slick feeling in between her thighs now seemed to be a consistent thing as of late… all at the thought of one man… That man her eyes took in as he sat at the grand dining table, a flute of champagne lifted to his lips. 

    “I don’t know… some Marquess or something.”

    “Wow, he’s got more money than the Nolans…”

    “Perhaps why this big lavish frit. They’re trying to impress him.” 

    “You think he’ll support them?”

    “After this, it would be rude not to.” 

    “He’s ‘andsome whoever ‘e is.” 

    “How come we’ve never seen him before?”

    “Dunno.” 

    “Call in your favorite Alexander! What was her name…Zazie?” Laughter filled the room. He grinned as he too took a sip of his champagne. 

    “Zadie I believe.” Lady Nolan answered. 

    “Not that it matters.” 

    “Well, call her in. I’d like to see this slave girl of yours.”

    “She’s not a sight at all really. Quite homely the poor girl.” Nervousness formed a cord in her belly. 

    “Is that why they have you all dressed up?” Anne whispered in disbelief, glancing at her. Indeed, Lady Nolan had a dress made for her and though it was breathtakingly beautiful… something she never thought she would ever wear, she felt insignificant nevertheless now wearing it. The weight of the long stream of pearls around her neck threatened to choke her and she felt tears prickling up at the corner of her eyes. 

    “Zadie! Come in here!” A bell was rang and like that expected of a dog, she lifted shaky sheer white covered hands and opened the door. Eyes filled with disgust, curiosity and horror stabbed into her as she came forward. This night, her maid cap had been forbidden and instead her thick curls had been fashioned in a stylish updo, natural ringlets framing her face. Hair ornaments glittered in the light. Several of the Gentlemen laughed, fat red cheeks shaking. 

    “My God…what a sight.” 

    “You two have really done outdone yourselves. It’s hideous.” The laughter hurt but the pointing and taunting fingers hurt worse. 

    “Does it really think itself a Lady? Charlotte why even tease the poor creature?” 

    “Alex tells me that she is very intelligent. Somehow, she’s acquired the talent of reading, singing and playing the pianoforte. Shocked eyes glanced at the now shaking woman. 

    “Pianoforte? She has the ability to do that?” Lady Nolan smirked devilishly and with a short nod, silently ordered her to play. Her throat was dry and her feet felt like pockets of sand as she went over to the keyed instrument. Smoothing down the sheer filmy gauze material behind her, she sat down and lifted her fingers to the keys. 

    “Let’s see if she can play something easy. Chopsticks.” Taking a deep breath, she began to play the childish set, bringing laughter from the many guests. 

    “My God… she’s actually playing! 

    “I told you she could.” 

    “Dog’s Waltz.” Eyes down, they filled with tears as she began to play the requested song, much to the chagrin of Lord and Lady Nolan. 

    “You’ve got yourself a fine slave Alexander.” He smirked. 

    “Sincerest thanks. We do well to keep her trained of pianoforte. She’s so talented. Quite a shame she’s Negroid.” 

    “Let’s give her a hard one…Beethoven Tempest Sonata No 17, Op 31 No 2.” She closed her eyes and gave a deep sigh. At once her fingers began to play and to the amazement and shock of the dinner party, she played it with passion. She kept her eyes closed, knowing the keys by heart. They’d beaten her until she had. She grew still as a finger grabbed one of her curls and tugged. Gasping, she forced her eyes open and the pianoforte ceased to make a sound. 

    “Amazing.” 

    “Can she dance?” 

    “And sing.” Pink smiling lips took a sip of the champagne. It was going to prove to be a long night indeed. 

*** 

    He watched her, both pleased and disgusted. Pleased that he was in the same room as her again. Disgusted at the most inhumane treatment of her. The run to the market but over a week ago. He hungered for yet another sighting of her, another chance to lay eyes to her beauty. And what a beauty stood before him. He sat back in his chair, slowly drinking. Savoring the bubbly alcohol. Savoring what was in front of him. She was simply breathtaking. He could find no other word to describe her. Her small petite build trembled like a leaf and yet, not even the maid dress she wore could hide the desirable figure she had. The dress she wore suited her. Feminine. Girlish. A bit form fitting. But it captured her shyness and delicate nature. 

    Short white puffed sleeves covered her small shoulders, a becoming dark pink design stitched across them and the neckline. The body of the dress was a solid dark pinkish-red with shoes to match. A tantalizing sheer skirt fell across to lay over the former, what appeared to be reddish-pink and white flowers decorating the thick band of fabric at the bottom. About her slender neck a single strand of pearls, an exotic shade of pink, looped once and left to hang down. 

    “Strange wench. I haven’t the slightest idea what to think. She’s pretty where she ought not to be.” For a moment, he forced his eyes to draw away from her to the man who spoke. His hair was greying and so were his side burns and mustache. Even so, in his confusion, even he could not help but gawk at her. 

    “It’s a wonder why Lord Nolan hasn’t bred her yet.” Gaze to yet another man. At the mention of breeding, his lips closed rather tightly around the rim of the glass. 

    “Perfectly small waist as appropriate and desirable. Yet rather nice plump set of breasts. They appear as though they will spill from the hem. Though she is terribly short, even her hips appear to be round and full. Truly an amazing creature.” 

    “Lord Severa, what say you of this negroid wench?” He felt a hand slip up his thigh and glanced down only to see Lady Nolan who sat nearest him, nursing her second glass of champagne. 

    “Perhaps the Gods desired to tease us in a most cruel way. With their creation.” Some of the men chuckled uncomfortably. 

    “Explain.” Fingers inched closer up his thigh and soon brushed the manhood bound by his breeches. He glanced at her coquettish gaze and teasing lips. How bold of her. To assault another man in the presence of her husband. Clearing his throat, he slipped a hand down underneath the table. 

    “Perhaps in a twisted world… those of her kind could be but daughters of Aphrodite herself. With such…ample proportions…it should be considered.” 

    “You may, good Sir, have a point.” Lord Nolan chimed in to the shock of the guests seated around them. The two of them made eye contact. 

    “In context that only we could understand as civilized people… it could explain why they are shaped the way they are.” 

    “I’m glad you understand my reasoning.” He mused, smiling politely. 

    “Well, I for one think it’s unnatural. No woman should be shaped the way she is. It’s disgusting.” Lady Barrington spoke, lips pinched so hard the skin around her mouth appeared white. 

    “Darling?” His wife, whose hand had been unceremoniously thrown away from him, looked at him. 

    “Yes dear?”

    “Would you mind if the Gentlemen and I retire for a moment?” Reaching up with that same hand she’d used to grope him, she smiled prettily and caressed his cheek. 

    “Of course not my love.”  

*** 

    When it was all said and done, she’d finally reached the safety of her room. She leaned over her vanity, gloves ripped off. Breathing hard, she lifted her gaze to the mirror. Roamed the way her chest rose and fell, the stays she’d been forced to wear intentionally giving her breasts a more than healthy lift. Down across the emphasis on her small drew in waist. To the hips that flared out, the material of the dress forced to adhere to the womanly shape of them.

     Lady Nolan had purposely had this dress made to be form fitting in the most humiliating way. It fit her like a glove and drew the attention everywhere eyes shouldn’t be. Reaching for the pearls about her neck, she threw them down away from her with an angered cry. She looked like a high class whore. How degrading… Taking the pins out she began to pull the dress off until it was cast off into the corner of the room. Once the stays had been removed, they too joined the gown in the corner. Curling up into a ball, she began to cry… hard enough that soon she fell asleep, tears still lingering on her lashes. 

*** 

    “Have you ever seen a Negro wench naked Lord Severa?” Lifting eyes from the glass of brandy he held, he felt his throat grow tight. 

    “No.”

    “No? Impossible man! Have you no slaves at your esteemed manor?” 

    “I have no need of them. Servants that have been passed down through the generations of my family care for the manor.” 

    “Ah. Well negroes would fare much cheaper than whatever it is that you’re paying your help.” One man quipped, trying to light a cigar. 

    “It’s a shame then that you haven’t. They’re quite a terrible beauty to behold.” Lord Nolan continued, pouring the fourth brandy of the evening. 

    “Are they?” He asked, trying not to hiss with either tongue or teeth. 

    “Yes.” Taking a sip he smiled at him with his eyes.     

    “Take Zadie for example.” At the mention of her name he felt anger pour forth like a rushing dam and took a sip in an attempt to calm himself. 

    “Look there. Above the mantle.” Eyes settled on a painting and at once he grew still. In it, a woman laid on silks and other lush fabrics, completely nude. She was half turned onto her side, half on her back. The obvious thing in the painting were the full breasts that were exposed, one of her arms back by her hair in a relaxed state. The other laid across her stomach, a ring on her left ring finger. The smooth feminine curve and outline of her hip and slight tease of the hair of her triangle seemed to be the most welcome invitation. 

    “My wife hates the picture. But I have told her that it is nothing short of a masterpiece.” One of the men whistled. 

    “My God Alex…such detail.” He gripped his glass tightly, jaw tight. He turned away from the painting. 

    “That woman. She is your slave?” He asked, careful of the tone of his voice. 

    “Yes. I had to damn near kill her in order to paint that. But oh was it worth it.” 

    “I see.”

    “The back of her is even more impressive than the front. She has a nice slim back, pulled in waist. But my God the sight of her arse makes me go mad. They resemble two full moons each of flesh, perfectly round.” He felt the brandy at the back of his throat, wanting to come up. He swallowed it back down. 

    “Ah, yes. You’ve told me the story. Of how you took her there on the billards table. Laid a few good lashes to her arse cheeks aye?” Eyes fell to the billards table and he felt his breathing grow deeper than before. 

    “I didn’t know that black flesh could grow red that of a newborn. Should you hit hard enough, the blood rises to the top. It gave her a pretty coloring.” 

    “You alright Lord Severa?” HARM MATE. KILL. He opened his eyes and gave a solid smile. 

    “But of course. I’m just waiting for you Gentlemen to finish getting your jollies off talking about her.” Were it not for her, this place would most assuredly be a bloodbath. The whole sodding lot of you.

    “I’ll never finish getting off. Not until I plant a child inside of her.” There again, this damn talk of breeding what was not his to breed. Were he a child, were he who he used to be… his self control would have snapped and he would have bitten off the head of each and every one of them. Smiling slowly, he eyed the man he most wanted to make his meal. HARM MATE. KILL. 

    “What’s taking you so long anyway man? I’d have put a couple of those bastards in her by now.”

    “It’s a wonder you can control yourself around her. It’s her nature to be seductive is it not? Why, even tonight as she danced I wanted to bend her over the table until I was ball deep. Thank heavens my wife can’t read minds.” The men laughed. Everyone but him. He didn’t find a fucking thing funny. Taking a deep swig of brandy, he leaned his head back against the chair cushion. He’d let them laugh and carry on. But soon, and soon he promised, it would be he who had the last laugh. Eyes finding the painting of Zadie, he downed the rest of the brandy. 

He was not to be mocked. And neither was she. They’d learn that eventually.