Ladies and Their Lovers

By Diane Scott Lewis

Miss Grey’s Shady Lover - (A Parody)
As posted on Diana Gabaldon's Facebook page, an excellent tongue-in-cheeck parody of the best selling novel Fifty Shades of Grey... In this erotic, tongue-in-cheek parody of a bestselling novel, Anya Grey enters service at Pretentious Hall in the eighteenth century. She meets brooding, dangerous, but strikingly handsome, Lord Libidinous who soon involves her in a sultry, sexual relationship to soothe his damaged soul. Prepare to laugh, and sigh, at their sexy, and explicitly steamy, antics.

The Defiant Lady Pencavel
In 1796, Lady Melwyn Pencavel has been betrothed to Griffin Lambrick since she was a child—and she hasn’t seen him since. Now almost one and twenty, she defies being forced into an arranged marriage. She aspires to be an archeologist and travel to Italy during the upheaval of the Napoleonic Wars. Griffin Lambrick, Viscount of Merther, resents these forced nuptials as well, as he desires no simpering bride and wants no one in his business. For the thrill of it, he smuggles artifacts from Italy at his Cornish estate. Two reckless and stubborn people will meet—with chaos and humor—in this romantic satire, and face their fears.

In 1796, Lady Melwyn Pencavel has been betrothed to Griffin Lambrick since she was a child—and she hasn’t seen him since. Now almost one and twenty, she defies being forced into an arranged marriage. She aspires to be an archeologist and travel to Italy during the upheaval of the Napoleonic Wars. Griffin Lambrick, Viscount of Merther, resents these forced nuptials as well, as he desires no simpering bride and wants no one in his business. For the thrill of it, he smuggles artifacts from Italy at his Cornish estate. Two reckless and stubborn people will meet—with chaos and humor—in this romantic satire, and face their fears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781773625911

Diane Scott Lewis

Diane grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area. At nineteen, she joined the Navy. She has written and edited free-lance since high school. She married in Greece and raised two sons in Puerto Rico, California, Guam, and Virginia. She writes book reviews for the Historical Novels Review and works as an on-line historical editor. Diane served as president of the Riverside Writers, a chapter of the Virginia Writers Club, Inc, in 2007-2008. She has four published historical novels.She lives with her husband and dachshund in Clarion, PA. Check out her website at:

Book preview

Ladies and Their Lovers

(Two Tales of Unladylike Behaviour)

By Diane Scott Lewis

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 978-1-77362-591-1

Kindle 978-1-77299-284-7

Amazon Print ISBN: 978-1-77299-285-4

Copyright 2016 by Diane Parkinson

Cover art 2016 by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Book 1

Miss Grey’s Shady Lover

(A Parody)

Preface

This is a tongue-in-cheek parody of a bestselling novel. It was all done in fun, but please be warned there is explicit sex involved.

Chapter One

Anya glared down at her friend as she tried to look sympathetic. Sarah sprawled on the plush, velvet settee, and she even made that appear graceful—though she wasted away with consumption.

I’ve never worked as a servant before. I’ve only been a pampered vicar’s daughter. Or as pampered as one can be on such a low salary, and living in a drafty vicarage with five other noisy, slobbering siblings. Anya teared up thinking of her father. He’d been killed by an overzealous parishioner in a runaway curricle, right in front of the church only one month prior.

You will forge along fine. You must take my position. Please say you’ll do this for me and for yourself, as well. Your mother needs the blunt now that she’s a widow. Pretentious Hall is a grand old pile, owned by Lord and Lady Snoot. Sarah raised a dainty white hand, draping it dramatically across her flushed forehead. Well, once owned by them. Lady Snoot’s brother—a dashing entrepreneur who has a mysterious past—has bought the place to rescue Lord Snoot from his debts.

"Very well, I’ll go. I know you’re not long for this world, but only you could make gaunt and dying look attractive. Anya kissed her friend’s cold white—yet indescribably lovely— brow. I’m off to toil as a kitchen wench and who knows what will become of me. I could be ravished by an enigmatic but incredibly handsome rake."

She straightened her shoulders, snatched up her shabby valise, and departed Sarah’s home, relieved to leave behind the pungent smell of illness. Her spirits drooping, Anya passed the vicarage, gave one final wave to her family, and left the quant thatch-roofed, half-timbered village she adored.

At the ripe old age of four and twenty, she was forced to enter service as no one had offered for her in marriage. Anya’s mother despaired of her ever attracting a suitable consort, and there weren’t many choices for a woman in 1781 England.

After several days walk, and tripping over a myriad of stones—and nearly crushing a badger—with her clumsiness, she had her first glance of the grand Elizabethan manor with its high casement windows and scrolled stonework. She dropped her valise and said, "Holy bumfiddle! It is impressive. How will I ever fit in at his magnificent place when I’m so plain and ordinary?"

* * *

Anya pressed against the wall, the tray of dirty dishes in her hands. Lady Snoot sauntered toward her, her quizzing glass raised. Why are you dallying in this corridor, girl?

I beg your pardon, Madam. Anya hadn’t dallied, but had nearly dropped the heavy tray and hesitated near the wall to balance it. The remnants of fish, capon, blood pudding, mutton, and syllabub filled her nostrils. I didn’t dare dally, but only paused for a moment. I’m away to the kitchen.

The Gargoyle, as Anya privately thought of her new employer, continued to glare down her chiseled aristocratic nose. The woman could probably slice beef with it. "Mind that you are. No one wants to ‘see’ the servants about. It’s highly distasteful. I didn’t hire you to make a spectacle of yourself. You’re fortunate I took pity on you as I have, since the other chit didn’t show herself. No one thinks of me when they inconvenience me." The woman waved a dismissive hand and continued into the rear parlor, the skirts of her fashionable purple open robe gown—pushed out at the hips by panniers—billowing behind her.

Laughter drifted from that rear room. Lady Snoot’s brother had returned from London three days before. Tall and handsome—and unfortunately he seemed well aware of it—he consumed the household now that he was in residence. Lord Libidinous’s laughter sent strange chills along Anya’s spine; she hurried with the rattling tray down the hall, through the green baize door and into the kitchen.

What took you so long? roared Mrs. Gastronome; the cook rounded on her, her fat cheeks wiggling, her mobcap all a flutter. She claimed French ancestry, but was probably as French as Anya’s scuffed shoes. "We’ll have no lazy servants here, Madamozelle."

Anya set down the tray and wiped sweat from her forehead. If the quality didn’t eat so heartily, the dishes would be far less to carry.

Aye, she’s right, Gastry. Pip, the footman, snickered. He plopped a leftover scrap of fish into his mouth. "The rich is always gorgin’ themselves. We’re just envious as we are the great undeserving…or is it deserving poor?"

Why are you loitering in here, and not helping? Anya asked. Shouldn’t a footman be fleet of foot?

You’re a saucy wench for one so new to the staff. He raised a pale brow. I’ll wager you’re a nice piece of tail, too.

Whack! The cook smacked the back of Pip’s head with her wooden spoon. Watch your jaw, boy. ’Tisn’t right to speak so in this house. Lady Snoot will have all our heads, she will.

How dare you, Pip. Anya wiped her fingers on her apron. She’d worked at Pretentious Hall for three weeks now, and wished she’d fully thought out her choice of vocation. Perhaps whoring down at the docks would be more profitable, not to mention more fun. But she was a good and proper girl. I am not some doxy you can speak to like that.

Stop drubbin’ me up, you old harpy. Pip rubbed his scalp, his narrow face in a scowl at the cook. He swept a hand through his lank blond hair. Think I’ll ask Lord Libidinous if I can serve him in his London townhome as his second valet. Would be an honor to dress such a fine gentleman as him.

He’d never allow one such as you near him. He’s too superior a man. Anya rolled her eyes—an annoying habit she was often criticized about but often couldn’t help herself—and put the dishes in a basin and began to scrub the delicate china from a far off country called China.

You know nothing of his lordship. Pip glowered at her. He has, shall I say, peculiar tastes, that I could help him with. He winked. I know lots o’ ways to tame a wench.

Anya clenched her jaw. She didn’t wish to think of the handsome Lord Libidinous as having peculiar tastes, though she was curious about what Pip meant. But she’d lock herself in the stocks before she asked.

No more o’ that, you rapscallion, Cook admonished the footman. Anya, leave the dishes an’ go out an’ grab the silver platter on the sideboard. Her Ladyship said it looked far too tarnished. You can have a go at it with that imported olive oil; but use it sparingly. I like to sneak it behind old Lady Snoot’s back an’ use it to keep me body supple an’ soft.

Anya dried her hands, relieved to abandon the harsh washing that turned her skin red and chapped as well. She returned to the corridor and reached to pick up the tarnished platter.

At that moment a man entered from the rear parlor. She started when she saw it was Lord Libidinous.

Ah, the new maid, I see. Hired while I was away. His voice deep and sensual, he walked toward her in a long-legged, casual stride. What is your name, girl?

Anya Grey, sir. She made a slight curtsy, then met his large hazel eyes. They were drinking her in like a thirsty man at an oasis—not that she’d ever seen a desert. She fought a shiver. Can I do anything for you, your lordship?

He chuckled, a rich sound. His perfect chiseled features were, well, perfect—like a Greek god. That remains to be seen, doesn’t it, my little waif?

She flushed and picked up the platter to hold it like a shield in front of her. She’d never stood this close to him, or ever visited Greece. He’d smiled at her in passing yesterday, but they’d had no communication. I’m hardly waif-like, sir. But...I must take this to the kitchen...to polish...with oil. If you will excuse me?

Oil? I like the sound of that, or rather the feel of it in certain places. But, wait a moment. He held up his long-fingered hand. What sort of name is Anya? Of course, with my many travels and accomplishments, I should already know this.

It’s Russian, but we’re not Russian, so I don’t know why I was given that name. I think my mam meant plain ‘Anna’ but hiccupped, and so it was written.

Odd, yet interesting, I suppose. You are a busy woman. I appreciate a woman who keeps her fingers and hands dexterous. He raised a dark brow as his gaze swept her from head to toe. His black hair framed his lean, chiseled cheekbones. Probably in his late thirties, he filled out his frockcoat and breeches with a well-muscled body that commanded attention. His cravat was swathed attractively about his throat. Perhaps another time, we will talk in depth.

As you wish, sir. Though I’m not certain what we would speak of, except for Biblical tracts—I am a vicar’s daughter. She didn’t know what else to say, but wanted to run from his presence. He tied knots in what her mother often called her acerbic tongue—and knots much lower that she didn’t understand.

Oh, I do wish, and I can think of many topics, but none of the Biblical persuasion. He ran his finger along her cheek and she inhaled sharply. This evening, around ten, bring me a glass of Canary in the library. I’ll be waiting for you.

Anya nodded, her heart thumping. She didn’t care to be alone with him in any room, much less the library tucked in the far back of the manor. But she could hardly refuse his request to serve him wine. She needed this position so she could send money to her poor mother and younger siblings. They depended on her. Yes, sir. If you insist, I will be there at your... she almost said "handsome and viral, or was it virile, ...disposal." Head lowered, she scurried for the kitchen, angry at being reduced to a flibbertigibbet.

* * *

The glass of pale yellowish Canary wine sat before her in its crystal goblet. Several times Anya went to pick it up, but pulled back her nervous hand. Perhaps she’d beg Pip to take the drink to his lordship, but then he might threaten to discharge her for disobeying his order. No man had ever made her feel this out of sorts.

With a deep breath, she plucked up the glass, put it on a small silver salver, and walked down the dark, wood-paneled corridor. Candles flickered in sconces, giving off the faint smell of beeswax and smoke.

At the library door she scratched, then heard a resonant come in.

Shoulders back, she entered the room. A fire crackled in the marble hearth to her left. Books lined the many shelves in cases against the walnut paneled walls. A polished desk sat to her right. The room was dim, shadows everywhere. She froze in place.

Lord Libidinous sat in a leather wing-backed chair near the fire. He looked up and waved her over. He glanced at his gold pocket-watch. Ten minutes past ten. I’d nearly given up on you, Miss Grey. He spoke almost languidly while her muscles tensed.

She approached unsteadily and stood before him, the salver tight in her grip. Here is your wine, as you requested, sir.

Ah, you are an obedient girl, aren’t you? He smiled, the firelight glistening off his white teeth. Set it on the table.

She bent and set the salver on the low table with a click. Will that be all, sir? Grateful for the kerchief around her neck that hid her voluptuous cleavage, a sight she’d allowed no man to see, she prayed he’d send her on her way now.

He picked up the glass and took a slow sip. You disappoint me, Miss Grey. I thought we were going to have a lengthy discourse.

Anya straightened and smoothed down her apron. She also smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, another annoying habit she had trouble overcoming.

What would you care to discuss with me, a mere servant?

His eyes flashed with humor. The war in the colonies, the disruptions in Parliament, or why does an educated young woman work as a kitchen maid? There are so many topics to converse on, don’t you think?

She avoided his intense gaze. My father, the vicar, said before his untimely death, that too many good men are dying in America, the taxes are too high here to support the war, and Parliament is split over the war and taxes. As for me, I need the wages, sir.

His lordship laughed and slapped his knee. By God, you are an amusing creature, Miss Grey. Of course, education is often wasted on women, who should be comforts to their husbands and raise their children. He leaned back in the chair, watching her with a raised dark brow. Why isn’t a comely woman like you married?

No one found me comely enough to marry, I suppose. She caught his scrutiny and slid back a step. I was known to be outspoken; perhaps that deterred any suitable swain for my hand.

Outspoken? I didn’t get that impression earlier. He leaned forward, elbows on his elegant knees. Or do I make you extremely nervous? I’ve been known to do that to the fairer sex.

He was brash, insufferable, but still he drew her in a way she couldn’t explain. She stared at his sculptured mouth. What else do you require, sir?

I require that you sit here beside me and keep me company. He pulled over a stool, close to his left leg, and patted it.

That would be highly improper, your lordship. She slid back another step, her mouth as dry as that desert she’d never visited. Lady Snoot would disapprove.

Never mind my sister. She’s gone to bed. He again touched the chair, his gaze sharper. Sit, Miss Grey. It wouldn’t look well on you to upset the new proprietor of the manor.

Anya wanted to run for the door, but his dark eyes held her. A tingle started low in her abdomen, a sensation she’d never felt before. With stilted movements, she did as he ordered and sank onto the stool, careful not to brush his leg with hers. She gathered her skirt and petticoats close. You are quite intimidating, sir. But I believe you enjoy being so.

I know what I want, that is all. He nodded his elegant head. And I was wrong about Biblical discussions. What do you know of Sodom and Gomorrah?

It was a city of great sin, and destroyed because of it. She still hoped he’d send her out. Her hands shook at the mention of such a sinful place. What if someone sees us? I can’t afford to lose my good character.

Since my dear sister’s husband is a milquetoast, and Bertha humors me, remember, I am the master here. And Lord Snoot knows that only too well. Libidinous laced his long fingers together, his expression unreadable.

The danger from him seeped over her, but she couldn’t move. She clutched her hands in her lap, her heart racing like the curricle that had killed her father. Since you have me cornered, what else would you care to discourse over or of?

Of you, Miss Grey. What do you enjoy in this blighted world? His smile made her quiver, though he reminded her of a ravenous wolf.

I like...flowers in the garden, the fresh smell of grass after a rain... Under his intense stare she strained to remember anything else. Chocolate is quite tasty.

Yes, yes, all very enjoyable. He leaned farther forward and traced a finger along her wrist. But do you like being touched in a certain way?

Her skin tingled. I...suppose that...it’s nice...very friendly...

What about being more than friendly? He tugged at her kerchief. I see you are a woman of suppressed passions.

Her breath hitched and her hands flew up to stop him. This is too friendly already, sir. And my passions are just fine where they are.

He caressed the material, thus putting pressure on her bodice. Are you afraid of pleasure, my innocent vicar’s daughter?

Her stomach did a strange summersault and her breasts tingled. I...don’t know. How would I know what I’ve never experienced? But I do feel this is very unseemly, though slightly gratifying.

He chuckled, his fingers still caressing. That is my point, my dear; I can show you pleasures you will never imagine. If you will trust me and only allow me to.

A heaviness shifted low in her body. Her nipple puckered, stunning her. I might not be ready to imagine them, sir. She squirmed on the stool, which increased a strange pleasure down there.

The door latch rattled. The portal had never been closed. Lord Snoot stumbled in and Anya rose from the stool in a half-daze.

By jingo, I didn’t know anyone was in here. Snoot stared at them both, his pudgy face florid. His powdered periwig sat like a large lump of sugar on his head. I’m seeking a good glass of brandy.

If you don’t mind, pour your glass and leave, Snoot. I’m busy. It’s well past your bed time. Libidinous frowned and waved a hand at his brother-in-law.

Oh, quite; you’re quite right, of course. Lord Snoot flashed his yellowed teeth, waddled over to the sideboard and fumbled with a crystal decanter.

I must return to the kitchen now, sirs. Anya took her chance and headed for the door. Then she whirled around and flushed, remembering her lowly place. If I may be permitted?

I’m sorry to hear that. We’ll speak again, Miss Grey. Libidinous stood and made a low bow toward her that befuddled her senses. He smiled slowly. I’m certain I can convince you to my way of thinking. You won’t regret it, I promise.

Snoot snatched up a brandy snifter and slopped alcohol into it. I’ll be out of your way in a moment, and I saw nothing, heard nothing, I assure you. I won’t reveal your hand, as they say in whist, Libidinous.

"There was nothing to see or hear. Nothing at all, I assure you. Good night, your lordships." Anya backed out, stumbled into the corridor and tried to still her rapid breathing. She rolled her eyes, then wondered if anyone noticed. What should she do? Could she leave and find work elsewhere? But she’d no doubt have no reference. She rushed up the back servants’ stairs, her hand pressing over her trembling heart. As she lay on her tiny, cold bed under the rafters, she relived his sensual smile, her tingling body under his touch—she trailed a finger over her still-puckered nipple—and hated the fact she’d enjoyed the attention.

Chapter Two

Anya picked herbs in the kitchen garden, the pungent scent of chervil and sage filling her head. Two days had passed since her confrontation in the library with Lord Libidinous. She’d hoped he’d have returned to his townhome in London by now, but he remained at Pretentious Hall. She couldn’t think straight with him so close.

Sighing, she realized she didn’t belong here, but she didn’t belong anywhere now.

Oh, Richard, you are the most horrible rakehell, if you pardon me saying. Lady Snoot’s voice came from over the stone wall. Will you ever reform?

Why should I, dear Bertha? I like me just as I am. Or at least, I’ve been me for so long, reform is impossible.

Anya snuck over and peered over the wall to see the siblings strolling in the rose garden.

The heady scent of roses perfumed the breeze. Lady Snoot wore a blue walking dress and an embroidered jacket; a straw hat with a fluttering feather sat like a parrot on her brown hair. I wish I could say the same about liking my situation here. But, of course, we women have no voice in anything. If our parents hadn’t forced me to marry Lord Snoot, I might be a happier woman.

Don’t despair. The way Snoot drinks alcohol, you may be a merry widow soon. Libidinous chuckled. He looked striking in a black frockcoat and three-cornered hat. Anya was surprised by the twitch in her heart, and the twinge much lower.

I can only hope. Of course, then I might be expected to marry another worthless aristocrat. We hapless women are forced to be the property of some man all our lives. Lady Snoot gestured toward her brother’s arm. "Now what about you. When will you marry and continue the line? Not that the line should be continued, in my humble opinion."

You might be right, sister. But I thought I’d marry when I was fifty, and too old to indulge in my specific pleasures. His smile widened.

Anya bit on her finger on the wall’s top, the stone rough beneath her hands.

"I hear of your ‘pleasures,’ my dear. You are the scandal of the ton it’s whispered. Lady Snoot wagged a finger at him. How do you find so many willing women? And I’m amazed you aren’t yet dead of the French Pox."

I pick my women carefully. He straightened his cravat. They like what I provide.

I worry about you, Richard. Though you are a highly accomplished man, what with your thoroughbreds and scholarly pursuits. She stroked the air above his arm. Unfortunately, people whisper about buggery when a man takes too long to marry.

As a man of means, I’m above such tattle, sister dear. How amusing you would mention it. He swept up his elegant, long-fingered hand.

Anya twitched again, remembered that hand on her breasts.

If only our parents hadn’t sent you away to that abusive boarding school, you wouldn’t be so...damaged. Lady Snoot touched his arm this time.

I don’t care to speak of that, as you well know. He shook off her hand and strode ahead, his manner stiffening. I’ll be off to London again soon, since there’s little sport around here. There is a self-flogging shop on St. Jermyn Street I’ve been anxious to try.

Anya moved away from the wall. Her disappointment unnerved