Anonymous - The Loves of Lord Roxboro

Roxboro Mansion was indeed a beautiful place, beautiful but isolated, away, as you might say, from all the adjoining estates, and dating back hundreds of years, and finally passing down to the present owner, Lord Emory Roxboro, who was, at the opening of our story, seated in his spacious and well-appointed library, perusing a missive which seemed to give him considerable concern.

He was a tall man, well formed, and about forty odd years of age, and to judge from his appearance as he rose to his feet and strode about the softly carpeted room, the letter wrinkled and clutched in his well-manicured hand, he at once presented a striking and dignified appearance. He was clothed in the latest fashion of the day, a massive gold chain dangled from his waistcoat and his gold-rimmed eyeglasses (donned probably for the perusal of the letter that had so agitated him) were perched high on his aristocratic nose, and a huge diamond ring blazed upon the finger of his right hand. He paced the floor nervously and mused as if to himself.

“Why in the name of the Seven Hills of Rome must this happen at this time? Gramercy should take care of his own. Surely, I have no place here for children!”

He glanced at the note again and ringing for a servant, he gave himself a nervous pacing; the servant, a demure young maid of about eighteen, responded to the call and came and stood in the doorway awaiting her master's command.

“Marie,” said he, turning toward her, “my nieces, the Misses Caroline and Freda, will arrive here during the next hour; they are coming by stage and I wish that you would meet them and make them feel at home in the guest chamber. Let me know when they arrive.”

Lord Roxboro again resumed his pacing. He had recently received news of the demise of his only brother, a ne'er-do-well who, almost a pauper, had passed away, undoubtedly in one of his alcoholic excesses, and the two children of this brother Gramercy, who had since an early age been confined by their father in a French convent, and now, upon his death, were being sent to their only living relative, Lord Roxboro, to be under his care.

The father had left them nothing, having drunk up his entire pittance, and now Lord Roxboro, willing or not, was to be blessed with two poor relations. Being a bachelor, he dreaded the charge, not because of the financial strain they might put upon his bankroll, but children, as charges, were a trifle out of his line and the fact that his lazy, drunken brother had absolutely failed to provide for them irritated him and he cursed softly under his breath.

The letter that he held crumpled in his hand was from the superior of the convent, informing him that his two charges were being forwarded to him on the incoming stage. Evidently the letter had been delayed in transit, arriving only that morning.

He tried to recall the appearance of his two nieces upon the last occasion that he had seen them. “Scrawny little brats,” he growled, his brow clouding as he thought back through the years. “I suppose they will destroy the furniture and ruin the entire house. I must contrive to get rid of them speedily.”

In this frame of mind he nervously paced the library, to be awakened from his reverie by the creaking of carriage wheels. Striding to the window with a majestic step, he drew aside the curtains and peered down as the driver sprang from his seat and opened the coach door with a flourish, awaited the occupants to alight.

A feminine figure, her arms loaded with boxes and bags, placed a dainty foot on the step and alighted. Turning, she extended her hand to assist another girl to descend. Mon Dieu! Surely these ravishing creatures could not be his nieces; why, they seemed almost grown women! He watched them as they entered the house and a amp; the coach wheeled away, and he hastily arranged his apparel and proceeded with alacrity downstairs to meet his two nieces.

Marie had already ensconced them in the sitting room and as he entered they laid aside their packages and bundles and were standing demurely together awaiting, as it seemed, his inspection. What a change! Ye Gods! he exclaimed as he gazed at their adorable forms and his mouth watered. Ah! No longer scrawny and thin, as he had remembered them. They wore large roll-brimmed hats, which shaded their rosy faces. These were not the little vixens, the tormentors, he had known but a short few years before.

“Is this Caroline and Freda?” he asked. “My two little nieces?”

“Yes, Uncle Roxboro,” they answered in unison, still holding their heads demurely lowered like a pair of adorable cherubs.

“Well, well, well! Can this be so? What a change a few years has made in you girls. Is this the proper manner in which to greet your uncle? Come, my little cherubs, and bestow a caress of welcome upon your uncle. Kiss me, my pets.”

At this a blush, like unto the crimson pansy, suffused the cheeks of the older and more astute girl. She appeared to be a little older than sixteen, but, approaching her uncle, she drew her sweet, well-formed and rosy lips to his. Placing her soft arms about his neck, she pressed her lips to his and gave him a squeeze. The younger girl, as pretty, if not more so, in her own peculiar type of attractiveness, repeated her sister's act and then upon the invitation of Lord Roxboro they seated themselves and withdrew their silken gloves. This gave him an opportunity to fully inspect his charges, an advantage that he at once availed himself of.

He saw that Caroline, the elder, was no longer a child. No, indeed. The rise and fall of her upturned bosom beneath her tight little bodice gave great promise of delectable beauties concealed beneath the folds of her silken garments, and as she daintily crossed her slim ankles, the form and swell of her beautiful lower extremities proclaimed the fact that she had entered that adorable stage of budding womanhood; her large, lustrous orbs of deep violet-blue looked (questioningly) about the room and as she bit her full, rosy, coral lips between her brilliantly snow-white teeth, regular in their well-shaped whiteness, she made an adorable, distracting picture of youth and beauty.

Many thoughts coursed through the mind of Lord Roxboro as he sat there appraising his adorable nieces, thoughts that boded no good for the virtuous future of the two charming girls, relatives though they might be.

Roxboro was a sensualist, taking his pleasure, no matter in what regard, wherever he found it. He was bored with the sycophants that surrounded him and uttered their tiresome praises continually, and he promised himself to take full advantage of this manna delivered into his arms as if from the very heavens.

Freda, the younger of the two sisters, also became the object of his careful scrutiny. A trifle smaller in stature than Caroline, she had not as yet reached that divine stage of development that made itself manifest in her elder sister, but the elegant, slender lines of her delectable form gave very good promise of a beauty divine. She differed from Caroline in many respects, her eyes being a deep, doelike brown, her skin a trifle darker in color but fine in texture. She moved about uneasily in her new surroundings.

“Forgive me, nieces,” cried Lord Roxboro, giving an uneasy laugh and starting himself from the pleasant train of thought that had been engendered in his sensual mind at the sight of these delectable darlings. “You must want to change your gowns and repair the ravages and damages of your long and tiresome journey. Marie! Conduct the ladies to the guest chamber.”

Lord Roxboro saw no more of his young charges until that evening at supper. Clad in new frocks, they entered the dining room and, after curtsying to their uncle, seated themselves at the table demurely. As Lord Roxboro lived alone, except for his few servants, only the three were present for dinner.