"Yes, my lady," he replied, struggling to suppress a grin. "And may I say I love working with you when the pressure's on?"
"You may not! But your reflection is duly noted anyway. As is your obvious delight at the thought of getting me into your bed in France, one way or the other."
"Yes, my lady. I believe it's our destiny. Never more so than now."
She pointed to the door again. "Fetch the wine, young man! Then we'll see about destiny!"
Jackson sped from the study, found a hurricane lamp by the cellar steps and went downstairs. He hunted down the dusty rows of red wines until he came to those with the least dust, and chose a 1913 Calvet. He noted its withdrawal in the cellar register and went to the kitchen where he found Lady Constance putting an open jar of black dried olives on a tray along with cheese on a board and Scottish oatmeal biscuits.
He stopped and stared at her buttocks, perfectly formed with her jodhpurs as she stood facing the table.
"Stop staring at my buttocks!" she snapped, without turning around. "Put the bottle down and come here where you're more use."
"Yes, my lady." He did as he was told and stopped behind her, but still she faced the table.
"Come closer! Step up and press against me….That's what you want, isn't it? To feel me."
"Yes, my lady," he croaked, his throat dry. And he pressed the painfully hard erection under his trousers against her buttocks. She gasped and wiggled her hips. "Oh God! Jackson! It's so hot and hard!...No sane person would believe any of this if I told them, even swearing on a stack of bibles." She reached behind over her shoulder and caressed his face. "Your Madame la comtesse is a very lucky lady, Jackson."
"She's the love of my life," he whispered, sliding his hands gently under her coat to caress her breasts and tweak her nipples with his fingers, making her yelp and shudder. And curse.
"The wine, young man!" she snapped, butting back against his crotch to turn and face him, her hazel eyes dancing with excitement. "That's enough aperitif for you for now!" She immediately took the tray and left the kitchen.
He found a corkscrew and swiftly opened the bottle, found two Bordeaux wine glasses in the rack and joined her in the study as a break in the clouds allowed a pleasing afternoon light to beam in through the windows.
He poured a little for her. She swirled it in her glass, smelt, then tasted it sparingly, nodding her approval. He filled her glass, then his own, and they touched glasses.
"To Madame la comtesse Marie-France Annette Couve de Murville," she said with a laugh. "And may God have mercy on her ship and all who sail in her."
"To Madame la comtesse. What a grand adventure it'll be."
She laughed dismissively, "An adventure certainly. Whether it's 'grand' remains to be seen. But your confidence gives me strength to face it all."
And as ever the organiser something suddenly occurred to her. "Your clothes, Jackson!" she said.
"Yes, my lady! Is there something wrong?" he replied, wondering what was next on the cards.
"I must get you new ones for your new duties." She waved at him. He was wearing his work clothes while somewhat incongruously drinking red wine in the study. "You're almost the same size as Archie. When we return home I'll go through his wardrobe. There's plenty he's hardly ever worn and he'll never need again. A quick trip to the tailor will have you booted and suited like the gallant young gentleman you are."
Jackson stared at her, his heart beating furiously, his neurones fusing with emotional overload. 'New duties' was news to him. But whatever they entailed they'd be an 'adventure' of that he had no doubt.
"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, my lady. And ask myself how such a gallant young gentlemen would thank his English lady for such a compliment?"
"He would pull her jodhpurs down and fuck her on her hands and knees on the carpet."