Richard, fourth Earl of Femshire was not easily rattled. Yet he had to admit to just a touch of nerves as he rose from his bed on the morning of his twenty first birthday.
The aristocrat's usual confident, even arrogant manner was not quite there as he steppedinto his luxuriously appointed bathroom. His habitual glance into the full-length mirror revealed, not just a slim elegant loose-limbed form, but also a certain hesitation in movement, a self-consciousness, and something akin to vulnerability in the eyes that looked back at him.
The young Earl lowered himself into the hot bath that the maid had prepared for him and closed his eyes. He knew it was ridiculous but all the rumours and stories about his family and forebears seemed so insistent today, he couldn't keep them out of his mind.
Three generations of Femshire men - his father, grandfather and great grandfather - had all withdrawn from the world, "disappeared" was the most common way of describing it, for a period of several years. There had been rumours of apparent sightings in the grounds of the family estate, and then, without explanation, each had returned.

The young earl could still remember his father when he returned from his disappearance. Still upright and aloof as he half remembered him from before, but somehow he appeared changed, less forceful, with a strange calm quietude about him. Not unhappy by any means but passive, undemonstrative. The young earl remembered seeing him like that and wondering if it was some hereditary condition that might in turn affect him, too.
He turned his mind to the portraits of his ancestors in the main hall. As he did so, Richard wondered again about the strange similarities they shared. Perhaps it was a case of artistic license but all three has that same look about the eyes - a sort of acquiescence not to be expected in an aristocratic portrait.
Richard's own portrait was to join them soon enough. Tradition had it that the picture should be painted on his twenty first birthday to join the others. An artist had been appointed and the first half of his day was to be spent sitting for the artist. The evening event was to be a private birthday party in his honour, to be attended only by members of the household - which meant his mother and the five strong all female staff.

Richard was glad it had also been agreed that the artist was to stay over and attend this party, so that he would at least not be the only male present. To live among women, the only man in the house since his father passed away, was no hardship to him by any means, but he did look forward to some male company from time to time.
Having bathed and breakfasted, he made his way to the study to meet the painter. The room was already arranged with an easel under the large garden window, and an armchair facing it. Without thinking Richard dropped into the armchair and glanced around in a rather bored manner.
"I do hope you're ready for this. But from what I've heard I'm sure you are.." came a smooth female voice and Richard looked up to see a strikingly handsome young woman staring fixedly at him.
"Ready?" he replied, a little taken aback. He hadn't seen her enter until she spoke.
"Oh, I'm sure you are" she reassured him with a soft slightly patronising tone, and she picked up her palette and disappeared behind the easel.
So this was the artist! This was going to be less tiresome than he had thought. She was beautiful and alluring, and although something about her powerful stare unnerved him, he told himself it was simply the look of an artist sizing up her subject and tried to ignore the feeling it produced in him.
The fourth Earl of Femshire found that the rest of the morning went by in an alternating pattern of boredom and fascination. Boredom when he was obliged to merely sit still and in silence (for the beautiful young artist refused to be drawn into conversation while she worked), and fascination when she took a break and came over to talk with him.
She made a point of coming up close to him and he could not disguise the fact that her scent and shapeliness had a strong effect on him. She seemed interested in him too, although her coolly appraising look seemed to penetrate right through him.

By six o'clock, the sitting was over for the day and Richard had returned to his bedroom to freshen up before the evening. All was quiet in the great house but below stairs, preparations for the evening were in full swing.
Miss Jarvis and the rest of the staff sat around the oak dining table, joined by Angela Steen RA fresh from her work on the portrait. They were clearly discussing the birthday boy. Miss Jarvis's voice rose above the others.
"There's no point being gentle with him to start with. I know you only mean well Sinika, but it wouldn't be doing him any favours in the long run. It only takes longer to train them that way. That happened with his father and we had god only knows what trouble until we got him properly subdued. Remember, the goal is complete subjugation to the female - not a trace of male ego to remain unreconstructed. No, the sooner he knows who's boss the better."
The young maid to whom this was directed didn't demur.
"So, Carol, all the equipment is ready and in place, is it? Once he's been taken and stripped we need to get him trussed and immobilised before he knows what's hit him. Then the work can begin".
"Yes, Miss Jarvis".
"Good girl. Now, Angela, you want to take first go at him, is that right? It's alright by me but you haven't trained a male before have you?"
"Oh I think I can handle him. I'm rather looking forward to it." she smiled confidently.
"That's agreed then", replied Miss Jarvis, "After you, I will take over. You know, I don't think we will have too much trouble with young Richard. He has some stubborn male ideology we will have to shift for him, but once we have done that I can see him becoming another excellent tool for our purposes. I think he will take to complete female authority and control very well indeed. After all, it's a family trait," and with that she threw a glance at the portraits on the wall behind her, and laughed.
The women rose and Miss Jarvis and Angela walked off deep in conversation while the young maids made the final preparations for what Miss Jarvis was pleased to describe to them as Richard's "going in" party.
"Oh, by the way, what do you want to use as a signal for us to move in and take him?" asked Miss Jarvis confidentially as they walked away.
"Hmm" mused Angela, a glint in her eye, "let's say a sharp slap to his face".
"Very fitting" replied Miss Jarvis. The two women shared a triumphant smile and parted until the evening.

Richard came down the stairs with something of a spring in his step. He strolled into the hall, wandered over to the table, and poured himself a glass of vintage wine from the decanter. He looked lazily around and was surprised to see just how elegantly all the women of the house were dressed.
To be fair, he thought, they were a pretty good-looking bunch. But after a moment he only had eyes for one. As casually as he could he sidled over to where Angela was standing, drink in hand. He didn't notice her surreptitious wink to her companions as he did so. All he saw was a tall slim young woman with the longest loveliest blonde hair, dressed in a stunning red dress and smiling oh so sweetly at him. He moved in closer.
"You weren't trying to look down my dress, were you?" she asked quietly, smiling more alluringly than ever. Her eyes flashed what he took for encouragement.
"Well, with a cleavage like that how could I resist" he replied with a grin, and moved in even closer to her. The grin didn't stay on his face for long.
"How dare you?" she cried loudly and, pulling back from him landed him a slap on the side of the face that half knocked him off his feet. As he stumbled he was just aware out of the corner of his eye of Miss Jarvis grinning and the other women in the room closing in on him with determined looks in their eyes...

You can read more of Marquise's stories at her own website-www.marquise.org.uk