Lady Vi Gets Dressed
Tales of Wetwang Manor #3
This is tale #3 in a loosely-linked collection of tales set in Wetwang Manor, an unusually permissive aristocratic Yorkshire household in the late Victorian era, being published serially over June 2026 in celebration of Pride.
For a list of the other stories in the collection, see the end of this one.
*****
Richard, the third Baron Wetwang, lowers the day’s shipping tables to look at his daughter.
“Violet, darling, you can’t very well claim to be challenging society’s expectations for women, and then in the next breath demand that a maid still dress you! Nurse has gone! You’re twenty-one - almost twenty-two, for Heaven’s sake!”
“Well of course I can, Father. I am a woman, after all.”
“See? Like that! How can you ask for - demand - equality, yet declare that being a woman grants you privilege? How do you reconcile that contradiction?”
“Quite easily, Father.”
“Go on then, how?”
“I am a woman.”
snort
The Baron Wetwang raises his shipping tables to his face again, using the excuse of nearsightedness to hide his smile. “Oh, very well. You can have Mildred. Wilkins, see to it please, would you?”
“Very good, Your Lordship.”
*****
“Lady Violet? It’s Mildred. I’ve got hot water and a washcloth.”
The door glides open as Mildred pushes it using her well-padded rear, letting it shut behind her as she turns to face the room, carrying her tray.
“Lady - oh my goodness! I’m so sorry Milady, I didn’t mean to - I mean, I did knock - “
“Mmm? What - oh. Good morning, Mildred.”
“Milady, your... your nightgown...”
Violet looks down at herself. In her sleep, the soft, light fabric of her nightgown had bunched up around her hips, leaving her legs bare over the tangle of sheets; one knee drawn up, the other splayed apart.
Mildred struggles to decide where to look, vacillating between the ceiling, the floor, and the soft thatch of dark curls between Violet’s thighs.
Why does she always find herself in these situations? She’s only just recovered from Cookie.
“Oh. Sorry Mildred,” Violet says. She clamps her legs shut and smoothes the nightgown down instinctively.
“No bother Milady. Lost meself there a moment.”
Something in Mildred stirs, lamenting the loss of the moment.
“Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on something, Millie - do you mind if I call you Millie? - Thank you.”
The young noblewoman looks down, then gradually, hesitantly spreads one knee apart from the other again, pausing as the nightgown begins to shift upwards.
Millie stares, her eyes as wide as saucers, unable - unwilling - to tear her eyes away this time. Her lungs have to remind her that breathing is a prerequisite to life, which is itself necessary should she wish to experience further such little moments, and her chest contracts rapidly as respiration resumes.
There is a flicker - a smoulder? - in Violet’s eyes, then squealing a tiny war cry to strengthen her resolve, she parts her legs further, allowing the nightgown to ride up fully once more, exposing her to Millie.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit... much?”
Millie swallows. “Much, Milady?”
“Vi. Call me Vi. Well, there’s rather a lot of - rather a lot of hair down there, don’t you think?”
“Ah, Milady - “
“Vi, please - “
“Milady, no!” Wilkins would have her head on a pike by the ha-ha if he heard her casually referring to her mistress as ‘Vi’.
“Oh all right. Lady Vi then - “
“Milady Vi, it’s not really my place to comment - “
“But I asked you a question, Millie. Would you refuse a request from me?”
“No, Milady Vi, but...” Millie’s eyes cast about for salvation, thinking about her own blonde curls between her legs. About the warmth that’s beginning to spread from there, despite her panic. Perhaps because of her panic.
“Well, it looks rather fetching Milady, but it is perhaps a touch...unruly?”
“Oh, fetching is it?” she asks, grinning as Millie blushes. “See, I rather think unruly is right. I’m thinking of getting rid of it.”
“What, all of it?” Millie’s horrified gasp echoes through the room.
“Too much?” Violet chuckles awkwardly. “No, I suppose not. It might get...cold. Just...you know, trim the edges? Shape it a little? Some good British taming of the wilderness?” She swipes a fist in the air, imagining herself an explorer.
“Some of the women like having the lips bare, Milady Vi,” the maid blurts out before she can stop herself.
The look on Violet’s face can only be described as scandalised delight.
“Oh Millie, I knew you were the right person to ask! You dark horse, you! That sounds exactly what I need.”
“But Milady, would you really pluck yourself like...like...”
“Like a common whore? A harlot?”
“Well...yes, Milady. But also…no?”
“Hmm. I suppose it does sound that way doesn’t it? But perhaps…perhaps that’s not such a terrible thing? Father does always say to be more in touch with the common people after all.”
“But what would your fa - His Lordship say?”
Violet raises an eyebrow. “Well one would hope that one’s pater does not get a view of or a say on one’s lady parts, no? And I am his daughter, but it’s my fanny. I would so love to feel smooth skin, not like I’m stroking a bear.”
“A bear, Milady?”
“Yes Millie, a bear. Like that rug in the study. A bear. Well. That was a bear, now it’s a rug. Anyway. Do you not feel that way when you... touch yourself?”
Millie gulps. Surely the noblewoman didn’t mean... “Touch - “
“Why yes Millie. Do you not explore yourself? One of the books Father has in his study says: if you know your enemy, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.”
“Are you saying you’re the enemy, Milady?”
Violet frowns. “I...No, I think there was a bit in there about knowing yourself as well. Anyway. This” - the young lady indicates her nether regions with a sweep of her hand - “is a battlefield and I do not intend to lose.”
“Milady, I’m just here to dress you...”
“Yes, sorry Millie, I got rather carried away there.”
“Shall I brush your hair, Milady?”
“Yes please Millie.”
Violet gasps.
“The hair on my head I think, Millie.”
“Sorry Milady. Lost meself for a moment.”
“No bother Millie. No bother at all.”
*****
Violet’s fingers creep lower and lower down her belly until they reach those hated curls. Her mind races as she replays the events of the last few days.
Millie’s eyes on her sex as she spreads herself wide open for her.
Millie’s gentle hands brushing her hair.
Millie’s fingertips brushing the nape of her neck as she helps her pin her hair up.
Her own fingers stroke her aching, hairy quim. She is definitely going to get rid of those hairs. She wants to see what she looks like. Her breath comes in gasps and pants.
Millie with a washcloth, helping her wipe between her legs.
She reaches up, pinches a nipple between her fingers and cries out softly.
Millie’s hand accidentally brushing against her nipples.
No - be honest - no accident. You pressed yourself into her hand.
And she didn’t move away.
A flicker of doubt scampers over her thoughts. Is it…all right that she’s doing this? Millie’s a servant. An employee. Even if she’s been thinking of her as more of a friend, she cannot deny the reality of their situation.
She resolves to speak to Millie about it, to ensure her comfort.
But for right now, Millie isn’t here, and-
Her hips begin bucking as her fingers find the spot, the spot that sends white hot blades up her belly.
knock knock knock
“Lady Violet? It’s Mildr - Millie.”
Without waiting for an answer, Millie nudges the door open. After the last few days, there is nothing that she hasn’t seen of Violet.
Well. Almost nothing. This is new.
“Shut the door, shut the door!” Violet cries out breathlessly.
She’d slammed her legs shut and removed her hand when Millie had first knocked but it was too late - she was past the point of no return. She turns, burying her face in her pillow. Her bare bottom wriggles in the evening air as she tries to burrow into her bed. The purpose of her burrowing - whether to hide her shame or to muffle the sounds she is making as her body refuses to cede control to her brain - remains debatable.
“Millie?” Violet asks tentatively after a while, her voice muffled by her pillow.
“Still here, Milady.”
“Oh God...”
“Sounds like you met Him briefly, Milady.”
Violet groans.
“I’ve brought you some chamomile, Milady. And some hot water to wash with before bed? I see you won’t be needing any help undressing.”
Violet turns around and sits up, drawing her knees up to her chest as she accepts the cup and saucer from Millie. Her skin is flushed, her hair disheveled.
“Thank you Millie. I ah - “
“ - lost yourself, Milady?” Both of them finish the sentence together and catch each other’s eye before collapsing in a fit of giggles.
*****
“Millie?”
“Yes Milady?”
“Why must we - ow - wear these - accursed - corsets?”
“So you look more breedable, Milady. The gentlemen do so like their ladies looking that way.”
“Ugh.” -inhale- “Why don’t you have to wear them, then?”
“Servants don’t get bred, Milady. We just ‘ave children. Deep breath out now.”
exhale
“I’m only meeting Mother’s friends, not any gentlemen-”
“Milady, you need to breathe out and keep the breath out.”
“-yes but Millie, the ladies won’t be breeding me, will they?”
“They’ll be eyeing you up for their sons to, Milady. Breathe out.”
exhale
“-erk. Mercy, Millie!” Violet’s voice is rather more strained than it had been moments prior.
“Sorry, Milady. Just one more - “
“One mo - No! No, no, no. Je refuse. Je dis non, Millie! I want to breathe, not to breed!”
“Milady, no!” Millie wails as she watches the laces come undone, Violet squirming out of the corset and throwing it against the wall in a fit of rage.
Her bosom heaves, unfettered, in the thin summer chemise she has on. Her face is flushed, and she is panting as she takes all the breaths she can, in case she finds the corset around herself again. It lies on the ground, unmoving as she glares at it.
“But Milady, Her Ladyship’s guests - “
“Those old busybodies can just see me in this!” Violet roars. “All they ever ask about is, ‘and when will your young debutante be coming out?’”
She grabs her breasts and snarls. “Well here I am, and I’m all out, you old cows! When’s your turn?”
Millie opens her mouth to say something but thinks better of it, moving out of the way as Violet stalks towards the door. Her eyes flick downwards, and Violet follows her gaze. Her thick brown curls peek out from the split crotch of her drawers. Her chemise is already starting to turn translucent from her sweat, her nipples prominent and very visible through the light material.
Her fists clench and unclench. She starts towards the door, then stops.
The faces of her mother’s guests swim through her mind. Lady Antwerp, mouth puckered like she’d just eaten a whole lemon. Kind Lady Morrow, a friend of her mother’s from girlhood.
“Perhaps...perhaps a dress over this, please, Mildred,” she says, her voice catching in her throat.
“I think that’s for the best, Milady,” Millie says soothingly as she hurries to comply.
“Yes, we wouldn’t want anyone to faint into their sandwiches.”
“Milady?” Millie asks, the tone in her voice causing the Lady Violet to look up.
She raises her eyes as she watches Millie pull a small pair of scissors and tweezers out of the pocket of her apron. “What-”
“I thought, Milady Vi, we could do something for you that the ladies wouldn’t need to know about?”
She follows Millie’s gaze downwards, and a smile spreads over her face.
“Oh, oui, Millie. Yes.”
*****
“Violet? Is that truly how you will be meeting your mother’s guests? You know they do gossip so.”
“You know I prefer Vi, Father.”
“Yes but it sounds so antagonistic, my dear, don’t you think? Rather as though one is vying for one’s due. Something I would have thought you of all people would not need to do.”
“I’m a woman, Father. I’m always having to fight.”
“Quite so, Vi. Quite so. It’s a lovely dress.”
“Thank you, Father.”
She stalks away from him, doing her best to ignore the beautiful, wondrous stinging between her legs. The sting of rebellion.
Perhaps she should have asked Millie for just a trim.
Be that as it may, once she’d set the wheels - and Millie’s tweezers - in motion, she was not going to back down. A battlefield, and together with Millie, she’d struck the first blow.
Although Millie could perhaps have been a touch more sympathetic when she’d cried.
She turns her lips up and her eyes down as a footman smoothly opens the door to the parlour for her, and she curtsies. Owowowowow. “Oh, hello Lady Antwerp, how lovely to see you again…”
The door shuts behind her, silently.
*****
Loving the world of Wetwang Manor? Read the other tales in the series!
Lady Vi Gets Dressed (You are here)
👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 Beautifully imagined and written! 🙏🏼