Marriage Training

by Golden Angel

  Taking a sip of the scotch, his eyes fell to the pad of paper in front of him. A sketch of Vivian, as he’d seen her at luncheon yesterday. Softly feminine, with a sparkle in her eye, her lips slightly parted as if about to ask a question. He’d been sitting here for an hour and he’d already drawn three sketches of her, the itch in his fingers impossible to ignore.

  One of the sketches was of her nude, but obviously it was not drawn from memory, as he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to see her languishing in front of him, eyes sleepy with feminine pleasure. The Vivian that he’d drawn in his sketch was the one he would eventually have, with her lush curves, inviting smile, and submissive eyes.

  “Gabriel! Why are you hiding away in here when you’re supposed to be visiting us?” Henrietta, his youngest sister, impish and impulsive as always, grinned at him as she burst into the room, practically skipping across it to reach him.

  “Hello, poppet,” he said, grinning at her as she bent down to kiss his cheek before plopping down in the chair across from him. “I see that a few months of marriage to Jonathan has done nothing to curb your unladylike behavior.”

  Calling Henrietta a hoyden was a vast understatement. Being married to Jonathan had barely slowed her down. Their father had had the same trouble disciplining her; it never kept Henrietta subdued for long. She had a penchant for trouble, especially if it involved eavesdropping or spying, the little sneak.

  Henrietta snorted. The soft copper of her dress set off her brown hair and hazel eyes quite prettily, and Gabriel could only marvel that she was now a married young woman. Although she was the same age as Vivian, he still had trouble seeing Henrietta as anything other than a rosy-cheeked little nuisance in pigtails.

  “Who is this?” she asked, leaning forward with interest as she looked at the sketchpad he’d been using. “Is that Miss Stafford? She’s beautiful!”

  “She is, isn’t she?” Gabriel asked, putting his fingers atop the page so that Henrietta didn’t get any ideas about seeing what else he’d been sketching. The nude of Vivian definitely needed to be hidden from her. He looked down at the picture, smiling at the visage that he’d created.

  There was such a softness, a sweetness to Vivian. He hadn’t quite managed to capture it in the drawing, but he could still see it in his mind’s eye.

  “Oh, that’s lovely.”

  Jerked out of his thoughts, Gabriel glanced at his sister and raised his eyebrow when he realized that she was looking at him and not the picture. “What is?”

  “You. When you were talking about the marriage at dinner, you made it sound like a business arrangement, but you care for her.” Henrietta’s laughter chimed and she shook her head at him. “I can see it in your face.” She stood and held out her hand to him. “I’m glad, brother. You deserve happiness. Now come and talk with everyone— you’ve spent far too much time in here mooning over your fiancée as it is. Pining away won’t make her finish her schooling any faster.”

  “Imp,” Gabriel said, standing up with a sigh and offering her his arm, which she took. The grin on her face didn’t fade at all, despite his scowl at her. Mooning, indeed. He wasn’t mooning. Or pining.

  He was just feeling a bit impatient.

  “Good morning!”

  The overly bright, cheery voice of a maid roused Vivian from a most unexpected dream. The earl had been holding her, whispering sweet words of love in her ear, when suddenly he’d whispered that she had been a very bad girl and he was going to punish her. Vivian didn’t know what that meant, but her entire body had tightened in an odd sort of exquisite anticipation.

  “Time to wake up, miss,” the maid said, pulling the blue damask curtains apart. Brilliant sunshine filled the room and Vivian groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes to protect them from the sudden light.

  “Is it earlier than usual?” she asked, blinking her emerald eyes in sleepy confusion.

  “Oh, yes, miss, a full hour earlier. Please, miss, you’ll be late if we don’t get started.”

  “I don’t understand,” Vivian said as she dragged herself from the warmth of the bed, shivering slightly from the morning chill when she was wearing nothing but a thin night rail. The gossamer fabric did very little to warm her, and her nipples stuck out in pink little points, rubbing against the silky inside of the garment.

  “You’re starting the practicum today, right, miss?” the maid asked as she steered Vivian towards the stool in front of her vanity.

  “Yes, I believe so.” Vivian’s thoughts were a bit hazy, but she did remember that she was starting a new course of study today.

  “Well, that starts a full hour earlier than the normal run of lessons, as you have to travel to the house,” the maid chattered. Vivian stifled a groan as the maid began to unpin and re-curl her hair. Why hadn’t Mrs. Banks or Mrs. Cunningham mentioned the earlier time? What house was the maid talking about?

  Blearily she stared into the mirror as the maid did her best to give some life to her hair. Scrubbing the sleep from her eyes, Vivian allowed the maid to help her dress. The difference of one hour’s worth of sleep was more than she could have ever realized; her body had become acclimated to the normal schedule of the school, and this one unexpected change was brutal. She felt almost as though she were sleepwalking.

  “There you are, miss, you’d best hurry, you’re already two minutes late,” the maid said, practically bustling Vivian out the door. She’d been dressed in a smart morning gown of blue muslin.

  Vivian gave herself a little shake and walked towards the front of the house. She didn’t pick up her steps until she was at the top of the staircase and saw two other young women waiting in the foyer with their companions, one pair being Emily and Miss Norton, as well as Mrs. Cunningham and Mrs. Banks. Another older woman, Vivian assumed she was a companion, was waiting there too, and she felt a surge of relief that she wasn’t the last to arrive. Sweeping down the stairs, she joined the group at the bottom.

  “Good morning!” said Emily as Vivian reached the bottom of the stairs. She was looking almost annoyingly chipper, dressed in a sunny yellow morning gown, and far too bright-eyed. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “Is it?” asked Vivian, slightly confused. She still wasn’t entirely sure what was going on.

  “You missed the explanation because you were late,” Emily said, grinning. Mrs. Cunningham must have explained what the practicum was. Vivian winced.

  “Yes, Lady Emily, she did.” Mrs. Banks cut into their conversation dryly. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to speak with Vivian.”

  Emily shot Vivian a sympathetic look as Mrs. Banks drew her off to the side.

  “Miss Stafford, you’re five minutes late,” Mrs. Banks said in a stern voice. Vivian shifted uncomfortably under the widow’s hard gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Banks. I didn’t realize that I needed to be awake so early.” Although she was apologizing, there was a hint of reproach in her voice.

  “That’s part of the practicum,” said Mrs. Banks, raising her eyebrow at Vivian. “Your studies are moving on from the theoretical to the practical, and you will actually be taking turns with the other young ladies in running a small household. One of the first things you will need to learn is to be flexible and to be able to adjust to any change in your routine. Who knows what emergency might crop up in the early hours of the morning? You must be prepared to deal with it. It would behoove you to remember that.” The look she gave Vivian clearly showed she had not missed the implication of blame Vivian had placed on her. Vivian wilted a bit, knowing Mrs. Banks was right and that she’d already disappointed her companion in this new course of training. “We will discuss your punishment for being late when we return to the school this evening.”

  Punishment? Vivian almost felt faint. Yes, Mrs. Cunningham had said something about punishments, but Vivian hadn’t properly heeded the warning. Had her dream been somehow prophetic? Not once, in all her time at the school, had she ever earned a punishment. Certainly not for something as triflin
g as being a few minutes late.

  The shock must have shown on her face because Mrs. Banks’s expression became slightly more sympathetic. “You are no longer a child, Vivian. You are a young woman and you are going to be married soon. Being late is no longer acceptable; it is a measure of disrespect towards the people you are meeting. What is acceptable for a child is no longer acceptable for you.”

  Never had Vivian been so thoroughly chastised, and she blushed bright red, feeling quite miserable. Since coming to the school she’d always been a model student, indeed she’d strived to be so. Perhaps she had become complacent.

  Footsteps came rushing down the stairs and Vivian turned her head to see the last young woman joining them, looking flushed and contrite. Her immediate apology to the group was in sharp contrast to Vivian’s unconcern. Mrs. Banks gave Vivian a significant look and then they were sweeping out the door to the awaiting carriages.

  The return home that evening saw all four young women completely exhausted. Even Emily had lost the habitual sparkle in her eyes and was leaning her head heavily against the side of the carriage she was sharing with Vivian, Miss Norton, and Mrs. Banks. If it weren’t for the jerks and bumps along the road, Vivian was quite sure she would have fallen asleep right where she sat.

  Which would surely have made for another reprimand from Mrs. Banks.

  It had been a day full of reprimands. For all the young women. They were sharply chided, their mistakes loudly pointed out every time they made one. The classes had taught them how an effective household was supposed to run, but the practicum was already showing them they could not rely on theories. Mrs. Cunningham had explained, before leaving them at the practice house, that all the scenarios they would face during the practicum were taken from actual events in other households.

  The experience had been eye opening. The day had been sectioned off by hours, with each young lady assigned a section during which time she was in charge.

  Each day they would rotate sections so that each was able to practice running the household during the morning, luncheon, afternoon tea, and dinner. Today, Vivian had been given the morning section, which had started out smoothly enough but had quickly gone haywire when a maid burst in on the group as they were being given a tour of the house, shrieking that there were rats in the kitchen.

  vivian had had no idea what to do.

  The other young ladies were allowed to give suggestions, but two of them had become so hysterical at the idea of rats that they had been utterly useless. Eventually Vivian called for several footmen to go on a rat hunt, but the fracas had ended up delaying lunch. Which, she’d been able to tell from the look on Mrs. Banks’s face, had been unacceptable.

  Each of the companions had a pad of paper on which they took notes about their students, and Mrs. Banks had had an ominous expression as she’d scribbled down several things on hers. All of the companions pointed out the myriad of mistakes each of the girls was making, flustering them further.

  All in all, it was not a pleasant day. Hers wasn’t over yet. She hadn’t forgotten that her marriage training was to begin this evening. Nibbling on her soft lower lip, she glanced over at Mrs. Banks, who was staring out the window of the carriage. Somehow, she didn’t think her companion would be willing to postpone the first lesson for a later date. After all, once she was married and the lady of a household, her duties would be round the clock.

  Once the carriage arrived at the school and the young ladies stepped out, Mrs. Banks pulled Vivian over to the side, speaking in a low voice. “I will join you in your room in an hour. You have until then to do as you please.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Banks,” said Vivian, feeling quite relieved. She wanted to do nothing more than go upstairs to her room and lie down.

  “That was awful.” Emily joined Vivian as she headed up the stairs, both of them dragging their feet. “I feel like I’ve been trampled.”

  Vivian thought Emily had done much better with her portion of the day than any of the other young ladies. The kitchen was still in an uproar when it was time for tea, but Emily had distracted her guests by performing on the pianoforte until the tea was ready. Then, rather than enjoying the tea, they’d all had to follow Emily to the kitchen, where she’d managed to restore order, something neither Vivian nor Rose (whose section of the day included luncheon) had accomplished. The key, as far as Vivian could tell, was sheer bravado. Although Emily had confided to Vivian that she’d had no idea what she was doing, to the others she’d appeared completely confident, and the staff had taken heart from that confidence and the firm hand Emily had wielded.

  “You did very well,” said Vivian enviously. “I felt like a complete wreck.”

  “Well, of course!” Emily rolled her eyes. “Who knew they’d give us something so awful on our first day? Before we’d even finished touring the house!”

  Vivian sighed. “I suppose that was the point, to teach us we can never expect when such an emergency might occur.”

  “Kind of like throwing a child in the pond and seeing if she swims?”

  “Very like,” Vivian said, a little smile curving her face for the first time in hours. Thank goodness for Emily.

  “I can’t wait to fall into bed. Surely tomorrow won’t be as frenzied,” said Emily as they reached her room. “Have a good night!”

  Vivian continued down the hall, wishing she was like the other students. Trepidation filled her as she wondered what kind of first lesson tonight would bring, and what her punishment would entail.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HAVING LEARNED HER LESSON FROM THAT morning, Vivian made sure she was ready early for Mrs. Banks and her training. She’d had the maid help her change into a fresh gown, and had used a wet cloth to wash her face, neck, and arms. Feeling much revived, she sat by the fire to read the book Lord Cranborne had given her while she awaited Mrs. Banks. The story pulled her in immediately; she found herself comparing the dark and brooding hero to the Earl of Cranborne. Picturing a real man made the book much more exciting, especially because she couldn’t help but imagine herself in place of the heroine.

  As soon as the door opened, she reluctantly set the book down and stood to greet her companion, giving her a small curtsy. It was hard to leave the dramatic happenings of the book, as the hero and the heroine had just met for the first time, the hero leaving the heroine breathless just as the earl did to Vivian. But any other response would be rude.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Banks.”

  “Good evening, Miss Stafford.” The older woman swept into the room, the same notepad in her hand that she’d been carrying during the practicum that morning, probably filled with every critique she’d made about Vivian. Vivian’s stomach twisted as she looked at it; there was nothing she disliked more than feeling as though she had disappointed someone’s expectations.

  Stepping to the side, Mrs. Banks gestured to a footman behind her who was carrying a high-backed chair. It was a sturdy piece of furniture, simply carved from oak, the seat comfortably padded with a dark brown cushion, and it had no arm rests. The footman settled it in the middle of the room as Vivian stared, before giving both ladies a small bow and exiting.

  “This is your punishment chair,” said Mrs. Banks, gesturing at the chair as she tapped her thumb against the pad of paper in her hand. Her voice was firm but gentle, with a matter-of-fact tone.

  “My . . . my punishment chair?” Vivian stared aghast at the thing, completely flabbergasted. Mrs. Banks thought it rather a pity the earl wasn’t able to see Vivian’s reaction to the piece of furniture he’d provided; with her wide green eyes and open pink lips she made quite a fetching picture.

  “Yes. At the end of each day you will present yourself to atone for whatever transgressions you may have committed during the day.”

  Staring at the chair, Vivian tried to imagine what kind of punishment could include such a chair.

  “Is this . . . is this punishment part of my marriage training?” she asked, her mind scrambling to make s
ense of this turn of events. She had no idea what Mrs. Banks was expecting of her right now and the lack of guidance made her feel both confused and anxious.

  Pleased with her pupil’s perception and reaction, Mrs. Banks moved closer to curve a supportive arm around Vivian’s shaking shoulders. There was a fine line to be walked, of both disciplinarian and comforter; Miss Stafford must learn that the person who doled out her punishment was the same person who would give her pleasure, the same person who would guide her and soothe her when it was needed. The earl intended to be all of those things to his wife, and so Mrs. Banks must prepare Vivian for that eventuality.

  “It is,” Mrs. Banks said, in serious but encouraging tones as she stroked the soft skin of Vivian’s upper arm. “It will not be so bad, as long as you are a good girl and cooperate. Go ahead and sit down, dear.”

  Relieved to have received a direct order, but still wondering how a chair could be a punishment, Vivian turned and lowered herself into the chair. It was a fairly comfortable chair, although the seat was a bit high, but Vivian couldn’t understand why such a thing might be considered a punishment. She looked up at Mrs. Banks, who was standing directly in front of her, consulting her notepad.

  “This morning you were five minutes late, so I will give you one spanking for each minute. When we reached the house, the housekeeper had to prompt you to ask for a tour of the premises even though I told you beforehand that you should familiarize yourself with it immediately, so that’s another,” Mrs. Banks continued, listing each infraction she’d noted on her paper and the amount of spankings it incurred.

  Vivian’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t been spanked since she was . . . She couldn’t remember the last time. She must have been quite young. Realizing Mrs. Banks was still listing Vivian’s mistakes from the day, she tried to focus on what Mrs. Banks was saying, rather than the revelation of her punishment. There would be time enough to think about that later, but if she didn’t want to repeat any of her missteps today, then she needed to pay attention. While she would have listened just as fervently in her own determination to be the perfect wife for the earl, the threat of spankings certainly gave her motivations an edge.