by Jenny Plumb
“Your continued disobedience forces me to take punitive measures that I would much prefer not to have to enact with my beloved wife, but your welfare is my responsibility and as you know, I take all my responsibilities very seriously. I commanded you not to ride today, I was quite clear upon the matter and yet you chose to wilfully disobey me, therefore I have no choice but to punish you.”
He took up position aside of his wife and lifted his arm, slicing the crop through the arctic air. It landed across the crown of her rounded behind, immediately Claudia gave a high-pitched giggle, which caused her husband to frown. It still unnerved him that she laughed when corrected, but Guy knew that it was a quirk that Claudia had since childhood chastisements had been doled out by her deceased father. A deep pink stripe stood bright against her shrinking flesh. The second blow elicited a scream of laughter. Guy gritted his teeth and prepared to land the third blow. This time around Claudia gave a strangulated cry and Guy felt himself relax; his message was getting through to her at last.
“You should have learnt by now that I never allow you to put yourself in danger and when you do, there are unpleasant consequences.”
The crop swished downward and its sting had his wife dancing upon her tippy toes. The next stripe caused her to reach back to clasp her bottom.
“Hands!” barked her husband. He watched as she reluctantly removed them, gripping the barrel edge once again. He would not risk harm to her delicate hands. The crop rose and fell until twenty stripes decorated his beloved’s derrière and upper thighs. Guy had been careful not to allow the crop to fall in the same place twice. His intention was to impart a salient lesson in obedience, not to damage her delicate womanly flesh.
Claudia stayed in position until Guy called her to him. It was a good thing that he had no idea how his stern admonishment of her affected her libido. She felt certain that Guy would not understand at all, she wasn’t quite sure she understood herself. He pointed at the floor in front of him and she moved to the spot leaning into his arms as they came around her, drawing her into the protective circle of his chest. Kissing her hair, he bade her pledge not to ride forth in such dangerous weather again. Meekly, Claudia made her promise, then lifted her mouth for his kiss. When his lips closed over hers, she pressed herself against his hard length, smiling into his mouth as she felt the evidence of his arousal against her belly.
He lifted his head. “Not here, it is too cold to disrobe, come follow me into the house, I shall warm you there.” Claudia tilted her head. “I am warm enough below the waist, thanks to you, husband, but my top half is rather chilly I confess.”
“Enough of your sauce, or I’ll warm your bottom again once we’re inside. Come now, Phoenix, tis my turn to ride!”
She giggled at his witty riposte.
As they crunched across the snow toward their farmhouse, Claudia remembered to tell Guy about the invitation to Merriton and the other more alluring one to a ladies only ball. By this time they were seated inside the parlour, each supping warming cups of hot chocolate pressed upon them by their housekeeper Mrs. Pentally, who assured them that their baby son David was still sleeping soundly.
Guy turned his thoughts over to the invitations his wife had mentioned. “I am unsure about this ladies ball, for it is indeed odd that husbands are not invited.”
“Perhaps our host knew that our husbands will be out, busy riding to the hunt on New Year’s Day?” Claudia failed to keep the exasperation from her voice.
“You should not expect to attend this gathering until I have spoken with Charles about the nature of the event.”
Claudia scowled. She finished her drink and rose from her seat huffily.
“Where are you off to?” her husband enquired, surprised.
“I have things to see to,” she replied tersely.
Guy reached out and snagged her arm as she pushed past. “I am owed a ride, remember,” he reminded her softly.
“Then get up earlier in the morning,” she snapped, attempting to tug her wrist free.
“I am up now,” he murmured, pulling her unceremoniously down into his lap. She struggled, but his hands and lips had taken command of her person and before long she was afire for him. He lifted her into his arms and carried her from the room, depositing her at the foot of the staircase, whereupon he slapped her arse, shooing her ahead of him up the stairs and into their bedchamber.
Yorkshire, England.
Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster...
Helen Lancaster read the invitation over again. Thank heavens for small mercies. She would be able to put some distance between herself and her new husband. This invitation gave her ample opportunity to ingratiate herself with members of the haute ton and avoid spending time over Christmas with Richard. Oh, he was handsome, dashing some would say, at least she had thought so too, once, but that was before they were wed. Now she knew better.
Her father, Mr. Tickerage, prided himself on the advantageous marriages that both his beautiful daughters had made. Harriet, Helen’s elder sister, had married into an old aristocratic family when she wedded Mr. Oliver Weston. Helen had been introduced to the Right Honourable Richard Lancaster, a handsome and wealthy young man of high birth at her sister’s wedding.
Helen was disappointed in Richard. Her disenchantment was mainly centered upon the boudoir. Not that she had any measure of what to expect from the marital bed, but her experience with her nuptials had left her coldly dissatisfied. This caused her to be somewhat short on patience with her new bridegroom, which in turn, drove him to fawn upon her far too much during the day. All in all, Helen concluded that her marriage was a complete disaster.
So to be invited to Herstmonceaux House, along with her older sister and husband, was a godsend and a welcome distraction. It might even present her with an opportunity for a private coze with her sister Harriet. Perhaps she could pluck up enough courage to discuss Richard and his shortcomings with her. The icing on the cake was a further invitation to spend New Year at the Earl of Stradock’s estate, Merriton Hall in Sussex. Helen had never considered that she would fly so high in society.
She had heard that amongst couples of the haute ton it was not fashionable to share a bedchamber. This proved immensely gratifying to Helen; it would give her the reprieve she sought, albeit a temporary relief from Richard’s disgusting demands upon her person. She shuddered as she recalled his fumbling hands beneath her nightgown, the heavy claustrophobic pressure of his body weight as his member stabbed uncomfortably inside her most vulnerable, private place. Such a sordid and deviant practice, enacted under the cover of darkness, really such vulgarity should be visited upon gentlewomen such as herself.
Chapter 4
Christmas Day at Herstmonceaux House…
The Yule log, wrapped and bound in its customary bandage of hazel twigs, was dragged into the house by the servants on Christmas Eve. Watched by the family, they heaved it inside the huge stone fireplace in the withdrawing room. The family and their guests had all gathered to watch the lighting of the log, marking the exciting start of Christmas. The Yule log was expected to burn all through Christmas until twelfth night on the sixth of January. A small part of last year’s Yule log was kept in a casket on the mantelpiece above the fire, ready to light the following year’s log. Charles lifted the charred piece of wood and lit it, pushing it under this year’s newly wrapped log. As the hazel smouldered and took light, a small cheer went up from the gathering, a signal to the footman to begin dispensing glasses of hot, spicy, mulled wine.
“Welcome to Herstmonceaux House and a merry Christmas to one and all!” cried Charles Haffenden as he turned and clinked his glass to that of his wife Imogene, and in turn, each person offered salutations to one another. Joyful cheers rang out, the Christmas celebrations had begun. Herstmonceaux House was ablaze with light, every dark passage and gloomy corner was lit by candlelight in honour of Christ’s birthday.
The family set off early Christmas morn for church, trudging through a fresh layer of powd
ery snow. The house servants sat in the servant’s box, seated behind the family pew.
Richard glanced sideways at his new wife. She was such a pretty girl and had been so sweetly compliant before they wed, what had gone so awry? Being a sensible fellow, he had not expected her to enjoy conjugal congress, after all what gentleman would expect a well brought up female to enjoy something so base as rutting? However, he was at a loss to understand why she had become so sarcastic and cold toward him. It was a change that he found confusing; especially after the sweet declarations of love she made to him before they were wed.
Richard recalled her venom on the previous evening, when cards had been set up for their amusement. Admittedly he had played abysmally, but that had been down to the poor hand he’d been dealt. Helen had been livid with him, nonetheless, when they had lost the game. Her cutting tongue had actually caused their host Lord Haffenden to suggest that his wife was suffering from exhaustion after their long journey down from Yorkshire. Oliver Weston had added his voice to that of his twin brother and between them they had convinced Helen to retire prematurely.
Both gentlemen appeared taken aback when he had not accompanied Helen to her bedchamber, but it had been relatively early, and he had no intention of retiring with an overcritical wife who would, no doubt, berate him for yet another hour. No, far better to let her retire and creep into her bed after she was soundly sleeping.
Richard was jolted out of his reverie by the start of the service. He covered his wife’s clasped hands; did he feel her wince? Perhaps she was surprised by his gesture.
Helen suddenly tugged her gloved hands out from under his, lifting them up to feign patting her hair.
Richard laid his hand on her lap instead, watching Helen’s reaction.
She stared down at his hand, her own still positioned either side of her head.
He stifled a smile, what would she do?
“Stop this inappropriate behaviour at once, Richard! We are in church and on the very morn of Christ’s birth, show some respect!” she snapped, making little attempt to lower her tone.
Richard prickled uncomfortably. No doubt he was colouring up at the back of his neck, as he tended to do when embarrassed.
On the walk back from the church, Charles Haffenden dropped back matching his pace to that of Richard’s. He had heard the poor man raked over in church by his sharp-tongued wife. She had vinegar in her blood and he felt rather sorry for the younger man.
“So how is married life treating you, Richard? Oliver tells me that you and Helen have not been married very long.”
Richard gave his host a sidelong look. “No, we have been wed but a few weeks.”
“Ah, tis a difficult period of adjustment most especially for the lady, is it not?” Charles Haffenden said kindly.
“Harumph,” Richard replied noncommittally, not at all comfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.
“When we move onto Merriton Hall for New Year, you will meet a gentleman, one Sir Thomas Wiggington. He is an admirable fellow who used to suffer from a constant stutter. It took him years to get it under control, but with determination he succeeded. We were all at Eton school together, you know. Sir Thomas is renowned among our circle for taming his lady wife, a woman famous even unto the king for her shrewish disposition. Yet when you meet her, I defy you to find fault with Margaret Wiggington, for she is now the sweetest of creatures, and a lady my own dear lady wife calls friend.”
“Indeed?” Richard muttered, wondering what any of this had to do with him.
“Many gentlemen, including myself, have taken advice from Sir Thomas at some point during our marriage, much to our benefit I might add.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Richard, really. Perhaps you might have a word with Sir Thomas on the subject of your own marriage? I can pave the way for you to have a conversation with him about improving your wife’s demeanour, if you wish?” Charles spelt out his meaning clearly.
Richard stopped, straightened his spine and glared at the aristocratic man walking beside him. The audacity! He might be a lord, but did that give him the right to insinuate something was amiss with his marriage? No, it did not!
“I have no need to seek this Sir Thomas’s help with regard to my marriage, my lord,” he retorted icily.
Charles sighed. “I thought the same thing when I came to managing Imogene when we wed, but I’d made a right pig’s ear of things even before we married. I tell you it was Sir Thomas that helped to sort us out.”
Richard slowed his pace, humbled by his host’s candid honesty. “You and your wife also suffered problems early on in your marriage?” He seemingly missed the point that his question gave away to Charles the fact that he was indeed plagued by marital problems.
“Indeed we did, as did Colonel French and my sister Claudia. Sir Thomas advised Guy; well, we all did. Do you know the man was reluctant to spank his bride? All sorts of shenanigans went on in that marriage until Guy was convinced to take punitive action, and since he has taken Claudia in hand? Nothing but peace and happiness has reigned.”
Spank his bride? These highborn gentlemen actually spanked their wives? Richard was dumbfounded. He knew that the aristocracy lived by different rules to the hoi polloi but whereas domestic discipline was the norm for lower born society, surely it was frowned upon to spank a lady of noble birth?
“Er, forgive me, milord, but you are saying that you advocate physically chastising a lady?” he asked, sounding as shocked as he felt.
Charles grinned. “Only ever on her padded sit upon, my dear fellow. It has a most salient effect... not to mention the added benefits to her husband, of course!” He winked, which only confused Richard further.
But before Richard could reply, the Haffenden nanny appeared from the house with Alfred, warmly dressed for playing outdoors in the snow. Charles hurried over to take his son from her, tossing him carefully into the air and catching him as the small boy shrieked gleefully.
As Richard watched Charles play with his son out in the pristine snow, he wondered what the ‘added benefits’ were to a husband that he’d mentioned. His troubled gaze shifted to the little troop of ladies who had progressed onwards up to the house as they each disappeared inside, one after the other. Helen was last, and Richard watched as his honey blonde wife delicately lifted her leg enabling the maid to remove each of her boots and replace them with her silk house slippers.
He pictured her turned over his lap, could he summon up the courage to spank her, whatever would her reaction be to such temerity? He shuddered shaking his head; perhaps his lordship was joshing with him... Yes surely that was the way of it.
Christmastide at Merriton Hall...
As Thomas remarked to his wife as they retired together Christmas night, Christmas Day had been delightful. The children from both families played harmoniously together all day without a single squabble. Benedict had even copied Queen Charlotte by bringing a Christmas tree into their midst on Christmas Eve. He gathered the children about him in front of the roaring fire, while he talked. Thomas took control of the chestnut roaster, dismissing Roberts; he took the long handle and placed the pan onto the fire, shaking it regularly to turn the roasting nuts evenly as they scented the room with their appetising aroma. Benedict drew his daughter onto his lap where she snuggled against her father, her little thumb plugged in, listening owlishly to his explanation of the Christmas tree. He used Queen Charlotte’s own interpretation for this very Germanic custom.
“The tree’s tiered branches represent the steps up to heaven while the twelve lit candles are the apostles lighting our way. The beautiful china lady on top of the tree is the archangel, waiting to welcome us all inside the pearly gates. Cook has made us twelve crystallised fruits. Each represents our gratitude for twelve fruitful months and...” Benedict paused and reached into a small cloth bag set down beside him and pulled out a handful of shiny golden guineas. Thrilled squeals rent the air as he handed one to each child. “These are for
you to place upon the branches of the tree, they mark the twelve days of Christmas cheer and they will hopefully bring each of you prosperity in the coming year.”
The older children rushed to place their guineas on the tree amidst much jostling and giggling, while lifts from parents enabled the smaller ones to reach the upper most branches. Afterward, bowls of hot buttered chestnuts were messily consumed by one and all.
Christmas carols were sung around the piano after the children had finished their high tea and so their Christmas Eve had ended on a jolly note.
Privately, Lady Rose couldn’t see the point of an outdoor tree set in the corner of her drawing room, despite her husband’s earlier explanation; but since the children appeared to enjoy it, she and the other adults tolerated the strangeness of the Christmas tree for their sakes. A few gifts were even set out under the tree, to be given out to the children tomorrow at eventide after the adults had returned from their Christmas devotions, which were held in the chapel within the grounds of Merriton.
The giving of gifts was generally left until the rumbustious celebrations of twelfth night, but since Queen Charlotte was known to give the royal princes and princesses a gift set under the tree on Christmas Day, the same was copied that year at Merriton.
The huge Yule log was lit from the tinderbox containing the charred remains of last year’s log. It lit well and continued to burn satisfactorily. Christmas luncheon was superb; two geese and a hunch of venison had been consumed, along with a variety of side dishes followed by Figgie Pudding, topped with holly and doused with brandy. When fired, the pudding flamed a beautiful blue and a bean and a pea were discovered by the two older Mortimer children who were named King and Queen for the day, or at least until Nanny came and took them to play upstairs in the nurseries where the only reigning monarch was Nanny herself.
