by Sue Lyndon
“I appreciate your concern for me, Mr. Freemont, truly I am touched, but we just met. Um, officially, I mean. How is it possible for you to feel that way for a virtual stranger?”
“I don’t know.” He releases my chin and studies me with an intensity that once again has me squirming in my seat. “All I know is that if you walk out that door, I will miss you, and I will worry for you.”
His words make my eyes burn, and I’m also confused by the increasing heat that’s pulsing between my thighs. If I were alone right now, I would lift up my skirts and touch my pussy to see what’s wrong. But I don’t dare touch myself in front of Mr. Freemont. The very thought is shameful, and my face flames hotter and hotter.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I want you to live here, Faith. With me. I will give you a room of your very own. I will take care of you, and you will want for nothing.”
“You want me as your mistress?” I ask hesitantly. As I await his response, I decide being Mr. Freemont’s mistress would not be so bad. Belonging to one man would surely be better than spreading my legs for multiple men a day at Madam Angelic’s establishment. In the back of my mind, I’ve always known it would be a possibility that I’d end up working as a prostitute in order to survive. Of course, I had intended to exhaust all other avenues of work first.
“No, not as my mistress.” He grasps my hand. “As my wife, by trial.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“We would be married for a trial period of thirty days. At the end of those thirty days, we can decide whether to remain married or to separate. If we decided to separate for some reason, I would see that you remain taken care of for the rest of your life.”
“I see. So at the end of the thirty days, we both decide? You would not force me to stay with you if I did not wish it?”
“Precisely. I’m not in the habit of keeping wives against their will,” he says with a wry smile that serves to ease the tension. “However, I will be upfront with you about my expectations. I am not looking for an ordinary wife or an ordinary marriage.” He pauses for a moment. “You would live as my little girl, and you would call me Papa. I would care for you, and guide you, even discipline you when necessary. I would be a strict but loving father figure to you, Faith, and in time, when and if I think you are ready, I would take you as my wife-in-truth. I couldn’t help but notice how you blushed when I called you little girl and young lady, and I see that you keep squirming. The very idea of being my sweet little girl, and my wife, has no doubt shocked you, but it has also made you feel achy between your thighs, hasn’t it?”
I’m stunned speechless.
A marriage by trial.
But no ordinary marriage—a scandalous one. One that sounds very wrong to me, but, strangely, also very right. I stare down at his large hand, still clasping mine, and ponder the discipline part of his proposal.
What will he do if I’m disobedient? Will he send me to my room? Will he take me over his knee and spank me?
I’d be lying if I claimed I wasn’t intrigued by Mr. Freemont’s proposal. Or tempted. Despite his pointing out my squirming on the stool, I can’t help myself from shifting and pressing my legs tightly together as I look into his eyes, trying to judge whether or not his heart is true. It never occurred to me I might find a husband so soon after leaving the orphanage.
Without a dowry or an older relative to arrange a match for me, most of the men in Gerrardsville would pass me over. Betrothals are often secured years before a marriage ever takes place. I wonder why Mr. Freemont would want me, a girl he’s just met, over a match that could be advantageous for his family or his businesses.
His words from moments ago keep echoing between my ears.
If you walk out that door, I will miss you, and I will worry for you.
Could it truly be as simple as that? Or, perhaps, his desire for a not-so-ordinary marriage has scared other women away. I’m no fool. He must realize how vulnerable I am, sitting in his fancy kitchen in his fancy house, wearing a raggedy dress and holey shoes while my uncertain future looms over me.
I have three possible choices. One—I can live on the streets and most likely freeze to death this winter. Two—I can march myself to Madam Angelic’s house of ill-repute and spread my legs for strangers. Or three—I can accept Mr. Freemont’s outlandish proposal and never face the possibility of starving or freezing on the streets again. From a logical standpoint, option three is my smartest move, and it’s also the choice my heart is begging me to make.
If I’m well-behaved and prove myself a good wife, perhaps Mr. Freemont will fall in love with me and decide to keep me at the conclusion of our thirty-day trial. But even if he deems we must part ways, I’ll still be provided for, and no matter what happens in the end between Mr. Freemont and I, it’s likely I’ll have the means to help the other girls in the orphanage. A few extra supplies, especially food and medicine, would make a world of difference to the dozens of girls who call the orphanage home.
Yes, option three is an opportunity I can’t refuse.
My heart races, because when I say yes, I will soon become a married woman. Noticing the heat flaming in Mr. Freemont’s dark eyes, I can’t help but squirm again as I imagine all the naughty, not-so-ordinary, things he’s going to do to me.
“Faith?”
“I-I accept your proposal, Mr. Freemont.”
Relief washes over his features, then his expression soon turns serious and almost dark. “Papa,” he says. “Remember. You will call me Papa.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He gathers both my hands in his. “Papa is going to take very good care of his little girl.”
Chapter Four
Kingston
* * *
My heart thunders in my chest.
Yes. She said yes.
The sweet little girl seated on the barstool, squirming and flushing, now belongs to me.
Hearing her call me Papa for the first time has my cock painfully hard, pressing at the front of my trousers. I remain standing close to her, not wishing her to see the evidence of my arousal and become frightened only moments after she agreed to my unorthodox proposal.
She swallows hard. “Wh-when will we be married, Papa?”
God. She said it again. I tighten my hold on her hands and bring them to my lips, then place gentle kisses on the backs of her hands, each in turn. A smile flits across her face and she ducks her head, blushing yet again.
“I think I can arrange for a quick, private ceremony here in my home by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I see. Shall I return tomorrow around two or three o’clock, then?”
After releasing her hands, I scoop her off the stool and cradle her against my chest, not placing her down on her feet. “You are not returning to the orphanage tonight, little girl. You will stay here, where I know you are perfectly safe.”
She gasps and peers at me with wide blue eyes. “But we aren’t yet married, and I have to say goodbye to the other girls and also Mrs. Hawthorne, and I have to collect my things, and…”
“You are staying here tonight and that’s final, young lady.”
She glares at me, her eyes narrowing as her jaw tenses. If she’s adorable when she’s blushing and stammering, she’s even more adorable when she’s frustrated.
My palm twitches, knowing it likely won’t be long before I must take her in hand, whether it’s for outright disobedience or for showing disrespect. Of course, I will be gentle and loving as I administer discipline to my little wife. I want her to thrive and blossom under my care.
“We will take a carriage to the orphanage later today so you can say your goodbyes and collect your things, however, know that I will provide you with anything you might need. New dresses and shoes, pajamas and underthings. And anything else your heart desires, little girl.” I carry her upstairs and down the long hallway, to a guestroom that hasn’t been used in years. Not since I was a child and relatives from Marystown came for a visit, on the occas
I carry her past the bed and into the large attached bathroom. After placing her on a chair that sits opposite the clawfoot tub, I start the water and adjust the temperature. Then I light the lantern on the sink counter, as there are no windows in this bathroom. The candlelight flickers and puts her awash in a soft orange glow.
“Papa?”
“You’re going to take a long, hot bath and get yourself warmed up, Faith.”
“But—”
“Are you really going to argue with me over a bath?” She’s not overly dirty, but it does look like she hasn’t washed her hair in a while. I suspect at the orphanage the best she could ever hope for is a sponge bath, the water probably cold. Not many houses in Gerrardsville even have running water, let alone the ability to heat it.
“I suppose I won’t argue over a bath,” she says hesitantly, “as long as you give me some privacy, Papa. It wouldn’t be appropriate for you to see me unclothed before we are wed.”
“Oh really?” Bubbles form on the surface of the water as I add a capful of soap. I rise from the tub and face Faith, eyeing her tattered dress and faded leather shoes. She won’t be putting those items back on herself after her bath. No, I will send for some readymade dresses in the marketplace, as well as a pair of shoes and new stockings and underthings. Some nightdresses, too, and at least one warm cloak. As I form these plans, I peer over my shoulder and notice the water has risen to the top. I shut it off and swirl a finger through the water, testing to ensure it’s the perfect temperature for my little one.
“Mr. Freemont, I’m serious.” She lifts her chin and crosses her arms over her chest. “You must leave and give me complete privacy.”
“If you call me Mr. Freemont again, young lady, I will turn you over my knee, bare your bottom, and give you a sound spanking. I’m your papa and you will address me as such.”
Her eyes practically bug out of her head, and she leans back in her seat, as if trying to put more space between us. Defiance flares in her light blue depths, but as quickly as I notice it, the fire dims and she appears more contrite. Yes, my little girl most definitely has a temper, but she’s trying hard to behave herself.
“Is that what you want, Faith? A spanking on your bare bottom?”
“No, Papa. I’m so-sorry,” she stammers. “Please don’t punish me. I-I don’t want a spanking.” She uncrosses her arms and places her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together and looking even more apologetic. Her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink, and her breathing increases.
“You’re forgiven, little one, but know that I meant what I explained to you earlier about our arrangement. Here, in this house, you will live as my little girl and as my wife. You are under my complete authority and must do as I say, or suffer the consequences for your misbehavior.” I close the distance between us and pull her upward, then wrap her in my embrace, tucking her head beneath mine and grasping her tight. She trembles in my hold but doesn’t resist. “Know that I also meant what I said about caring for you, Faith. I will not treat you cruelly. Your well-being and your happiness will be the most important things in the world to me.”
“How can you make such promises so soon, Papa? What if you decide you don’t want me anymore? We are still very much strangers.” The heartache in her voice makes me stiffen with resolve. I want to prove her fears wrong and be the comfort and security she’s never had. I stroke her hair and kiss the top of her head. Thankfully, her trembling lessens, and she soon shifts to circle her arms around my waist.
My heart swells with affection and I pull back briefly, but only to place a soft lingering kiss to her forehead, before hugging her tight to my chest again. “We are strangers who met for a reason today. Believe that we met for a reason. Believe that you accepted my offer for a reason. Have faith, little one.”
Faith
* * *
I stand in the middle of the bathroom. Waiting. My heart pounds an erratic rhythm in my chest. My new papa has instructed me to await his return before I undress and get into the bathtub, claiming he has to relay an important message to one of his footmen first. I haven’t seen any other people in his house besides Mrs. Summers yet, but I suppose with a house this large, Papa probably has a sizeable staff.
As he carried me through his home and upstairs, down the hallway that was lined with about a dozen doors, some open to reveal large beautiful bedrooms, and others closed, I couldn’t help but notice the entire mansion is perfectly spotless. He probably has a maid, or two, in addition to his footmen. It’s surreal to go from poverty to a home of refined luxuries and wealth.
I listen for footsteps, wondering when Papa will return. Nerves dance in my tummy. He hasn’t promised to give me privacy, and I suspect he’s going to undress me and bathe me himself.
My pulse ricochets. No man has ever seen me naked before. Perhaps I should take matters into my own hands and undress and bathe quickly before he returns. If I’m clean and dressed by the time he gets back, surely he won’t force me to remove my clothes again.
But would he punish me for disobedience?
My bottom clenches and I reach around, cupping my cheeks as I picture my papa and husband-to-be scolding me for naughtiness and then spanking my bare bottom.
Would he, really?
I start to unfasten the ties holding up the front of my dress, but my fingers pause and sensation pulses unbearably hot and achy between my thighs.
Why do I feel like this? Increasingly on edge and as if I might combust at any moment?
Certainly, the problem I’m having in my nether area isn’t normal. Perhaps I’m getting sick. What will Papa do if he undresses me and discovers there’s something horribly wrong with me?
Tears burn in my eyes.
Would he get rid of me?
Would he abandon me as my aunt and uncle did, all those years ago?
I inhale a deep breath and move back to the chair. After taking a seat, I hike my skirt up over my legs, until I have a vision of my threadbare underwear. Moving the fabric to the side, I bend over on myself as I try to glimpse my privates.
Oh dear.
I’m shocked to find the area between my legs is swollen and wet. I gasp and pull my folds wide apart, inspecting myself further. The strange wetness seems to be glistening and gathering from deep within.
Oh no. This can’t be.
Yes, I’m definitely suffering from some affliction.
I must, no matter what, hide the evidence of whatever’s wrong with me from my papa. I must be perfect, absolutely perfect, for him during our thirty-day marriage trial. I don’t want to give him cause to discard me at the end of that trial, or worse—before we even say our vows and begin.
Sliding a finger through my gathering heat, I’m shocked when I graze a fleshy button that jars me with a blast of pure sensation. Bliss, really. Curious but still worried, I continue my exploration and rub some of the moisture from between my folds overtop this stiffening nubbin.
My breath leaves me in a rush and I can’t seem to pull my hand away. I rub harder and faster, furiously trying to understand what’s brought me to this frenzied state.
“Young lady, what are you doing?” Papa’s deep, masculine voice fills the room.
I shriek and attempt to cover myself, but it’s too late.
He’s seen me and witnessed all of my shame.
I jump out of the chair and huddle in the corner, wishing there was another exit to the bathroom so I could run away and never look back. He’s still looming in the doorway, looking upon me with disbelief.
To his credit, he doesn’t appear angry. But he doesn’t seem pleased, either. Oh, if there was a window in this room, I would have already crawled out of it by now. I wish the floor would swallow me up. I remain huddling in the corner.
I concentrate on the floor, unable to hold his gaze for more than a fleeting second.
“Faith.” His gentle tone takes me by surprise. “Would you care to explain yourself? Why were you touching your little flower just now?”
“I-I am sorry for what you just witnessed.” My lower lip trembles, and it takes all my strength to hold back the tears. “I will be leaving now. Goodbye.”
What other choice do I have but to leave? And what other choice does he have but to order me out? Other than the strange illness I have, he’s witnessed me in a most compromising and shameful situation. He has more than one reason to order me out, and I would rather leave on my own than linger to hear him denounce me and direct me toward the door.
“Why are you leaving?” Again, his tone is kind. He’s still blocking the doorway, and the shock gradually fades from his face, to be replaced with an expression of concern that leaves me confused.
“I’m leaving because there’s something wrong with me. I’ve apparently caught some strange illness.” I don’t mention the shame that’s coursing through me, but that’s another reason why I must go. I’m far too embarrassed, and I doubt I’ll ever manage to look him in the eye again. Not after he glimpsed me with my skirts flipped up and my nether region exposed as I touched myself.
A smile twitches at the corners of his lips, his dark eyes twinkle for a moment, and a look of understanding dawns on his face. “Faith, I promise there is nothing wrong you, sweetness. You are not ill, but even if you were, I would not wish you to leave. I would want you to stay and I would help you heal.”
“But there is something very wrong with me.” With my privates. Oh, how will I ever find a cure? I could never confess to a doctor, or anyone else, the nature of my symptoms.
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