by Alta Hensley
"No. That will not be necessary. Etta, you are to go with Mr. Maddock."
Etta's eyes widened and she shook her head. "Please, you cannot do this!" She took several tentative steps back, though where would she run to? How far would she get without making a scene and only causing more trouble. Did Papa really want her gone?
"Grab your belongings at once," Mr. Maddock said.
Etta had nothing. The clothes she'd come to Ashby with had been taken away. Did they store the dress for safe keeping, or toss it into a furnace?
"She is ready as she is," Nanny Beth said. Her hands gripped Etta's shoulders, pushing her toward the stranger. "Go with your new papa."
Mr. Maddock cleared his throat. "I am not her papa. I am her betrothed." He snatched Etta's hand and led her down the hall and through the doors that led outside.
"Who did this?" Etta asked, trying to yank her hand from Mr. Maddock's. Had it been Papa Philip's doing, or her Uncle Jack's?
"The only one doing anything is you, Henrietta. I suggest you come with me or face my belt the moment we get into the carriage."
Etta shut her mouth. It seemed Papa Philip had perhaps been the one to send her away. Wordlessly, she followed the gentleman to his carriage. The sky had grown dark and her stomach rumbled from having missed dinner.
He opened and shut the coach door for her, sitting down opposite her in the carriage.
She stared out of the window, at the darkness of night. "Where are we going?" Etta asked.
"To my home," he answered, not elaborating any further.
"Mr. Maddock. Do you have a first name? If we are to be wed, I think I should know what it is."
He nodded. "Yes. It is Thomas." The horses inched forward, moving the carriage along with them through the open, wrought-iron gates out of Ashby's property. "You will come home with me and we shall be wed at once. I need a mother to my two girls, and you seem quite capable, once we get you out of that hideous dress. You are a grown woman and you will be expected to dress and behave as such."
Etta's eyes welled, and she felt grateful for the lack of moonlight to show her features. Already she missed the chateau—since her father had passed away, it was the closest thing to a home she had found. Had she been such a terrible little that Papa Philip had sent her away to marry the first man available? "You have two children?" she repeated.
"Yes. From my first wife, who died of consumption."
Etta relaxed. At least she had not been murdered. Perhaps Thomas was a good man. "I am sorry about your wife."
"As am I, but it was many years ago."
"I am to become a mother?" Etta asked. She assumed that was why he wanted to marry her, to bring structure to the two girls living under his roof, his children.
"You will eventually bear children, but my main concerns are the two brats eating all my food and their lack of discipline. I expect you to keep them in line."
"You desire me to be their nanny?" Etta wished she could escape the carriage, but how far would she get? If the paper was indeed true, then she was betrothed to Thomas Maddock and her choices were eliminated.
"I expect you to cuddle the children, read them bedtime stories, and pay them the proper attention they need to grow into young ladies. The governess will be providing them with an education, and the nanny will be tending to the children's daily needs."
Her responsibilities did not sound terrible, though what did she know of helping raise children? She had none of her own and the time she had spent looking after her dying father, did not seem like it would have provided her with enough useful knowledge.
"Rest," Thomas said. "There will be plenty to do upon our arrival."
Etta shut her eyes but could not relax on the ride to Thomas's home. Her stomach ached with regret, already missing Philip far more than she should have. He'd got to her, made her feel something for him in a way she had never imagined possible. Etta refused to cry, biting down on her tongue, forcing herself to concentrate on the small sharp stab of pain instead of the raw tugging at her heart. Bitterness and anger itched in her hands, forcing her fists to ball at her sides. Philip had been nowhere to be found, selling her to the nearest buyer so that he wouldn't have to look upon her ever again. She found it difficult to sleep, and tossed between a restless slumber and sadness plaguing her dreams.
Chapter XVI
Philip had not tucked Etta into bed, though he had wanted to. He had more trivial matters to attend to, and disciplining Mae was at the top of his agenda. After careful consideration, he had decided that removing her from the littles' wing had not been enough. She needed a healthy reminder to keep her in line at his school.
"I am displeased, Mae." He did not bother to address her by her previous title of nanny. She had been stripped of that responsibility, and would have to earn respect from him once again.
"I am sorry, Headmaster Philip," Mae said, apologetically. "I do not know what came over me."
"I do." His jaw remained tight, his fists at his sides. "You decided to take advantage of my little Etta." He walked toward the desk and opened the top drawer, revealing several disciplinary elements that were used on the girls at the chateau.
"She is a grown woman who consented to what happened," Mae said, excusing her behavior and her actions.
"In our care, she did not have the ability to consent. She is to be treated as a little at all times, and you took advantage of that with my Etta." He'd grown so fond of her in such a short time. "You are to lower your drawers and bare your bottom."
"Excuse me?" Mae's voice trembled.
"You heard me." Philip was not going to let this go without ample punishment. He'd do the same to a little who took advantage of a nanny or papa. No one was above the rules of Ashby.
Mae turned around, her back to him as she lowered her drawers to her ankles. She reached for the hem of her dress, lifting it to reveal her porcelain freckled bottom. The skin appeared smooth to the touch, without any marks or traces of recent spankings as far as Philip could tell.
"Lean forward onto the desk and push your bottom out and up."
"Mr. Hartley," she said, her voice quivering as she shook.
"It is Headmaster Hartley," he corrected her. Grabbing the nearby ruler, he smacked her nether cheeks. "Hurry up. I do not have all day!" He was not pleased with how long it seemed to be taking her to follow his instructions.
Mae stood with her legs a couple of inches apart. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the table.
"Legs further apart," Philip ordered. He landed another blow with the ruler to both buttocks, making her jump. Did she enjoy his attention? He had not done it to pleasure her, but he was getting quite an eyeful of her glistening quim as she spread her legs.
The pink pucker on her bottom was a gorgeous sight, and if she'd been his or one of the littles, he'd have plugged it after her discipline.
"A little further." He nudged her thighs with the ruler and she spread them apart, her hands finding the edge of the desk, gripping it. "Good." He traded the ruler for the cane, wanting to ensure each blow landed exactly as he directed it. "You will receive fifteen strokes for your behavior."
Mae gasped. "I would never do that many on a little."
"Complain and I shall make it twenty," Philip said. He whipped the cane through the air, smacking her bottom, leaving a red welt that matched her hair. "Count for me."
"One."
Her hips bucked and body jumped as he swatted her rear. "Push your bottom out and up," he said, reminding her of the position he wanted her in. It gave him the perfect glimpse of her slick pussy and her growing welts as he landed the cane on her again.
"Two."
Philip would have felt bad for caning Mae fifteen times, but she'd been a nanny since he opened Ashby. This may have been her first offense, but he was going to see to it that it would be her last. She would have her job with the finishing school and a sore bottom to remind her not to make the same mistake ever again.
The cane came
down again and Mae no longer held her tongue. "I am sorry," she whimpered as tears puddled before her. Shaking, her bottom swelled with each welt.
"What number?" Philip asked. "Or shall I have you start from the beginning?"
"Three!" she cried out. "Please, no more."
"I have only given you three strokes. I assure you that your bottom can handle plenty more."
Her fingers clenched the edge of the wooden table and her toes pushed her feet up, giving him the perfect view as he released the cane again and again.
"Four. Five." She winced, a hiss slipping past her lips. "Please, no more!"
Philip ignored her pleas and continued whipping his wrist, landing blow after blow with the cane to her rear.
"Six. Seven." Her body squirmed with each stroke, her hips shifting and her toes lifting her higher.
Welts covered her cheeks and Philip landed several additional blows lower down, knowing the effect they would have on her.
Her whimpers turned to cries of pain.
"Count!" he ordered.
"That was ten."
He forgave her for not speaking the numbers eight and nine aloud. She had been preoccupied with the cane to her bottom. "Should I continue?"
"Please, no," Mae sobbed, her body shaking as he let the cane land on her bottom.
"Eleven," Philip said, counting for her. "I find no pleasure in caning you for your behavior." He wanted it clear that she may have been disciplined, but he sought no enjoyment from it. Unlike putting Etta over his lap and spanking her, which aroused him greatly, his affection for Mae was strictly platonic. His lesson here was to keep her from making the same mistake again, as well as to ensure that she understood that there would be consequences for such actions.
Mae let go of the table and reached behind her, trying to shield her bottom from any further lashings. "Please. I shall take the rest of my allotment tomorrow."
"That is not how it works," Philip said. Her bottom matched the color of burgundy and though he knew she would find it impossible to sit comfortably for presumably a week, it was much deserved. Another swat landed on her rear, this one slightly higher on her bottom. "Twelve."
He continued counting with each blow, ignoring the sounds of her whimpers and tears. Her bottom swelled and he'd covered every ounce of her perfectly freckled skin with welts from the cane, finally reaching fifteen.
As he put the cane away, Mae did not move from her position against the table.
"Get up. Your punishment is complete. Unless you want to embrace the paddle tonight, as well?" he asked.
Mae released her hold on the table, pushing herself to stand, the hem of her dress falling down around her legs. She did not lift the bloomers, stepping out of them instead. "I am sorry for taking advantage of little Etta. It will not happen again. Thank you for my punishment," she said.
Philip nodded his acceptance. She had answered exactly as he'd expect any one of his littles to respond after a session of discipline.
"You are forgiven." Though he was not pleased with what she had done, Etta was no worse for wear. He placed the ruler back into the drawer, with the paddle and cane at its side.
"Thank you."
"I expect you to work with the girls at our finishing school, remind them that they do not want a red bottom like the one you are wearing right now. If you were a little, I would have you stand in the playroom with your dress up, letting all the others see the evidence of your discipline." He had no reason to further embarrass her. The discipline and lesson had been completed.
Philip stepped out from her office and headed through the halls of the finishing school toward the door that led to his littles' establishment. Retrieving the key attached to his pocket watch, he flipped it open to see the hour. It was long past Etta's bedtime. He hoped Nanny Beth had been able to put Etta into bed without too much trouble. Tomorrow he'd get a report of her behavior and hopefully would not have to instill too much additional discipline.
Chapter XVII
"We have arrived," Thomas said, his voice stirring Etta from her slumber.
Unlike Philip, who had carried Etta inside and put her to bed, Thomas showed no indication of offering any help or gentlemanly behavior. Why was he pursuing her hand in marriage? Was it solely her dowry he was after? She would have to find out, but tonight she needed rest.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled from the carriage, tripping over her feet. Thomas grabbed her arm, catching her before she had time to land face-first in the dirt.
"Careful. There is not much light out here during a new moon," Thomas said. The coachman lit a candle and offered it to Thomas. "Come," he directed, taking her hand as he led her up the dark steps and inside his home.
Etta had not got a good look at the house in the dark but it appeared large in scale, much like the chateau, or how she saw it upon leaving. She had not been awake when she had arrived and had been made to stay within specific quarters, but based on the limited knowledge, she assumed it to be much larger in size.
Thomas dropped her hand and used the candle to light the lantern, casting a warm glow to the foyer, basking it in shadows. There wasn't much to see with all the doors closed for the night, as the two stood in the hall, likely to keep the chill down and the rooms upstairs warm. Etta wrapped her arms around herself, still feeling quite cool inside. The floorboards were wooden and as she stepped further inside, her heels clicked against them. She attempted to tread more lightly and softly, not wanting to wake his sleeping children. The lamplight stretched only as far as the stairs, and the banister had been carved most delicately, with a beautiful design of swirls and unusual patterns in the wood that she found mesmerizing. The house smelled pleasant, like the embers of a nearby fire burning, but she did not see any hearth or feel its much needed heat. Perhaps it was keeping the nanny or maid's quarters warm.
"You have a lovely home," Etta said, trying to be both polite and quiet.
"Thank you. It will be your home soon, too," Thomas said. "Come. I shall show you to your room."
Etta breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had not mentioned 'their' room. She'd have a place of her own to sleep, which was much needed.
"I shall have Nanny Joan fetch you my late wife's gowns from the attic tomorrow. Perhaps you will find something more appropriate to wear in the armoire for tonight." He glanced Etta over, obviously not impressed by the dress.
She had not been pleased with the bright pink dress that seemed appropriate for a six-year-old, either. "Thank you." She tried to be as polite as possible, unsure about her place or how long she'd be staying with Thomas Maddock. Would he grow tired of her just as Philip had? Or perhaps he would decide that she would stay with him indefinitely, they would marry, and she would raise his children and have even more of their own.
Etta had not spent any time thinking about a family much beyond a husband. She had been so focused on pleasing Philip recently, and looking after her father before that, she had forgotten about the world's expectations of her as a woman. For the briefest of moments, she had felt wonderful with Philip; loved, cherished, and innocent like a child. Those days were over. Etta felt as if they'd abandoned her, the precious and easy life slipping away, disappearing into a vat of nothingness.
He led her to a bedroom at the top of the stairwell. Paintings of the children hung in the hall. What other displays of art were hidden behind the doors downstairs? Perhaps there was something about Thomas she could find endearing. Tomorrow, when the mood struck, she would ask him about his favorite painters and artists. Was it possible that he had a painting of her father's hanging in his study or dining room? What she would give to glimpse a work of his art every day, to feel right at home in this new place.
"My maids should have left you a few nightgowns in the armoire," Thomas said.
Etta stepped inside the bedroom, taking it all in. The bedroom was quaint. The oversized mattress was dressed in a dark gray quilt, and in the corner of the room nestled a cherry armoire for her thi
ngs, not that she had anything but the dress she wore. Perhaps she should have been grateful the room hadn't been decorated as a nursery like Ashby. However, the walls were covered with white and gray stripes, a decadent wallpaper that had been freshly applied, with an odd sheen and texture that Etta wanted to run her fingers against, certain she could feel it as well as see the design. She had never seen anything quite like it.
Stalking across the room, Thomas opened the doors of the armoire to reveal half a dozen dresses, some night attire, and other day gowns to wear.
At least she had an array of clothes to choose from that weren't immature and appropriate only for a young child. Had her uncle saved the gowns for the day she was to wed? Perhaps he would bring the dresses to her soon. Wearing a dead woman's clothes felt highly inappropriate.
"Thank you. You have been exceptionally kind." Etta wanted Thomas to know she appreciated the gesture. If this was to be her life, she would do her best to make the most of it.
"Of course. They were just gathering dust anyway." He left the armoire open. "Change for bed and then meet me across the hall in my room."
"Your room?" she asked, her stomach a bundle of nerves. What was he expecting of her? She cast her eyes briefly to the windowsill. It was much too high for her to make an escape. Besides, where would she go? Thomas hadn't done anything to offend her. She needed to calm down.
"I shall have the cook bring up a tray of desserts for us to nibble on while we get better acquainted with one another. I assume the nap you had on our way to the estate did tide you over?" Thomas asked.
Etta did not want to lie. She was still tired, but he was probably right. She would not sleep even if she lay in bed. When her head hit the pillow, she would be awake as day. "The rest was helpful. Thank you," she said.
"Good. Come as soon as you get out of that dreadful attire," he said, gesturing toward the pink dress. "It is horrific. Whoever put you in that should be hanged."
