Disciplining the Duchess

by Annabel Joseph

  “I was helping Merit. I was trying to help.”

  He reached down and hauled her to her feet with a vehemence that had her babbling in fear. “I’m sorry. I was wrong, I know. I’m sorry—”

  “Sorry changes nothing. You must be taught a lesson. You must be punished for this.”

  He didn’t say it with any of the usual care or affection evident when he punished her. She felt afraid. Her gaze shied from his hard eyes to his tense lips. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You are always sorry,” he said, drawing her through the stables and out into the courtyard. “You are always sorry after the fact, but that’s not enough anymore. I’ve been patient, Harmony, but as of this evening, my patience has run out.”

  It was true. He’d been so patient, given her all the tools she needed to please him, but too often she still did as she wished no matter the consequences. She’d known earlier she shouldn’t have gone out to help Merit with the dog, but she’d done it anyway, trusting that Court would understand even if he didn’t approve. She’d thought he might give her a curt reproach for being late to dinner, perhaps a bit of a spanking. She’d been so headstrong and foolish. She knew, beyond a doubt, she was going to receive much more than a bit of a spanking over this.

  Footmen held open the front doors as he steered her inside. The house was quiet, all the guests gone home. He hauled her past the darkened dining room, the scene of her crime, now cleaned and set for tomorrow’s breakfast. She wondered if this house had a dungeon. If it did, he might lock her away there for a week. A month.

  He didn’t take her to a dungeon, but a room very like one. He opened the heavy door and escorted her through into an echoing space that smelled of must and disuse. She saw half-filled shelves and an old desk larger than the one in the library upstairs. This was a study, but not his study.

  He turned and stared at her. She put a hand to her hair and then tried in vain to smooth her mussed silver skirts. This beautiful, magical dress, ruined. She could never bring herself to wear it again. A piece of straw dislodged itself and fell onto the wood floor.

  “It pains me to do this,” he said. He seemed about to say more, then clamped his lips shut and pointed. “Approach the desk and bend over it.”

  She would have liked to say no, to run out the door screaming for help, but she knew she couldn’t. She’d earned this punishment. She’d earned it by causing havoc and breaking the dowager’s wrist, and shaming him in front of his company. In front of prim and perfect Lady Wembley, who should have been his wife.

  She forced her legs to move and carry her across the room to the desk. The top was dusty, its hard surface offering nothing to comfort her. She couldn’t bear to bend over it. She looked at her husband, her support, the one ally in her life who usually defended her.

  “I’m so sorry. Please! You must understand I didn’t mean any of it to happen.”

  Nothing changed in his face. If anything, it grew harder as he removed his coat and waistcoat, stripping down to his ivory linen shirt. “You caused my mother grievous injury. You humiliated me in front of my closest family and friends.”

  “In front of her,” Harmony said bitterly. “If she had not witnessed it, would you be so angry?”

  He scowled, not condescending to answer her. He crossed to a corner, to a rack containing canes of various length and thickness. While Harmony’s insides roiled with anxiety, he inspected them, selecting one of middling size. He turned back to her, his eyes, once warm, two chips of ice.

  “I instructed you to bend over.”

  “I don’t want to.” She sounded like a whiny child but she was too frightened to come up with dignified words. “Please, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to whip me with that.”

  “What you want does not signify at the moment.” He crossed to her, the wicked cane clutched in his hand, and forced her down over the desk.

  “Please!” she cried out.

  “You can make all the noise you wish but no one will come. This was my father’s study. It is removed from the rest of the house for a reason.”

  “Stop, please!” She struggled against his hand pressing her down. “I will become like Lady Wembley, I swear. I’ll be just like her if you but give me one more chance.”

  “This is not about Lady Wembley.”

  “You wish you had married her,” Harmony sobbed, fear making her lash out. “I want to be like her. Do you think I don’t? I know you would be happy then. You wish I was her! So do I!”

  He pulled her up, his arm around her waist nearly robbing her of breath. “Do not shriek at me, Harmony. Do not engage in emotional games. You sound childish and mad, which is exactly why you’re about to be caned like a naughty pupil.”

  “If I was her you would not do this!”

  He raised one haughty brow. “If you were her, I doubt I would need to do this. However, before we wed, you agreed that I might improve your behavior through a program of physical consequences. What do you believe you deserve for your actions this evening?”

  Harmony shuddered in his arms. He was right. She had agreed to a marriage where he might spank her if he wished, if he thought she deserved it. And if she ever deserved it, it was now.

  “I suppose I deserve a spanking,” she said sullenly. “But I don’t think I need to be caned.”

  “Something lighter then? A few smarting slaps with my hand?” He raised the cane so she could see the thin, rigid menace of it. “Unfortunately I do not agree. I think you need ten strokes of the cane across your bottom and then I expect to hear a very handsome apology for your behavior at dinner. I am your husband but I am also your disciplinarian, and it is for me to judge how best to guide you.”

  Ten strokes of the cane. She didn’t hear any of his lecture after that. She knew everything he said was true but she really didn’t want to be in this horrible, dark room. She didn’t want to be in disgrace and she didn’t want to be caned.

  “I promise— I won’t— I’ll never again do anything so—”

  He placed a finger over her lips. “Enough. You know that isn’t going to work. It is time to receive the discipline you have earned.”

  How cold he was. How businesslike. When he spanked her in the bedroom it was so much less traumatizing. Harmony let him bend her over, burning with humiliation.

  “Reach forward and grip the edge of the desk,” he instructed her. “Every time you choose to let go, I shall add an additional stroke.”

  “Yes, sir.” She was already in tears. As her fingers closed around the wooden desktop, Court moved behind her to lift the skirts of her gown and drape them over her back, out of the way. He had spanked her on her bare bottom before. He had even used implements, but not like this. Not with this cold and detached demeanor. She stared ahead of her, biting her lip, tasting her own tears.

  He braced a hand at the small of her back to steady her. She heard the cane whistle through the air and then felt the impact. Oh no! Sweet mercy. The fiery pain was a shock to her very core. She cried out and flung a hand behind her. Her husband tsked and tapped at it with the tip of the cane.

  “I suggest you find some self control or you shall end up very punished indeed. You have just added an additional stroke.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Can’t what? Can’t bear the pain?” Whack! “Perhaps you will remember that next time you decide to go after stray dogs rather than attend the dinner you were supposed to.” Whack!

  Harmony sobbed into the surface of the desk, gripping the opposite edge for dear life. She could not let go again, she simply couldn’t. He delivered each stroke with an exacting and excruciating force, occasionally pausing between them to let her catch her breath. There was no playfulness about it, only firm resolve. Whack!

  What was that? Six? Seven? “Oh, please,” she wailed. “I’m sorry.”

  The cane came whistling again, a whipping smack of a stroke that hurt so much more than seemed humanly possible to endure. “If you dis
like this—” Whack! “Then perhaps next time you will choose to behave as a duchess—” Whack! “And not an impulsive girl.”

  Her bottom was burning up, on fire. Her whole body trembled but he held her down, preventing any movement or escape. He delivered another stroke, and then a final one that burned across the others like a crowning lash of fire. Her knuckles were white with the effort to remain in position. She prayed he was done. But oh, what had he told her? I expect to hear a very handsome apology.

  She would not be able to talk with the tears choking her. He lifted her from the desk and she faced him as her skirts brushed over her sore cheeks and fell to her ankles. She couldn’t stop sobbing. It wasn’t just the pain of being struck with a cane ten...no...eleven times at her husband’s hand. It was that she would never be completely at ease in his company again, not now that she understood the cold and effective discipline he was capable of. His over-the-knee spankings, mild paddlings and lectures seemed like child’s play now. All of it, of no consequence. This study, this desk had opened her eyes.

  “I am so sorry,” she choked out in misery. “I must be such a bitter disappointment to you.”

  He watched her, unmoved. “Try again, without the self-pitying melodrama. I suggest a simple ‘I’m sorry’ with a promise to do better next time.”

  Harmony took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I promise next time I shall come to dinner when I’m expected and not...not run off doing other things.”

  She wished he would hug her and tell her she was forgiven but he launched into another lecture.

  “I will accept your apology, Harmony. But only if you mean it. I think you believed you would only be required to submit to discipline that agreed with you. It is a common misconception in relationships like ours, but going forward you will be held accountable like for like. Mild behavior will bring mild consequences. Severe behavior will result in severe consequences, as you have just experienced. Do you understand this?”

  Four simple words, and yet for Harmony they illuminated the two parts of their marriage. The part before she had understood, and the part to begin now as she stared into his hard gaze. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

  Her own four words, and no need to say more. How couldn’t she understand with the sore pain of her bottom cheeks? How couldn’t she understand when the cane still dangled from his fingers? When the rack across the room held at least a dozen more of the wretched instruments of torture?

  Finally he moved away, walked over to the rack to return the cane to its place. He put his waistcoat and coat back on, taking care to fasten every one of the numerous buttons, adjust his cuffs, and straighten any wrinkles in the pristine garment. That finished, he crossed back to her, standing with his arms behind his back. He put her in mind of that dark, haughty aristocrat she’d first seen in the Darlington’s drawing room, but it didn’t excite her this time.

  He held out a hand to her from four or five feet away. “Come here.”

  She approached him and took his outstretched hand. He drew her into his arms and settled her against him, but she felt no comfort. He seemed a stranger to her, which frightened her to more tears. With a flick of his wrist he produced a handkerchief and used it to wipe her face. There weren’t only tears, but undignified rivulets of snot dripping from her nose. She let him wipe it all away, beyond humiliation.

  “You understand I don’t enjoy punishing you so severely,” he said as he worked. “It’s difficult to hurt the ones we love. I do love you, Harmony.”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t have returned the words to him anyway, not when she knew them for a lie. Perhaps because she held herself so stiffly, he released her, pocketing his handkerchief. He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. She saw a little of the old Court there, but the other Court too, who was still not well-pleased with her.

  “I would say you are forgiven, but you have injured others who may not yet feel inclined to forgive. I expect you to apologize to my mother and do what you can to assist her as she heals. I also expect you to call on the Wembleys, the Tremaynes, and the Runnenbarths and apologize for your reckless behavior.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said wearily.

  “But for tonight, I’ll leave you alone to rest and reflect. Come.”

  He escorted her up to her rooms. Dear Mrs. Redcliff was there to meet her at the door. Without words, she drew Harmony’s second bath of the day, filling the tub high with water that was not too hot, but warm enough to soothe her. She frowned when Harmony asked for privacy, but obeyed her mistress and waited outside the door.

  Harmony dried herself afterward and crossed to the mirror. She stared at the red stripes emblazoned across her backside, marking her as a very bad girl, then reached for the soft silk nightgown Mrs. Redcliff had laid out for her. She pulled it quickly over her head, wanting to hide them from her sight, but she could still feel them.

  She was so tired, so drained she could barely make it to her bed. She cried once more, just a little bit as Mrs. Redcliff patted her shoulder and murmured, “There, there. There, there.” But even Mrs. Redcliff couldn’t soothe the hurtful memories of the evening.

  She was not yet forgiven. What if she was never forgiven?

  He had told her once on the banks of the Darlingtons’ lake that she wasn’t beyond help, but Harmony feared he didn’t believe that anymore.

  Chapter Sixteen: Chill

  Court relaxed in his chair, watching Harmony with a half-lidded gaze. His wife was at work with the dandy Mr. Lightmore, stepping through country dance formations and attempting to improve the gracefulness of her steps. He was pleased to see that she applied herself to the task. If she was aware of his presence at the lesson, she gave no sign. A week had passed since her punishment, a week during which she avoided him as much as the bounds of courtesy allowed. At night, rather than lie with her, he kissed her on the forehead and let her retire alone.

  It chafed to forego his marital rights, but he knew he must permit her the necessary time to sulk and shrink away from him. It had been a severe correction. He felt guilt over it, yes, but he had examined his motives and found them pure. That night, he had purposely waited until the worst of his anger dissipated, lest he flail away at her without the necessary control. He had not broken his wife’s skin, nor injured her or drawn blood. It was perfectly legal and respectable for a husband to discipline his wife using civil methods.

  In truth, the current chill between them provided a needed opportunity for reflection. He had to find some distance from her, reconnect with his true persona, that of a gentleman and a duke. From the moment he’d found her crouching beneath the desk at Danbury House, something in him had changed. He’d become softer and weaker, more easily manipulated. He loved his wife but he could not allow her to run roughshod over him and his social circle. There must be a way to love her and yet preserve his own stringent standards, both for her and himself.

  Lightmore paused in the middle of a step, asking the pianist to repeat a section. The dancing master conducted their lessons in the south parlor rather than the grand ballroom, so Lightmore’s accompanist could be heard. The grand ballroom did tend to swallow the sound of anything less than a full orchestra. Lightmore had pretty manners and a pretty face. A little too pretty, especially when he smiled at Harmony. His female pianist might qualify as a chaperone, but Court still made a point of being there every time.

  Not that he didn’t trust his wife. He just didn’t believe her impulsive nature would ever be curbed, and he wasn’t sure Lightmore wouldn’t try to take advantage and turn her head. He observed them as the lesson came to an end, but there were no overfamiliar or inappropriate exchanges.

  She crossed to greet him once Lightmore took his leave, looking slightly pink-faced in her sage and blue floral silk. Was she blushing from exertion or from the assessing look on his face?

  He’d promised her an outing to a local historical site in an attempt to warm the chill between them. He hoped it worked, since he intended
to reassert his rights in her bed tonight. Her allotted time for sulking was over. There was still no heir, and this cooling could not go on forever.

  “A very pretty lesson, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a kiss across the backs of her knuckles. “I cannot wait to dance with you in the grandest ballrooms of London.”

  She made a soft, equivocal sound. As a polite gentleman, he ought to ask her next if she was too drained from exercise to accompany him on their outing, but he wasn’t going to give her a choice. Instead he tucked her hand over his arm and walked her toward the foyer and then out to the coach. “I asked Mrs. Melton to arrange some refreshments for our trip to St. Alphage’s.”

  “Thank you. How kind you are.”

  A polite response that nonetheless left him chilled. He tried again to engage her. “I think you will enjoy the site. There are church ruins and a park, and natural areas. It is rich in Roman history.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to it since you mentioned it yesterday. It’s so kind of you to take me. It reminds me in some way of…well…” She ducked her face away from him. “It reminds me of our journey to the Roman wall.”

  He seized on her reminiscence and her amiable mood. “I hope it will be like that other trip, in a sense that we might feel a new closeness with one another.”

  Goodness, he would be spouting poetry next. But Harmony rewarded him with a faint smile, the closest she’d come to true smile in quite some time. He bit his lip against further babblings and handed her up into the coach. He sat next to her on the velvet cushions and they set off on their adventure. It had been a stroke of genius, planning this outing for her. For them. Fresh air, friendly conversation, and a chance to show her he still cared about her very much, even if he must discipline her strictly when her behavior went so terribly out of bounds.

  They rode awhile in companionable silence, and Court thought that she really had been quieter of late, not that she’d ever been a chatterbox. The dowager approved of her new, more muted personality, and seemed to have softened toward her in the days since the incident. Perhaps it was because Harmony went out of her way to offer aid to the older woman in her convalescence. The Tremaynes and Runnenbarths reacted favorably to Harmony’s apologies, and Gwen even came to call on his wife one day last week. Gwen could only be a good influence, although Court was still haunted by Harmony’s words that night. I want to be like her. I know you would be happy then. You wish I was her!