One damp rainy day, when he had insisted on riding alone and she was unable even to step out in the garden, she found in the library a book by Mr. Kipling, and holding the leather–bound tome close to her chest, she wept in longing for Mother India, and the warm, vibrant life she had once had.
At this point in the story, readers of the female sex may find themselves growing indignant at Lord Tazewell’s apparent indifference to Lucy’s emotional well–being. Why had he gone to all the trouble and expense of marrying her, the ladies may inquire, if he had no intention to attend to her? Ah, women might well wonder, but I’m sure the gentlemen among our readers have by now perceived the clear method in Lord Tazewell’s treatment of Lucy. He was, in fact, attending to her very well, and subtly engaging in her training.
You see, with each passing day Lucy found herself growing lonelier, and, in the hope of being allowed more time with her only source of what might be called companionship, that is to say Lord Tazewell himself, she began, without quite realizing it, to make some small efforts to be more agreeable. Lucy had set aside some of the argumentative and unladylike behaviours she had demonstrated at their first meeting, and it was not only the spanking she had received that encouraged her to be more polite in his presence.
Yet in truth, such earnest endeavor on Lucy’s part seemed to have little effect, for during her first weeks in Gorham Hall, she saw very little of Lord Tazewell other than in the early mornings. The Earl of Chiltenham seemed to be very busy, and away from the estate a great deal. Lucy once wondered, quite jealously, whether he kept a mistress in one of the villages nearby. It surprised her that she should even care, but care she did.
It should come as no surprise, given the circumstances of the marriage, that Lucy had at first been relieved that this man, purportedly her husband, had made no move to force himself upon her. Yet the anticipation that he would eventually make nuptial demands of her, mixed with a niggling fear that he would not, was beginning to occupy a great deal of Lucy’s thoughts. So much so that she was greatly startled one noontime, on the first occasion that his Lord Tazewell had been home for them to take the midday meal together, to look up and find his full attention upon her.
“You are wondering why you are a fortnight married and still a virgin.”
It was a statement, not a question.
Lucy nearly choked on the little piece of bread she had been eating.
“I have very little interest in deflowering a virgin,” Lord Tazewell informed her, calmly stirring a little salt into his soup.
“Then why…why ever…?.”
Lucy stopped in mid sentence, unable to speak of the humiliation he had inflicted on her through his agent, the hateful Doctor Randolph, before their marriage. The blood rose to her face and she was afraid she’d now disgrace herself by starting to cry.
“Then why ever did I have my physician examine you?” he queried mildly. “I merely wished to ensure that you weren’t carrying another man’s child or disease. I have no desire for bastard children underfoot, and if I wished to contract the pox, I know of any number of places where I could do so under far more enjoyable circumstances.”
Lucy’s face and neck grew hot.
“If..if… you didn’t want a wife..” she sputtered indignantly.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want a wife,” he replied evenly. “I merely said I was in no hurry to bed her.”
Lucy faltered, her dismay growing at the implication of his words.
Dear god, she thought, I’ve been married off to one of those cads who prefers…
“You misunderstand me!” Lord Tazewell snapped, having, by all evidence, once again intercepted her thoughts. “I enjoy pleasuring myself in female flesh as much as the next man. Perhaps more.”
Lucy flushed even redder at the lewd images these words evoked.
He observed her reaction carefully.
“I see.”
He tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, considering.
“Very well, Miss Lucy. If you are so anxious to be introduced to carnal pleasures, you may present yourself in my rooms this evening at 10 o’clock. Please be on time, as I may wish to make a long evening of it. I have a great deal of knowledge and experience on this particular subject, and I trust you’ll be a fast learner.”
Lucy felt the room spin. Suddenly it seemed that everything was moving too quickly, and not at all in the way she had imagined.
“I may or may not attend to your deflowering right away, but I do expect you to be obedient and pleasing to me tonight and, in fact, whenever you are admitted to my private chambers. To that end, I have prepared a gown I wish you to wear,” Lord Tazewell said, rising from the table. “I’ll have Mary bring it to your room this evening. As we have discussed before, you are to wear what I provide for you, Lucy, and nothing more. Nothing at all.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I trust you’re clear on that?”
And with that, he exited the room, leaving Lucy seated at the table, dumbfounded, before a half–eaten meal that she was now quite unable to finish, and with many anxious hours before her.
** ** **
As his Lordship was to be out that afternoon and evening, Mrs. Deegers informed Lucy that a tray would be brought to her, and that she may, once again, take her meal alone in her room. Her evening meal turned out to be the simplest of repasts, just a bowl of broth and a plate of brown bread and cheese, almost as if Mrs. Deegers had been informed of Lord Tazewell’s plans for Lucy later that evening, and had therefore determined it was inadvisable for the young woman to take a heavy meal. Given the lack of consideration afforded to Lucy’s sense of pride and privacy, it is, in fact, entirely possible that the entire staff, even the maids and stable boys, did indeed know that the young miss from London had been summoned to His Lordship’s chambers for the night.
It was quite late in the evening, well after nine, when Mary at last arrived with the gown Lord Tazewell had said he would provide. Lucy had been pacing the floor nervously for nearly an hour. The garment was hidden in a wrapping of clean white muslin, and Mary set the package on the bed.
“I don’t think you’ll need me to dress you, miss,” the maid said with far more familiarity than any maid should use when addressing a lady, “as there t’isn’t much to it.” And then she giggled.
“You’ve seen it?” Lucy cried out, horrified.
“Oh yes, miss. His Lordship made quite a display of it when he brought it downstairs. I had to iron it meself, and everyone in the laundry got a fair gander while I was attending to it,” she smirked cheekily. “Twas a fair bit ‘o laughin’ at the picture of you in it, miss. Imagine having your goodies all laid out like that, plain as anything for anyone to see!”
“Why, you impudent girl! How dare you speak to me like that!”
“Don’t you go putting on airs, miss,” Mary said, her eyes narrowing. “Mrs. Deegers told us all what his Lordship said about you. And everyone knows why he brought you here!”
“Go! Get out of here at once!” Lucy cried, raising her hand to slap the insolent girl, but then seeming to think better of it.
“As you wish, miss,” Mary said, eyeing Lucy’s hand maliciously. “But I wouldn’t go about making to strike me again, for if you do, I’ll tell His Lordship quick as can be, and you’ll be the one to take a thrashing, Miss High and Mighty.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Lucy insisted hotly, but Mary was already on her way out the door. “See if I don’t,” the maid retorted with unforgivable cheek. Then she closed the door, none too carefully, and was gone.
Lucy was shaking so hard that it was several moments before she could even think about the gown, but soon curiosity – or was it dread? –– got the better of her and she made to unwrap the parcel on the bed. Inside was a beautiful gown of the softest cloth Lucy had ever felt, softer even than the fine saris she’d known in India. But it was scandalously diaphanous, so thin as to be nearly transparent. Lucy blushed to
even think of wearing of it, and blushed even more to think of Lord Tazewell, or indeed any man, spying it upon her own person.
On the other hand, it was truly a beautiful garment, one that would complement any woman’s beauty by presenting her own natural charms to great advantage. Lucy blushed again as she held up the gown, but found herself curious to feel it on her skin and to see how it might fall down along her curves. She looked at the clock in her locket, put a few more coals on the fire with dim hopes of taking a bit of the chill out of the room, and began to remove her clothing. That was always a laborious process, with all the buttons and ties, and the laces, even if she was no longer allowed a corset, and she began to regret having chased Mary away. The presumptuous maid might at least have been some use in getting her this far disrobed, and putting the shed clothing away in the cupboards.
It was not Lucy’s custom to ever disrobe completely, except for the rare occasions when someone heated enough water for her to take a full sit bath. For modesty’s sake, and to keep herself warm, her usual practice was to slip her nightgown over her head before she removed her chemise and drawers. She followed this practice now in donning the gauzy gown Lord Tazewell had provided, so it wasn’t until it was on her shoulders, and she had wiggled out of her under things and set them aside, that she felt the full immodesty of it.
The gown felt sensuous in the extreme, like a hand caressing languorously up and down the naked lines of her body. When she moved, the cloth slipped across her skin like gossamer kisses, then flitted away, leaving behind a barely perceptible yet unbearable sensation – now to her hips, now to her belly, now to her nipples and the swells of her firm young breasts. It was delicious and disconcerting all at once, and Lucy already felt quite lightheaded when she turned to the looking glass. The shocking lasciviousness of the image she saw caused her to turn her ahead away at once, and she slipped into her bed under the coverlet to keep warm, her heart pounding. And there she stayed, reaching every few minutes to the bedside table to open her locket clock, until the appointed hour had come.
Rising nervously, she went to leave her little cell but the bitter cold of the hall, not to mention the fear of meeting one of the servants in such scandalous attire, drove her back to retrieve her dressing gown, which she slipped on and tied tightly at the waist. Thus girded, and candle in hand, Lucy made her way carefully down the corridor to Lord Tazewell’s wing, then counting the doors until she reached the third, a great carved affair that Mary had said was where she must go. Lucy tapped nervously upon the broad, dark surface, and waited, but even after half a minute she had received no response. She felt for something like a knocker, and finding a heavy ring high in the door, she rapped once, tentatively, against the thick wood. After a moment, the door swung open.
Lord Tazewell, Earl of Chiltenham, stood large in the doorway. Even at this late hour, and in his own suites, he was fully dressed in formal clothing. Lucy blinked in the dim light, completely unsure of what to do or say.
“You are late!” he boomed, his displeasure obvious.
Lucy shrunk back into the hall. She tried to stammer out some sort of apology so he’d admit her quickly into the warmth of the room. She was cold, it’s true, but it also embarrassed her to be in the hall in such immodest dress.
But by then Lord Tazewell had taken notice of Lucy’s attire.
“Foolish girl! I very clearly instructed that you were to wear the gown I provided and nothing else!”
“I…I felt chilled,” Lucy attempted in a small voice, her eyes moving nervously to the room behind him. The sight of a large high bed made her blush and at the same time stirred her.
“More likely you decided you knew better what’s best for you,” he said with such a sneer in his voice that her argumentative nature was roused. Lucy pulled herself up, tightened the sash of her dressing gown, and stepped up to face him.
“Well, perhaps I did! I could hardly be expected to traipse through the hallways in that state of undress, where any of the servants might see me!”
“That is exactly what I expected,” Lord Tazewell said. “It is of no concern to me what the servants see or don’t see, but it is of great concern to me that my orders be obeyed.” He moved back slightly into the room, as if he were going to close the door.
“Goodnight, Miss Farquhar. You are dismissed.”
Startled, Lucy tried to protest, but her words came out in a confused jumble.
“No, wait!…What ....?”
“I have no use for a woman who cannot follow even the simplest instructions, and, what’s worse, will not do as she has been told,” Lord Tazewell said coldly. “Return to your room at once!”
“But…!”
“I will not discuss it with you, Lucy. Return to your room. I shall address this willful display of disobedience first thing in the morning, before my breakfast, but until then, I’ll hear not another word about it.”
And with that, Lord Tazewell shut his door in Lucy’s face, leaving her in the dark hallway, shivering, bewildered and fuming. For the briefest moment she considered pounding on the door and demanding entry, but the humiliation he had delivered upon her was stronger than her temper was bold. Crying hot tears of anger and shame, Lucy found her way back to her unpleasant, solitary cell of a room, where she crawled into bed and sobbed herself into an uneasy state of sleep.
** ** **
It was barely light when Mary came knocking for Lucy to get out of her bed, a good deal earlier than the usual hour at which the maid came to rouse her. Lucy had enjoyed very little rest after the events of the previous evening, and she groaned and put her head under the pillow when Mary pulled back the curtains, not that there was yet much daylight to brighten the room.
“You’d best be quick, miss. This is no morning to dilly–dally. His Lordship will be here shortly, and I’ve got to get you dressed as he’s said ”
Here? He was coming to this room? Lucy sat up in her bed.
“Why ever is he coming here?”
“Please, miss,” Mary pleaded, avoiding Lucy’s eyes. “There’s no time for talkin’. I’ve brung you up warmed water and you’ll be needing to wash up quickly before it goes stone cold.”
Still perplexed as to why his Lordship would be coming to the room, when he had never come before, Lucy got out of bed, slipping her feet into the flannel house shoes on the floor by the side of her bed. She shuffled to the washstand, rubbing her hands against the chill of the little room. Taking up the cloth and the bar of soap, she noticed that Mary was making the bed, something she didn’t normally do until later in the morning. Lucy didn’t question Mary about this immediately, happy to have the maid’s eyes occupied elsewhere as she washed, but when she finished her ablutions she turned from the washstand and faced the maid with resolve.
“Really, Mary. I insist to be told what is going on. You are acting most agitated and everything seems to be out of the normal…”
Then her eyes fell on the garments Mary had begun to spread upon about the neatly made bed.
“Whatever…?” she cried out in astonishment. She reached for Mary and took a rough hold of both her arms. “What is the meaning of this? What is the meaning of that…that clothing?” she demanded, shaking Mary hard.
The young maid pulled herself free of Lucy’s grip, her breathing quick and her face set in defiance.
“You don’t know anything, do you, Miss Smarty from London!” the maid cried, her accent slipping in her agitation. “You’ve gone and made his Lordship angry and he’s coming to teach you what happens to them what crosses ‘im! I ‘ope he gives it to you good, and I’ve ‘alf a mind to tell him you were shaking me, for ‘e’d be sure to give you extra lashes if he knew!”
Lucy fell back a step. Lashes! She paled, remembering what it was he’d said before he closed the door in her face last night. Hadn’t he said he’d “attend to her disobedience” in the morning? Still, she had never imagined that he meant…A scolding, perhaps. But no, it couldn’t be! Surely not for wh
at occurred, or rather didn’t occur, last night?
Lucy shook her head in disbelief, her stomach tight with trepidation.
Mary had turned back to the bed, and was angrily yanking clothing out of her bundle. It was unmistakably a nursery wardrobe, the sort of dress worn only by young girls still in braids.
“Mary…please…I’m sorry I shook you. Please, Mary, tell me why you have brought these clothes?”
“Because you’re to get a spanking!” the maid said sullenly, sorting out the ties of the childish pinafore and rolling the opaque white stockings. “It’s part of your punishment. I expect he’ll make you wear ‘em all day, and certainly until you’ve done your time in the corner.”
Spanking! Time in the corner!
Lucy sank into the chair by her bed, dazed, much to the annoyance of the maid, who was far wiser than Lucy to the ways of the master of the household, and ever so anxious to get her task completed before he arrived.
“Yer can’t be sittin’ now,” she begged. “His Lordship’ll be ‘ere at any moment. If oi haven’t got yer ready and waitin’, it’ll be my skin as well as yours.”
Up until now, when called on to assist Lucy with her dress, Mary had indulged Lucy’s insistence on modesty, but there was no time for such niceties today.
“Come on, now, off with that nightdress,” she said impatiently tugging the ends of it from under Lucy so she could pull it up and off over her head. Finding herself suddenly naked in the presence of the maid, Lucy pulled her knees up to hide her middle and quickly crossed her hands over her chest.
The Harlot Bride Page 6
