Pleasing the Colonel

by Renee Rose

  “Miss Downy, why is it that you needed to take an advance to visit your mother? What have you done with the wages you earned since you arrived?”

  She blanched, as if she were to be chastised for her debt as well. He resisted the urge to stroke her cheek—the tension created by his holding her nape was already building to the point of crackling. “We incurred some debt with our move—the relative who took possession of the house charged us rent for the month it took us to make arrangements to leave,” she said bitterly, and he recalled what she had said about that relative the night before.

  “So you used your wages to repay your relative?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. And to support my mother and the relatives who have taken her in.”

  “Well, I am going to cancel the debt of your advanced wages. I am certainly willing to provide you with the means to visit your sick mother.”

  She looked moved. “Thank you, sir,” she breathed with gratitude.

  Without thinking, he picked up the lock of her hair that had come undone and whisked it back, re-pinning it deftly. She looked surprised and only then did he realize that it had been too intimate of a gesture. Not that the way he'd been holding her against his chest wasn't.

  He took a step back. This young woman had an intoxicating effect on him.

  “Why don't you go on to bed now,” he suggested stiffly. His tone had made it sound more like an order than a question. It seemed he had been too long in the military to remember how to speak gently to a lady.

  She curtsied. “Thank you, sir.”

  He watched her walk stiffly out of the room, feeling strangely agitated. He went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, swirling it in the glass before sipping. He was not feeling this way because he was attracted to his new governess. That simply wouldn't do.

  * * *

  In the morning her bottom felt tight and from what she could see by twisting around, it was still marked with several red welts. She'd slept on her belly that night, replaying the entire scene with the Colonel over and over in her mind.

  Now she was worried about having to face him. She felt exceptionally embarrassed that he had bared her bottom and taken a strap to it. Though the Colonel had been a complete gentleman in the way he offered his handkerchief and even his chest to comfort her, the whole experience had still been humiliating. She also worried about her probation. How strict would he be? She needed this position desperately. She wondered if she shouldn't start to look for a new placement.

  She washed and dressed and headed downstairs, just as the breakfast bell rang. The Colonel was sitting at the table already, reading the London Daily Journal, his face hidden by the newspaper. She felt herself flushing just at seeing him again. Hearing the children's happy voices, she turned from the dining room entrance back to the stairwell and waited as they came down the stairs with Julie.

  “Bon matin, enfants,” she greeted them.

  “Bon matin, mademoiselle,” Rosie answered brightly. Tom repeated the phrase, doing his best with all the syllables in “mademoiselle.”

  “They can eat with me in the dining room,” she said to Julie, who grinned her thanks.

  “Great! I'll see you after lunch, then,” she said, probably eager to sneak off and flirt with Lenny, the carriage driver.

  She took Tom's little hand in hers and listened to his stream of morning chatter, which was mostly recapping the activities of the day before. “Can we go the park again, Mademoiselle? Can we?”

  “Tom, it was Papa who took us to the park, you'll have to ask him,” Rosie said with great authority.

  “That's true,” she said.

  Tom raced into the dining room but then slowed down shyly when he arrived at his father's side. The Colonel put down his paper and looked at his son. “Good morning, Tom.”

  Tom ducked his head a bit. Then he turned around and ran back to her side, grasping her hand to pull her with him to face his father. She protested a bit, but allowed the boy to drag her. When they arrived at his side he looked up, expectantly. Tom wrapped his little arms around her leg and hung on tightly. “Is there something you wanted to ask your father, Tom?” she prompted.

  Tom looked up at her for help.

  “Go on. Ask him. Or else go have a seat for breakfast.” She wasn't about to help him out by making any request of the Colonel. She didn't want him to think it was her begging a favor, nor did she want the children to use her as a buffer between themselves and their father. Tom stood there a moment longer, but then he turned around and pulled her back to sit at the table. She could hardly blame the child—she certainly had no courage when it came to facing that stern face of the Colonel, either. Did the man ever smile? She sat down gingerly, trying not to wince at the soreness from her strapping and praying above all that no one else at the table was watching her.

  Miss Watson and Mrs. James were seated and the toast and marmalade was on the table already. A kitchen maid carried in a covered plate of poached eggs and set it in front of the Colonel. When he passed it to her, Mandy couldn't meet his eye—instead she focused intently on the plate of eggs, which she used to serve the children and then herself.

  Trying to recover from her fluster, she asked the children in French, “Where do our napkins go?”

  “I know!” Rosie said, whisking hers to her lap. Tom did not appear to have understood the French.

  “Le serviette? Le serviette, Tom?” she prompted him. Rosie leaned over and helped him and she gave the little girl a wink. As she turned back to her plate, she saw the Colonel regarding her with a warm look, but as she caught his eye his expression turned wooden again.

  “There's a public ball tonight at North Park, Charles, will you take us?” Miss Watson asked. The Colonel looked at his sister's eager face.

  “Yes,” he said briefly, then returned to eating. He was certainly a man of few words, which perhaps explained why his sister used enough for both of them. She was chattering on to Mrs. James about which dress she was going to wear.

  “You will dance with Miss Binghamton first,” she said to her brother, referring to her friend, an empty-headed snobbish girl who Mandy couldn't stand. Miss Watson went on, “She's been absolutely pining for your return and she told me she is hoping you will dance with her.”

  The Colonel did not appear to be listening.

  “Charles?” she said sharply. “You'll dance with Miss Binghamton first, won't you?”

  He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “My plan was to ask Miss Downy for the first dance,” he said simply.

  Her heart stopped and she felt her face grow hot. She had not been invited to attend balls with Miss Watson in the past. She dared a glance at his face, but he was looking at his sister.

  Miss Watson looked incredulous. “Oh. Are you coming, Miss Downy?”

  “Oh, well, I don't know,” she said, feeling awkward.

  “Why wouldn't you?” the Colonel asked bluntly.

  “Well, I haven't been invited, exactly,” she said, keeping the sour from her voice.

  The Colonel's glance flicked to his sister and she thought she detected censure. “You're invited,” he said impassively.

  “Well, all right,” she said, secretly pleased twice over—first, because Miss Watson was finally being shown proper manners by her brother (as a lady and not a servant, she should have been invited along to balls with them all along), and second, that the Colonel wished a dance with her, though the thought of it was as frightening as it was exciting.

  She thought of nothing other than the ball all day. She was completely distracted from giving lessons to her charges. She listened to Rosie read with only half an ear, sometimes failing to correct her mistakes and when Tom grew bored of the arithmetic lesson she was teaching, she relented too easily and took the children outside for a walk instead. She alternated between worrying about how she could possibly dance with Colonel Watson after what had passed between them the night before, and rejoicing that she would finally have a chance to interact
in society again. She spent a lot of time considering what she should wear to the ball, and whether this might be the opportunity to meet a proper suitor.

  That evening, she put on one of her best dresses—a lavender silk—and pinned the front of her long chestnut brown hair up, allowing the back of it to fall down in thick waves. She peered in the only tiny looking glass she had and pinched her cheeks. She and her sister had their mother's face—pale skin with gray eyes. Their father used to say they looked like china dolls. But her favorite feature was her hair—her mother and sister both had finer, light brown hair, but she had inherited her father's dark thick mane. She made sure the front was pinned back securely and went downstairs to wait for the rest of them in the sitting room. Miss Watson and Mrs. James came giggling in, all dressed up in their fine clothes.

  Miss Watson surveyed her with a critical eye. “That's a pretty dress. Too bad it's in last year's fashion.”

  “That was rude, Lucinda,” a quiet male voice said from behind them. The Colonel breezed past them to open the door, holding his arm out to usher them onto the street where the carriage was waiting. They squeezed in, with Miss Watson sitting next to Mrs. James and she next to the Colonel. She found herself looking at his long thigh, conjecturing that it must be strong and muscled like his chest. She felt the anticipation growing for their dance together, and was almost wishing he hadn't already said he would ask her, because she was becoming more and more nervous about it as the moments passed. How on earth could she spend an entire thirty minutes in contact with the Colonel, her employer who had bent her over his desk and strapped her raw only the night before?

  * * *

  Greeting members of the ton was not his favorite thing. Unfortunately, having been absent from it for a year, everyone seemed to want his attention. Though he had asked Miss Downy to dance at breakfast, there was no time to sign her card because she disappeared and before he knew it, he'd been roped into signing away the first three dances to young ladies whose overbearing mothers or sisters wielded their influence upon him. The first lady was Lucinda's choice for him, the profoundly empty-headed Miss Binghamton.

  As he danced with her, he caught sight of Miss Downy standing off by the refreshment table as if trying to be inconspicuous. The poor lady knew no one. His sister had been a dreadful hostess to their governess, not inviting her to the balls or to socialize.

  Miss Binghamton was turning on all the charm, smiling and batting her eyelashes. From what he could tell, Lucinda was doing much of the same, acting as outrageously flirtatious as a girl could. He was utterly shocked by it and it made him angry with Mrs. James, whose chaperone duties came first and foremost as the young lady's paid companion. How could she think this sort of behavior was acceptable? He prayed no scandal had occurred around Lucinda or her behavior while he was gone.

  When the dance was over he went to find Miss Downy where she was still standing, sipping on a cup of punch. “There you are. Are you hiding back here?” he said, coming up from behind her.

  Startled, she jumped, spilling a bit of her punch on the front of her dress. “Oh no,” she moaned, and he pitied her, knowing how much these sorts of things mattered to young ladies at balls. He handed her his handkerchief, which only served to discombobulate her more. She dabbed at the punch without any real effect and handed it back to him with a sigh. He tore his eyes away from the bust of her gown where the punch had spilled, tamping down a resurgence of lust that swelled in him.

  “I haven't had the opportunity to sign your card yet. Although I don't believe you ever said whether you would dance with me this morning,” he said, watching a pretty color bloom in her cheeks.

  “Oh, I—” She looked flustered. “I don't know…” she said uncertainly.

  He held out his arm. “I insist,” he said.

  She smiled just a little and shrugged. “You're the master,” she said lightly and he chuckled, delighted to note that she had a sense of humor. On the dance floor though, she neither said a word, nor looked at him and he would swear she was blushing the entire time. It was actually quite charming. Her innocence was sweet, though some devil part of him had ideas of educating it right out of her.

  “I hope that my punishing you does not preclude you from ever looking me in the eye again,” he said with a hint of teasing.

  She jerked her head up to meet his eyes in surprise. “Perhaps just until I can sit again,” she countered wryly.

  He chuckled again at her charm. “All right, I guess I can live with that.” He looked around the ballroom, searching for something else to say. His eyes came to rest on his sister and he watched her for several moments. “Is my sister always so… flirtatious with the men?”

  Miss Downy glanced at Lucinda and then looked uncertain. “The truth, Miss Downy,” he said with a bit of warning in his voice to remind her of the promise she'd made him the night before. It made her blush prettily again.

  “Yes, I believe so,” she said reluctantly.

  He nodded. “I have been away for too long,” he said.

  “How long until you must leave again?” she asked.

  “I've retired, actually,” he said. “Of course, I thought I had retired last time and then I was called back to duty to aid in the Anglo-Burmese War.”

  “Is it resolved, then? The Burmese war?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I did my part. They needed help with training and strategy. I promised them a year and no more.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “I think, perhaps, it was a mistake to leave home,” he said.

  She looked up at him inquiringly. “I don't think Mrs. James has proved to be a suitable companion to my sister, and the governess before you did not work out,” he sighed. “Clearly my lawyer did not take his duties in hiring you seriously, else he would have discovered you had falsified your references.”

  Her face grew very red at that and she dropped her eyes, looking angry.

  His heart contracted. He hadn't meant to humiliate her. “Not that I'm unhappy with his choice,” he said, trying to relieve her embarrassment.

  Her jaw clenched.

  “—at all. I'm happy with his mistake,” he said carefully. “I only meant to say that business was not conducted as I should have liked it.”

  She purposely looked away from him.

  Damn. He had not meant to offend her.

  The music ended at that moment. “Thank you for the dance,” she mumbled without looking at him, detaching herself and moving quickly away.

  * * *

  Mandy headed to the sitting room, relieved to escape her horrible employer. She was not going to make it through her probationary period. The man was impossible. To think that he had whipped her like the lowest of the staff and now was rubbing it in her face! What she needed to do was start applying for another position now, so that she had options if he decided not to keep her on. Yes, she would ask to borrow his newspaper the following day and check the notices for another governess position. That resolution made her feel marginally better. Thinking she might get a little fresh air, she was headed to the doorway when she heard her name being called out.

  “Miss Downy?” a male voice said.

  She turned, puzzled. Although she knew the gentlemen callers who visited Miss Watson, she was not sure they would remember her name enough to call it out at a ball. She looked back and then recognized Mr. Bartlby, from the carriage accident.

  “Mr. Bartlby, how nice to see you,” she lied. The truth was, she would have been happy to never see him again. It was his liquor that had loosened her tongue and made her say so many things she would not have told anyone. And she had no interest in facing the recipient of her innermost secrets at that moment, or ever, for that matter.

  “The pleasure is all mine. May I have this dance?”

  “Actually, I was just going to get a bit of air,” she said.

  “Then I will join you,” he said.

  At that, she panicked. She certainly had no intention of walki
ng on the terrace with Mr. Bartlby. “On second thought, a dance sounds nice,” she managed, reaching for his arm. He beamed a smile at her and led her to the dance floor. She saw the Colonel, who was dancing with a very beautiful young woman and thought darkly that the girl was far too young for him. As they passed each other on the dance floor she felt his gaze on her, taking in her dancing partner with that same inscrutable look he always wore. She felt shame remembering that the Colonel had witnessed her disgraceful drinking and open talking with this man. After the dance, she refused another, but couldn't seem to shake her suitor. He followed her to the tables and stayed by her side for the remainder of the evening.

  “Say, isn't that the Colonel—from our carriage?” Bartlby asked.

  “Yes,” she said dully. She did not want to tell him that the Colonel had ended up being her employer, but it was probably silly to hide the truth. “As it turned out, the Colonel is my employer.”

  He looked at her, his eyes widening as he surely realized what a gaffe she had made. “No!” he said in a scandalized tone. Clearly he loved the drama of it all. He leaned in conspiratorially. “So what did he say?”

  She wasn't about to tell him or anyone that the Colonel had bent her over his desk and applied a leather strap to her bare backside. “Well, he wasn't happy. But he decided to keep me, on a probationary period.”

  “That was lucky,” Bartlby said.

  “Yes.” At that moment, she saw the Colonel looking pointedly at her from the across the room, signaling silently that he was ready to go. Miss Watson and Mrs. James were standing near him and he had a look of annoyance on his face.

  “Oh! It looks like it's time for me to go!” she said, jumping to her feet. “It was nice to see you, Mr. Bartlby.”

  “The pleasure was mine. Wait—may I call on you?” he called after her as she rushed away.

  “I'm sorry, I have to go now!” she called rudely over her shoulder.

  The Colonel's face was stone. Miss Watson and Mrs. James seemed a trifle subdued themselves. They were all nearly silent on the carriage ride back.