Pleasing the Colonel

by Renee Rose

  “Miss Downy,” he said at breakfast that day. “You did an admirable job nursing the entire household through its sickness. I think you deserve a holiday.”

  She stared at him with surprise.

  “Would you like to visit your mother?”

  “Well, yes! I would love to… but can you spare me?”

  “Well of course the children will miss you, but I think we can manage,” he said, forcing a smile. “It will be fully paid, of course, and you'll travel in my carriage.” He still had not ascertained whether something more had happened between them, but his guilt over what he had done was overwhelming. A visit to her mother was the best thing he could dream up to offer her.

  The look of happiness on her face was a gift. “Thank you, Colonel!”

  “You're welcome, you deserve it. Go and pack your things—you can leave as soon as you're ready.”

  When she returned with her packed bag, he handed her up into the carriage himself. “Thank you, Colonel,” she said.

  He caught her gloved hand and looked at her intently. He was half afraid she would never return. “I'll send the carriage for you in one week's time.”

  “I will be ready for it,” she said.

  He nodded and waved as the carriage left. He hoped that was true.

  But a new anxiety came four days later when he received a letter from a lawyer in London. He opened it and read, his skin turning to ice as he skimmed over the words. It was a reference check for Miss Amanda Downy, his governess—it seemed she had applied for another position. He balled up the letter and threw it across the room, feeling a rush of possessive anger. She wanted to leave. She was leaving.

  Was it because of what he had done to her? Had he ruined her and she hadn't confessed? Was she too humiliated to face him again? He stood up and paced his study, his hands curling into angry fists. How could he have violated her like that? He was so terribly ashamed of himself. He would have to offer for her—that was the only solution. He knew she had no interest in marrying a man like him, but if he had compromised her innocence, he must take responsibility.

  He considered getting in his carriage that instant to visit her at her relatives’, but he didn't want to cause her more embarrassment. No, he would wait. If she refused to return when he sent the carriage for her on Saturday, he would go for her then.

  * * *

  “Miss Downy!” The Colonel came out to meet the carriage when it arrived back at the manor, which surprised her. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” She took the hand he offered to climb down and flashed him a grateful smile. While she was away, she had resolved to pretend as though nothing had happened between them, steeling herself against all the embarrassment she might otherwise show. Unless she missed her guess, the Colonel had not done the same. He seemed somewhat agitated, though his familiar wooden mask was still in place.

  “You missed all the fun, Miss Downy!” Miss Watson exclaimed when she entered the manor. “We have new neighbors in the area—the Livingstons. Miss Livingston and her sister Miss Jane Livingston have been by to call and they invited us over to dine with them while you were away. Mr. Livingston is their brother, and his friend Mr. Bates is quite charming,” she said with a sly smile.

  Mandy remembered that smile from their days in London—it meant Miss Watson had a love interest. Unlike when they were in London, this time Mandy felt interested—she was growing to really like Miss Watson and wanted her to be happy.

  “Charles promised we could have a dance here when you returned, didn't you, Charles?”

  The Colonel was hovering in the doorway. He nodded briefly. Her heart gave a little skip to hear that he had wanted to wait for her return. “So when will it be?”

  “How about tomorrow night? Charles?” she asked, turning to her brother.

  “Yes, that should be all right,” the Colonel said distractedly before he turned and left them to their feminine discourse on who to invite and how to best arrange the furniture for the ball. Mandy was just as excited as Miss Watson for the dance. They spent hours discussing the menu and refreshments and asking the servants to rearrange the furniture in different configurations.

  When the following night arrived, she wore her best dress—a green silk and taffeta affair with a plunging neckline. She wished she had some beautiful necklace to show off, but her silver locket would have to do. She pinned most of her hair back, allowing only a small portion in the back to tumble free.

  The Livingston party had been invited to dine with them before the dance and when they arrived, Mandy was introduced to Mr. Livingston, the two Miss Livingstons, and Mr. Bates, their family friend.

  “I hope you don't mind, my private secretary has just arrived from London, and I've brought him along as well,” Mr. Livingston said, and Mandy caught her breath in dismay. Mr. Bartlby.

  Bartlby looked smugly delighted—he must have known he would see her here tonight. “Yes, we are previously acquainted,” he said, shaking the Colonel's hand.

  “Indeed,” was all the Colonel said.

  Bartlby was introduced to Miss Watson and then he turned to Mandy with an excessive bow. “Miss Downy,” he said theatrically. “How lovely to see you again.”

  The feeling was not mutual. She curtsied, murmured her pleasantries, and retrieved her hand as quickly as she could, darting a glance at the Colonel, who was watching with his most wooden look. She knew it really wasn't Bartlby's fault that she never wanted to see him again. The problem was that he reminded her of her own bad behavior the night of the accident.

  When the dinner was announced, Miss Watson was the perfect hostess, calling the women by rank to precede her into the dining room. She adopted the new mode of seating arrangements, seating gentlemen and ladies alternately around the dining table so that the Miss Livingstons were seated to either side of the Colonel at the head of the table, and Miss Watson sat at the opposite end with Mr. Livingston and Mr. Bates to either side of her. Being of the lowest rank, Mandy was seated in the middle, between Mr. Bates and Miss Jane Livingston and across from Bartlby.

  “So, how long will you be in the country, Mr. Bartlby?” she asked politely.

  “Only a fortnight, I imagine. Then I shall return to take care of Mr. Livingston's business in London,” he said self-importantly.

  She murmured the appropriate sounds to that information.

  “We hear you are teaching the children perfect French,” Miss Jane Livingston ventured.

  She smiled at the lady. “My mother was French, so it's not because I've studied well—I learned it from the cradle,” she said humbly.

  “Indeed, your mother was an aristo, was she not?” Bartlby asked, looking pleased with himself for knowing.

  Mandy flushed. She wished he did not know so much about her and that he would keep his mouth shut about the information he had.

  “Oh really?” Miss Jane Livingston said with interest, and the remainder of the meal she answered questions from the lady about her mother's escape from France during the revolution.

  After the meal they retired to the drawing room, which had been arranged for dancing. Miss Watson had invited all the neighboring society to fill out the crowd, though the Livingston party and their party were really the only young people of marrying age. It was too small of a ball to use dance cards, so the gentlemen simply approached the ladies and asked them to dance.

  “Miss Downy, would you do me the honor of the first dance?” Bartlby inquired, as she'd known he would.

  She smiled wanly. “Of course,” she said. He led her to the floor and they began to dance. She managed to make inane conversation with him as she watched the other couples dancing by. The Colonel was dancing with the elder Miss Livingston and Miss Watson was gazing with rapture at Mr. Bates, her dance partner.

  The Colonel asked Mandy to dance next. He had chosen a waltz, which was a favorite of hers, but required them to be quite a bit closer to each other than other dances. He was an excellent lead, his arm wrapped f
irmly around her waist, his steps sure and clear. Despite the residual awkwardness between them, she enjoyed the feeling of him holding her close and controlling her so easily.

  She prayed he would not mention Bartlby or the incident again, but he looked as though he had something distinctly on his mind. “Miss Downy?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  He said nothing for a moment, as if he was thinking of how to phrase his words. “Have you applied for another position?”

  Oh. She tripped, missing her dance step, and he had to catch and guide her back into the dance. She bit her lip and looked at him guiltily. How had he discovered? They must have contacted him for a reference. Was he angry? “Sir, I just—” she took a breath and exhaled. “I just wanted to have a back-up plan in place in case I did not pass my probationary period.”

  His expression slowly cleared, and she felt him relax a bit. “I see. Yes, of course, the probation. That was prudent of you.”

  She was relieved that he wasn't angry. “I'm sorry—perhaps I should have informed you that I was doing so?”

  He shook his head and then shrugged. “Perhaps, but it's all right. Have you received any offers?”

  She shook her head warily. “No, sir.”

  “So you do not plan on leaving?”

  She shook her head.

  “You may consider your probationary period over, Miss Downy,” he said firmly, as if he were giving her bad news rather than good.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, venturing a look at him. For once his eyes were not boring through her. Instead, they skipped around the room, as if he were purposely avoiding her eye. In fact they did not settle on her face much at all for the remainder of the dance.

  * * *

  He certainly had not wished to marry Miss Downy.

  And yet he felt a peculiar disappointment knowing that he now did not have to offer for her. She had returned, she had not sought a new position because she could not face him, and she was pretending as if nothing had happened, all of which should have pleased him. Except that he felt strangely empty now. As if the idea of her merely being his governess was no longer enough. But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

  He felt relieved when the dance was over, though it irritated him a bit that the insipid Bartlby asked her for another dance. He asked Miss Jane Livingston for a twirl and enjoyed her good manners and pleasant conversation. He noticed Mr. Bates had asked Lucinda for a second dance as well, and though normally two dances in one night might signify an intention to marry, in this case the party was so small that it could be overlooked. He needed to be watchful, however, as Lucinda no longer had a chaperone to carefully observe her.

  At the end of the night, after the guests had departed, the three of them sat for a cup of warm milk before bed. “That was lovely. Thank you, Charles,” Lucinda said, looking happy.

  It was nice to see her spirits up again. He smiled affectionately at her. “I'm glad you've found some entertainment here in the country at last,” he teased.

  “What do you think of the Livingstons?” she asked.

  “I like them,” he said without expanding, his thoughts returning to the unpleasant fact that Bartlby had intruded into the party and had asked Miss Downy to dance twice.

  Lucinda looked impatient. “Any of them in particular?” she prodded.

  He shrugged.

  “And what do you think of Mr. Bates?” she asked eagerly.

  “I hear he's penniless,” he replied baldly. Livingston really had paid her quite a bit of attention.

  Lucinda recoiled. “Really?”

  He dragged his mind back to the conversation. “Yes. He's been to university and is a trained architect, but I think he prefers to ride the coat tails of Mr. Livingston to being a member of the working middle class.”

  Lucinda looked disconcerted. “Oh, well, yes. I suppose he did mention architecture at one point… but I thought he simply didn't have to work.”

  “Well he doesn't, does he?” he said, unable to leave out a slight condemnation in his tone. He had no patience for men who didn’t make their own way in the world.

  The following morning he woke in a foul mood, with a heaviness that sat in the middle of his chest. At breakfast, Lucinda also seemed to be in a temper. He ignored her, too confused with his own tumultuous emotions to pay hers any mind. He decided to go for a ride to clear his head.

  He cantered with Banto, his mind running in circles. Marrying Miss Downy was not necessary. Clearly she was willing to put the incident behind them, so he should follow her lead. If in a month's time he observed that she was in distress, he would know that something more had happened and he would marry her. He knew she had no desire to marry a stiff old military man like himself, but he could at least offer her comfort and honor.

  When he returned he saw Miss Downy and Lucinda sitting together embroidering and was pleased at first, until he noticed the scowl on Lucinda's face. Frowning, he stood in the doorway unobserved. He had warned the ladies about their bickering and he was fully prepared to spank them both again if necessary.

  “So, Mr. Bartlby seemed quite taken with you,” Lucinda said coldly.

  He stiffened involuntarily.

  Miss Downy spoke carefully. “I don't think so, it was just that there were so few young women to dance with.”

  “You might be well suited.”

  “If you're referring to his financial status, I suppose that's true. But I think there's more to a marriage than matching finances, don't you?”

  “Well, of course you would say so. Your ambition would be to marry above yourself, wouldn't it?”

  Miss Downy flushed with anger. “Above myself? No indeed, I would take a love match over all else any day. It's only the very narrow-minded who think that all that matters is wealth and status,” she snapped.

  “It's only the bourgeoisie who believe in love matches!” Lucinda shot back.

  “No more!” he interjected, startling them both. He'd had enough of this intolerable bickering and he especially didn't care to hear about choosing husbands. “Both of you, in my study. Now.”

  Miss Downy and Lucinda stared at him with twin expressions of horror. They slowly rose to their feet and he motioned them past him toward the study.

  “Bend over the desk and lift your skirts.”

  Miss Downy raised her eyes to his and when she took in his stern expression, they filled with tears. He felt a pang of regret that he must punish her, and his face softened in sympathy, but he merely lifted his chin toward the desk. She swallowed and lifted her skirts, bending reluctantly over the large wooden desk. Lucinda's face was angry, but she knew him well enough not to plead or argue. She leaned forward on the desk and pulled up her own skirts.

  He took his strap from the desk drawer. When the soldiers fought in the ranks they had a method for resolving it. Both were put to hard labor and neither could be excused from it until the other gave his consent. It forced them to concede to the other to save themselves. But his sister was as stubborn as he was, and he wasn't sure whether this would work. He walked to the side of her. She was holding her breath. The two hard strokes with the strap sounded loud in the quiet room. Lucinda gasped and cried out. Then he turned to Miss Downy and delivered two biting swings with his strap across her round bottom. He returned to Lucinda and delivered two more, then applied the strap twice again to Miss Downy. Tears had leaked out of her eyes by now and she was panting from the pain of it.

  “Tell me, Lucinda, has Miss Downy been punished enough?” he asked.

  Lucinda turned her cheek and stared at Miss Downy. “No,” she said, gritting her teeth, obviously blaming her for their predicament.

  “Very well,” he said, and delivered two more snaps of the strap across her buttocks and then across Miss Downy's. The governess whimpered.

  “Miss Downy, has Miss Watson been punished enough?” he questioned.

  “Yes!” she gasped. He wasn't surprised. Miss Downy was a smart woman and not particularly prideful. She
had probably caught onto his tack.

  “Lucinda, has Miss Downy been punished enough?” he repeated.

  “No!” the woman gritted again.

  He heard Miss Downy blow out her breath like a curse and he repeated, “Very well,” and brought the strap across his sister's reddened cheeks again. He struck her upper thighs on his second swing and she let out a loud yelp.

  He repeated the action with Miss Downy's poor bottom, but he did not swing as hard and he did not strike the backs of her legs.

  “Now has she, Lucinda?” he demanded.

  Lucinda's jaw was clenched and her lips were tight. Her eyes were still furious. “No!” she shouted.

  He lost patience with his sister. He brought the strap down on her again and again, at least eight times. When he stopped his heart went out to Miss Downy, who was obviously cringing in despair, fully expecting she would get equal treatment. He walked to her side and tossed her skirts down.

  “Leave us.”

  Miss Downy stood up from the desk and walked quickly out of the room, wiping her eyes, probably happy to escape.

  * * *

  She went to her room and tried to nap, but found she couldn't sleep. She felt badly about her argument with Miss Watson, not because she felt she was in the wrong, but because she understood the woman's resentment had come from her own pain. Miss Watson had been serious about Mr. Bates as a suitor but she didn't imagine the lady could forgive his financial situation. Even if she did, it seemed unlikely the Colonel would approve of the match, either.

  She sighed. She wanted to help—Miss Watson loved Mr. Bates, and unless she missed her guess, Mr. Bates loved Miss Watson, but they were hindered by his circumstances. She wondered whether the Colonel might help if he understood the full picture. He was normally very quick to read a situation, but he had seemed distracted the night before after the ball, and she didn't think he realized how much Miss Watson cared about her would-be suitor. Certainly the Colonel had wealth to spare, and connections throughout all of England. He could surely help Mr. Bates find work, if he were willing.