The Harlot Bride (8 page)

“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.

“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 what 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.

“Oh, never mind that,” Mary scolded. “Stand up, quick now, and step into these.” She was holding out a pair of drawers, the loose old–fashioned kind made of thin muslin.

Lucy, caught up now in the maid’s obvious disquiet, and anxious to have herself covered again, stood as best she could while trying to preserve her modesty, and put in one foot, and then the other into the proffered underthings, and allowed Mary to turn her about so she could fasten the drawstring tie at the back.

“Why, they’re all open down the middle,” Lucy cried out in surprise, looking down to see that the fabric wasn’t properly stitched at the seam between the legs. The two sides gaped open right at the middle, and, much to Lucy’s shock and dismay, allowed a bit of her ladies’ tuft to protrude into plain sight. Bending forward, Lucy grabbed at the cloth and tried to pull the gap closed. “Why ever would anyone make such a garment?” she exclaimed as she endeavored to regain some degree of modesty.

“Oh, why do you think, Miss Smarty Pants?” said Mary at the rear, just finishing up the tie. “They’re drawers for naughty girls who need plenty of spankings.” And with that, the impudent maid gave a smack at the bum cheeks that peeped through the gap in the back.

“Oh!” Lucy cried, jumping forward, too stunned by what Mary had said to protest the shocking liberty she’d just taken with Lucy’s person.

Next, Mary made her put on a childish white blouse, without any sort of covering or binding for her chest, so the material fell directly upon the nipples of her breasts. Thankfully, there was a pleated front that hid them from view, but what Mary knew, and Lucy had yet to learn, was that the pleats hid two lengthy slits, one to each side of the button placket, that had been sewn in at his Lordship’s explicit instructions. Thus, the blouse provided far less protection to those tender nibs than Lucy had imagined.

Moving quickly, Mary helped Lucy into a dark blue skirt of a childishly brief length, and a simple white pinafore over all. Then she pushed Lucy into the chair so she could fix the white stockings with garters, and buckle on a pair of nursery shoes.

Lucy took this all in silence, grateful to be covered, at least, and perhaps stunned by all that was happening so early in the morning and after such an upsetting night. But when Mary picked up her hairbrush off the bedside table and some white ribbons from bundle on the bed, Lucy really had to protest.

“No ribbons!” she objected. “I want you to do my hair as you always do it.”

“His Lordship said you was to have ribbons and that’s what you’ll have!” Mary insisted, and started brushing Lucy’s hair out. “’E says you’re nothing but a naughty girl and you’ll be dressed…wha’dhe say? Oh yes ‘a–ccordinly,’ when he turns you ore his knee!”

“He said that?” Lucy said, turning quite pale.

“Oh yes, he said that ‘n more! Oi don’t ‘spect you’ll be sitting for a meal today or tomorrow neither!” Mary said, practically cackling with pleasure. “You’ll be standin’ at the mantle!”

Lucy was quite unable to reply to this, and Mary seemed content to focus on her work, brushing Lucy’s hair down long over her shoulders and taking up the sides with the two white ribbons. When that was done, Mary spoke with a little more regard for Lucy’s emotions.

“Oi don’t know what you done last night, Miss Lucy, but you’ve made His Lordship cross with you, “she said gently, “and there’s always a price to pay for crossing his Lordship. I hope you learn from this spanking today, because he won’t stop the thrashings until you’re well and tamed.”

And hearing steps in the hall way, Mary lowered her voice and pushed Lucy to her feet.

“Stand up! And look down, like you’re well and proper sorry! An’ whatever you do, don’t fight him, or he’ll just thrash you all the harder!” And as the door swung open, Mary curtsied. Eyes to the floor, she called out politely, “She’s ready, milord.”