His Spoilt Lady
The Adventures of Linnett Wainwright, Book One
By
Vanessa Brooks
Copyright 2014 Blushing Books and Vanessa Brooks
Published by Blushing Books at Smashwords
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Brooks, Vanessa
His Spoilt Lady: The Adventures of Linnett Wainwright, Book One
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-507-9
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Table of Contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Blushing Books
Chapter 1
The household held its breath, waiting for the enraged young mistress to leave for her daily ride. Until that time came, there would be no peace for anyone, and the cause of her rage? The lady’s father had informed her, only that morning at breakfast, that the man he had chosen for her future husband was due to arrive this very day. Since then, any of the household staff who had the misfortune to encounter the young mistress had suffered the outraged lash of her tongue. When she had finally slammed out of the house on her way to the stables, her father, Sir Thomas Wainwright, had emerged from his study, mopping his brow with his kerchief. He had hidden himself there after imparting the momentous news that so upset his daughter.
The household relaxed again, breathing a communal sigh of relief as the girl was seen to gallop away from the house. The staff, meanwhile, continued with preparations for their important guest: the finest sheets were placed on the bed, flowers arranged throughout the house, silver polished and cake and puddings baked in abundance. Despite all the fuss that had been called for, the staff privately thought the young man’s suit bound to fail, for rumour had it that the young mistress’s heart was engaged elsewhere. The rumour had come from the person of one Lottie Brown, the young mistress Linnett’s personal maid.
When word had reached Lavenstock Hall that at long last, Sir Thomas’s ship, The Tempest, had docked at Plymouth, the coachman Davis, who had been on standby for the past week, made haste to the port to fetch the important guest.
Whilst Linnett sought refuge from her irritation with a long gallop on her beloved horse, Pango, a certain John Foster disembarked from his ship, gratefully climbed into the large dark green coach that his English host had courteously sent to fetch him and promptly fell asleep.
John awoke and leant back against the comfortable leather seat, stretching his long legs until his joints cracked complainingly, then gave an all-encompassing yawn followed by a grateful sigh. It had been a rough sea crossing and a long one. Normally at this time of year, the trip from the American colonies took about eight weeks, but high seas and bad weather had delayed the return to England by another six days. It was a tremendous relief to be ashore. John was not a man who took kindly to a long period of inactivity for he was an athletic fellow who enjoyed physical hard work.
Half opening his eyes, John gazed sleepily out of the small window. It was May in England, and the hedgerows were full of hawthorn blossom. The leaves on the trees were gently unfurling into soft light greens and pale yellows, and other trees were already in bud. The scented promise of a summer not far away hung sweet and heavy in the air. As the soft rolling green countryside of Devon rolled by, John relaxed, enjoying the sights and smells that only an English spring could offer. He found himself pondering the health of his host, an old and dear school friend and former business partner to his late father.
Sir Thomas was now John’s business partner since he had inherited his father’s half of the business. John had been invited to stay at Sir Thomas Wainwright’s country estate at Lavenstock Hall. This was for the express purpose of looking over Linnett Wainwright, the daughter of Sir Thomas Wainwright, to assess whether she would suit as his wife. John sighed heavily. He was under pressure from both sides of the Atlantic; John’s mother, who also resided in Boston, had her heart set on the match. Sir Thomas Wainwright was equally adamant that his girl and John would suit each other; both parents were keen to strengthen the business ties with a family tie. So here he was -- a browbeaten man sent on an arduous journey to look over a chit of a girl he hardly remembered (and then only as small, fair, rather spoilt and precocious young miss). John doubted the girl’s suitability on the grounds that a gently raised English miss would not endure the rigours of the Colonies, let alone the arduous sea voyage required to reach the shores of the Americas.
The cumbersome coach lumbered on, the rolling motion lulling John into a much needed nap. Eventually, they passed through the lodge gates at Lavenstock. The coach lurched while making the awkward turn and John’s head snapped forward, rudely awakening him. Glancing blearily through the half opened window, John could see atop the brow of the hill a horse and rider, who, upon seeing the coach, turned towards it riding at breakneck speed down the slop of the hillside. John held his breath, admiring the fluid movement of horse and rider as they seemed to merge as one, the horse, a large black beast raced along with its tail held high, the rider lying forward, almost flat over the horse’s neck.
At first, John had thought the rider to be a man due to the fact that the rider was astride the horse, but he now perceived in profile the soft curves and shape of a woman. She had a mane of fair, russet hair, and it streamed out behind her, glinting, catching the sun’s rays. John saw her physical outline clearly as she swung her horse around, could this possibly be the girl that he had come to meet? Intrigued, he watched her disappear around the side of the hill, and then he sat back in his seat, wide awake at last and feeling a strong sense of anticipation.
As the coach swept along between the rolling hills, a view of Lavenstock Hall emerged, its old twisted chimneys standing high above the trees. The house sat nestled in a small valley surrounded by parkland. The structure was originally built around Saxon times, hence the name ‘Hall,’ and different generations of Wainwrights had added to the original building over the centuries. For the most part, the house was Elizabethan in style, the windows mainly diamond-shaped and set in stone mullion. The architectural mix worked well, and the house had a mellow and welcoming appearance. At last, they drew up outside Lavenstock Hall, scattering gravel as the coachman bought the coach to a flourishing halt. John was met by Sir Thomas Wainwright himself, beaming a jovial smile as he descended the Hall’s wide shallow steps, his arms flung wide in welcome. “John Foster at long last. Wonderful to see you, m’boy! How is your dear mother? She keeps well, I trust?”
John stepped forward, holding out his hand with a warm smile, lightening the dark severity of his rather harsh features. A tall man, he stood a head taller than his host. John silently assessed his host’s health, studying him closely. He knew that his partner had suffered a seizure before Christmas, and although Sir Thomas Wainwright had written assuring them of his recovery, John and his mother were extremely concerned. It was partly this concern that had prompted John’s decision to travel back to England and consider the suggestion that he should marry Linnett Wainwright. John noted Sir Thomas’s skin had a yellowish hue, his lips underneath his large white moustache holding a tinge of blue, and even his hazel-brown eyes appeared to have a grey film across the surface. John frowned, deciding that it was a good thing he’d decided to visit.
“Something wrong, m’boy?” Sir Thomas said, turning anxiously to his guest.
“No, Sir Thomas, nothing...Mother is extremely well, I thank you. She sends you her regards and trusts that your health has much improved.” Sir Thomas placed a friendly hand on John’s shoulder. “I couldn’t be better lad; I tell you, leeches are the answer! A good bleed put me to rights. Upset m’ daughter I can tell you, she don’t take to me being bled, disagrees with the practice. I think it’s just a case of a female’s natural squeamishness. My wife was the same, don’t you know. Now come along inside; you must be exhausted!”
Gravel crunched as the coach pulled slowly off to the coach yard at the back of the house. Two footmen ran down the steps and gathered John’s luggage. Sir Thomas turned and led the way into the house, John following and answering questions regarding his journey that Sir Thomas flung cheerfully back over his shoulder.
On their arrival into the entrance hall, they met a young woman coming through from the rear of the house. She wore a dark green riding habit, her skirts unusually split down the middle. John guessed that this must be the rider he had watched from the coach. Sir Thomas went forward to greet her. “Well met Linnett m’dear! You remember John Foster, do you not?”
Sir Thomas Wainwright beamed cheerfully at his daughter. She drew herself up straight, her back rigid, her haughty but beautiful face expressionless, one foot poised on the bottom stair, ready to ascend. Glancing only briefly at John, she spoke directly to her father. “I may vaguely recall him, Papa” she replied in a disinterested tone. John stared, drinking in her looks; such an extremely beautiful girl, with a mass of dark russet gold hair the colour of wild honey, her build slender but full busted. It was her eyes, however, that caught John’s attention; they were certainly her most striking feature, a clear translucent green, almond-shaped and almost uncannily cat-like. John took a step forward, determined that the beauty should notice him.
“How do you do, Miss Wainwright?” he enquired politely. Linnett Wainwright raked her gaze over him insolently before turning her back on John and speaking only to her father. “Papa, I shall have a bath and prepare for dinner.” She spun and was gone, running lightly up the stairs disappearing from view. John raised an eyebrow. Whew! Well she may be a rare beauty, but no one had ever taught her any manners, thought John. Sir Thomas Wainwright was florid with embarrassment.
“So sorry, John, my fault entirely. I’ve quite spoiled her, you know, understandable now you see what a delectable little thing she is. Actually, she doesn’t mean to be rude, just her little way you know. Now come along in, how about a brandy, m’boy? Follow me.” He led the way into his comfortable library, where a fire burned cheerily in the large stone hearth, the yellow flames throwing reflections onto the many richly adorned books that lined the walls. The warm flickering light picked out the odd gleam of gold lettering on the books’ spines. After pouring out two goblets of brandy, Sir Thomas gestured John towards the chairs placed invitingly either side of the welcoming fire. They both sat in companionable silence for a while, sipping the warming liquid and contemplating the flames.
Eventually Sir Thomas spoke. “So to business, John: have you any more information about that pirate rogue Jacques?”
John shook his head. “Nothing, the man is like an eel; each time he slips away without a trace. Still we are lucky we’ve not lost as much to him as others. George Hayden has been unlucky, a whole cargo of the finest silks and satins, gold leaf for braid and ribbon. He has lost a small fortune.” Sir Thomas reached up and scratched under his wig thoughtfully. “All that finery being worn by those poxy French whores by now, I shouldn’t wonder. God damn the man to hell and back! Those Frenchies don’t even drink tea! Wonder where our cargo ended up, eh?”
John laughed and shook his head. “We shall never know. He will have got a good price for it, of that you may be sure. Tea is worth almost as much as gold these days! Providing we don’t experience any more misfortunes of the kind, we can cope with the loss of one cargo. We were lucky not to lose the ship as well. Our next shipment out is in three weeks, aboard the Tempest. Do you plan to travel with it on your return to Boston?” Sir Thomas rose to fetch the brandy decanter, and John nodded assent to his enquiring gaze, holding out his goblet for a refill.
“That was my plan, yes. There is a problem, though. This tea levy that Lord North has introduced -- the colonists are enraged by what they see as an attempt by the English Government to redeem their losses from the war with France by exploiting them. So they are simply not buying tea,” John explained, shaking his head.
Sir Thomas looked thoughtful. “Well, there was a great fuss made about the Declaratory Act in ‘66, after the Stamp Act was repealed in Parliament. That blew over, but I tend to think this will lead to a temporary dip in relations with America, only a minor business setback I am sure.”
John shook his head pensively. “I wish I could share your confidence, sir, but the mood in Boston is very anti-English, especially now with a garrison stationed in the town. Mother, however, continues to hold her lavish tea parties, and so far has kept up at least our regular sales.”
Sir Thomas chuckled, saying, “Wonderful woman your mother, has a head for business as sharp as any man! Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look at the possibility of carrying some other cargoes, just in case this gets out of hand. You are still adamant I suppose that we shouldn’t touch on the slave market?” John nodded his face grim, “I will not be involved in trading in human misery, Sir Thomas.”
“Well, well, we could think about cloth then eh? The mills in the North of England are churning out some wonderful materials, thanks to the new machinery and at a good price, too. We could make quite a profit, I’d be bound. Leave that to me; I’ll make some enquiries, my boy. Now then, what do you think of my girl Linnett, a little beauty eh?”
John sipped his brandy, pondering his careful reply. “She is certainly a rare beauty. I wonder, though...will I have enough time to court her? She seemed a trifle, er, frosty, when we were introduced just now. Three weeks seems a short time to woo a reluctant bride. Have you told her of your intention to arrange this match for her?”
“Well, ye....es... I said what a handsome fellow you were and told her that you were my partner in business now that your father had passed on. I said it would be a splendid thing if the two of you made a match. Linnett’s a little umm, highly strung….all came as a bit of a shock for her!” Sir Thomas refilled John’s glass. “Give it a few days, John. I know my girl, see if I don’t! She’ll come around. Why, I’ll wager by this time next week, you will have her eating out of your hand!”
Chapter 2
During the next few days, John had difficulty spending any time at all in Linnett’s company. She was always out of doors, generally riding. Sir Thomas’s appeal to her to show John the estate was simply ignored. After a spending a day or two trying to track the elusive Miss Wainwright down, John was despairing of ever having the opportunity to acquaint himself with her. He enlisted the help of an under-groom at great cost -- a gold sovereign no less. The groom was to let him know when Linnett next went out riding for he was to have a horse saddled and ready for John’s use. Word duly came that Linnett had requeste
d her horse Pango to be ready for ten o’clock that morning, the third since John’s arrival at the Hall.
John hurried for his horse only to see his quarry disappearing out of the stable yard at a canter, into a chilly morning lit by bright, pale sunshine. Muttering a curse, he yelled for the boy to bring round his horse quickly, but by the time John had ridden after her, Linnett was out of sight. John rode in the direction he had first seen her on the day of his arrival. He gave the horse its head and urged him on at speed, both man and horse enjoying the freedom and exhilaration of the ride.
John slowed his horse to a trot, and they were approaching a thicket of trees when a rider suddenly burst forth and galloped away in the direction John had just travelled. It was, without a doubt, Linnett Wainwright, her hair flying out behind her like a streak of bright lightning. John urged his horse forward and gave chase. Linnett knew that he was pursuing her and determined to lose him. John, however, was an excellent horseman and had no intention of losing sight of his quarry again. They raced on until, to Linnett’s furious dismay, John drew alongside of her mount, riding at breakneck speed for a mile or so until he drew close enough to lean over and grab Linnett’s reins. Holding tight to the leather halter, he gradually slowed both horses to a walk, all the while calming Linnett’s mount with soothing words in his deep American drawl.
Indignantly, Linnett tried to slap John’s hands away from the reigns, but to no avail. She turned on him furiously, her green eyes flashing with rage. “You utter fool! What do you think you are doing? You might have killed me!” John studied Linnett’s flushed face, his eyes then straying to the swell of her rounded breasts, and immediately he experienced a tightening in his loins. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, trying in vain to ease the uncomfortable increasing tightness of his breeches. He was most pleasantly surprised by his body’s instant reaction to the girl. A smile twitched at his lips as he attempted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Oh, come now. I think you exaggerate, Miss Wainwright, a fine horse woman such as yourself? It would take at least a thunderbolt to unseat you.”
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