The Major's Lady

by Mia Easton

  Eunice was jerky as she stood back up and around to face her tormentor, as required.

  "Did it hurt?"

  "Yes, mistress."

  "But you deserved it, didn't you?"

  Eunice had learned how to answer. "Yes, mistress. That and more."

  "You do deserve more, don't you?"

  Eunice hated this question. She hated Rachel Tidwell. "Yes, mistress."

  "I agree. So, we'll have some more tomorrow when you come back for your other punishment."

  "But—"

  Tidwell's expression hardened and the complaint stayed unvoiced. "Count your lucky stars that I'm not dismissing you."

  Eunice felt a rush of fear. Dismissal could not happen. She'd have no other way of getting to the major. "

  "Tomorrow, when you come back, you will ask me for another whipping. Do you understand?"

  Eunice nodded. She understood it was part of Rachel's sick game.

  "If I resist your request, perhaps say that you don't really deserve another, then you will insist. Beg if necessary."

  "Yes, Mrs. Tidwell."

  "All right then. Kiss me goodnight and you may go."

  Eunice sniffed, wiped her eyes, and stepped up to Tidwell to kiss her on the lips. It was a closed mouth kiss, which would not do, so Rachel grabbed hold of her face and opened it up. Still, Eunice resisted.

  "Give me your tongue," Rachel hissed.

  Eunice relinquished and gave in to the kiss. Rachel liked it wet and deep, so that's what she gave. Rachel also liked to stroke the buttocks she'd made hot and sore.

  "Do you want to stay?" Rachel asked in a husky voice.

  Eunice considered. It might lessen her punishment tomorrow, but her ass really was on fire. "The whipping hurt," she complained.

  "It will hurt tomorrow, too."

  Eunice frowned. "I'm going."

  "Are you sure that's what you want? You've been wanting to be fucked," Rachel reminded her.

  "Didn't you hear me? My ass hurts."

  Petulance left Rachel Tidwell cold. "Go."

  Eunice turned and went after her clothes. She put them on, wincing as fabric touched inflamed skin. She turned around in time to see Rachel enjoying the sight. She straightened back up, deciding to carry her shoes.

  "Sweet dreams," Rachel said as Eunice started for the door. "I know I'll have them." There was no reply, not that she'd expected one. When she was alone again, she smiled. "I always do when I have something to look forward to."

  Chapter 12

  Liz woke early, having slept hard, and she felt more rested and refreshed than any time she could remember. "Yes," she said exultantly throwing her arms in the air. "She lives." She was comfortable in the big bed, but her full bladder propelled her out of bed. She got up and hurried to the closeted chamber pot to add to the deposit she'd made before she went to bed. "Damn, I miss plumbing," she murmured.

  She was full of energy and so anxious to see Wes, she was trembling. On some level, her cells were humming with happy, nervous vibration. As she brushed her hair and pulled it back in a ponytail to wash her face, she decided she would wear her bra and her own shoes today. She wouldn't be able to get away with it much longer, but she'd be okay for one more day, at least.

  She layered on the undergarments, selected a green silk gown and got dressed. She was working on her hair without a great deal of success when there was a soft knock on the door. "Come in," she called.

  The door opened and a strawberry-blonde maid stepped in with a tray. "Good morning, miss. I have some breakfast, if you want it," she said as she managed a curtsy. "Mrs. Tidwell said I should check."

  "That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

  "I'm Verity," the maid said as she walked in, having managed to shut the door with her foot.

  "Pleased to meet you." She watched Verity set out her breakfast on the table. "Do you happen to be any good at fixing hair?" Liz asked sheepishly.

  "Oh, yes, miss," Verity returned with a smile. "Shall I put yours up?"

  That would be awesome, nearly slipped from her lips. "Please," she said instead.

  Liz left her room a half hour later in high spirits, but her confidence waned as she made her way down the back staircase and heard male voices from the back porch. It was a fine morning, and one of the doors to the back porch stood open. She stopped and listened. The voices belonged to John Paul, Wes and another man. She couldn't see the men, but they were only yards away, probably sitting in the rocking chairs. She caught a whiff of pipe tobacco.

  "I'll take another meeting with him," John Paul was saying. "But I'm determined he'll either meet my price or I'll sell to the Coltrane brothers. At least the price they offered was due to necessity and not greed."

  "I understand," Wes said. "It was shrewd to compare what Docherty and Stoltz got."

  "Yes, and our quality is better," John Paul stated. "I sampled theirs."

  "Did you offer a sampling of yours?"

  John Paul chuckled. "Yes. I wasn't going to get away with that again."

  "So, Mister John Paul," another man said. "You was saying we rotate again but leave the top field empty?"

  "Food crops are fine there," John Paul replied. "Corn, barley, cabbage. Just not tobacco again."

  "If you're going to town tomorrow," Wes spoke up. "You should probably see to building supplies."

  John Paul grunted. "What did you estimate, Jonas? Four new houses?"

  "Two, plus another storage house and root cellar."

  "The list of supplies is made?"

  "It is, sir."

  "You want me to come with you?" Wes asked.

  "That would be good," John Paul replied. "You can help me keep a cool head with Wharton. Or at least get me out of there when I begin to lose my temper."

  The men chuckled.

  Liz felt a stab of isolation as she continued down the steps with a quiet step. She was suddenly unsure what to do with herself. Maggie would be gone for most of the day and the men had business to attend to. They all had things to attend to, and she didn't want to encroach. That's what she was, though. She was a big, fat encroacher. She'd been plopped down in the middle of their lives and now they had to deal with her. She would have been thrilled to help any of them in any way, but what could she possibly help with? She didn't know enough to help.

  She'd been given a tour of the house yesterday, so she knew the more formal rooms were in the front of the home. As one walked in the front doors, there was a grand foyer with a wide staircase before them. A seldom-used ballroom that looked like something straight out of a fairy tale was to the right, while the dining room was to the left with a table that was able to accommodate twenty-four diners. It had floor to ceiling windows, which was saying something since these were eighteen foot ceilings. Behind the dining room was an adjoining salon, behind the salon was the library, and behind that, the drawing room. In the very back on the left side was the morning room with eastward facing windows. If one breakfasted downstairs, it was generally in the morning room.

  The back foyer was nowhere near as grand as the front, but it was still impressive. Because there was both a front and back staircase, the first floor was essentially divided in half. Starting on the back right side, there was the winter kitchen, a keeping room, a gentlemen's smoking room, John Paul's office and then the ballroom. Cleverly housed underneath the staircases were water closets, each opening to another closet-like room where slops were collected by servants for disposal at a later time. It was a useful contrivance for large gatherings.

  Liz crossed her arms and started toward the front of the house. She paused at the library doors, looked in and then went in. She didn't know exactly what to do, but she would not feel sorry for herself. She would occupy herself with something worthwhile. She would improve herself. She circled the room, perusing the titles on the shelves and finally selected three different novels, Moll Flanders, Tom Jones and Robinson Crusoe. Sadly, she'd never read any of them.

  As she left the room to find a
good place to read, she was feeling a little less insecure. She would read, and later, she would take a walk and she would practice becoming an eighteenth-century lady. She didn't need to be babysat and doted on. She'd never had that in her life and she didn't need to start now. She had one hell of a lot of self-improvement to get to.

  Chapter 13

  Liz woke the following morning shaken from a nightmare. In the dream, she'd been rushing from room to room trying to find places to hide while angry, determined people hunted her, intent on killing her because she was an outsider, a dangerous outsider. It had only been a dream, but she would be feared and shunned if she was ever found out.

  "You won't be," she whispered as she ran a hand though her tangled hair. "You won't be."

  She got up to get ready. Today, a new routine was to begin. Breakfast would be served in her room and then she would be dressed and readied for the day by her maid.

  "She'll arrive at seven-thirty or eight, if you prefer," Maggie had informed her the evening before as she attempted to teach her a card game called piquet. They'd been seated at a card table in the salon after a four-course supper that included crab bisque and roast duck, while Wes and John Paul played a game of billiards on the far side of the room.

  "You choose the time and she'll come with a tray," Maggie said as she drew a card from the stock. She looked up and met Liz's eyes. "After breakfast, we'll get started with your lessons," she said in a confidential tone. "Let's meet in the drawing room at the opposite end of the second floor."

  Liz nodded. She remembered the room from the tour Wes had given her. It had beige and cream thick-striped wallcovering, lighter-colored furniture and deep red accents.

  "It's always been for my use," Maggie continued. "If I want peace and quiet after we've endured particularly loud company. Some of his army friends," she added in a whisper. "Or when I want to pout because John Paul's annoyed me." She shrugged as she studied her cards. "He knows. If I'm in my drawing room, he will see me again when I come out and not one minute before."

  Liz laughed to herself. She was trying to concentrate on the rules of the game and to what Maggie was saying, but it was not easy since Wes glanced over at her frequently. Even if she pretended not to notice, she knew when his gaze was on her. She sensed it. Naturally, he was concerned about her, but was there more to it than that? Please let there be more to it than that.

  It was such a wonder being there. As she sat at the card table across from a new friend, it occurred to her how much she liked it there. She didn't fit in yet, but she wanted to.

  A knock on her bedroom door snapped Liz from her reverie. She'd just slipped on a dressing robe and now she quickly tied it. "Come in."

  The door opened and a pretty, dusky-skinned maid of about eighteen entered with a tray in hand. Keeping her gaze averted, she curtsied. "Miss," she said.

  "Hello," Liz returned.

  The young woman carried the tray to the table and pulled the lid off, revealing scones, a slice of ham, boiled eggs and a pot of tea.

  "That looks delicious," Liz said as she came closer. Her stomach growled and she pressed a hand to it. "My stomach thinks so, too."

  The maid gave her a shy smile. Her hands were clutched together in front of her. "While you eat, I'll get your things ready for today. You want me pour?"

  "I can do it. Thank you."

  "You're welcome, Miss Gordan. I'm May."

  "Very pleased to meet you. I'm Elizabeth."

  "Miss Elizabeth," May said with a bob of her head. She started toward the wardrobe. "Any particular one you want to wear?"

  "No." Liz sat and poured a steaming cup of tea. "They're all borrowed. Mine were lost. But I'll be getting some new things soon."

  "Shame your things got gone."

  Liz murmured her agreement as she sprinkled some salt over the egg and took a bite. It was still warm. She hadn't even had to peel it. She added lumps of sugar to the tea and stirred. Even the musical ding of the spoon against the china cup felt special. No more chai tea latte in a paper cup for her.

  "How about this one?" May asked, turning with a day gown with a swirling design of ivory and soft teal.

  Liz's mouth was full, but she nodded.

  May examined it for wrinkles and then hung it back up. She pulled another out and looked it over, then hung it back up. She removed the gowns Liz had already worn and put them over her arm. "I'll be back in a little while to help you dress. Give you chance to eat in peace."

  "Thank you."

  May bobbed another curtsy and left.

  Liz leaned back in her chair, luxuriating in the moment. She shook her head slowly, because this didn't feel like her life. It felt like one she was borrowing for a short time. If that was true, if she was suddenly snapped back into her old life, she wouldn't be the same. She wouldn't ever be the same. She experienced a shiver thinking about it because she didn't want to go back. She wanted to stay right here. Some things would be harder in this era, a lot harder, but he was here. She felt more alive here. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to be able to stay.

  An hour later, Liz walked unsteadily to the upstairs drawing room with her hands on her ribcage. Her ribs felt crushed, and this was after having May loosen the stays more than once to the girl's bewilderment. Geez, Louise. Would she be able to think about anything other than how freaking miserable she was? She reached the room and went inside to work on getting a decent breath.

  "Good morning," Maggie said as she bustled into the room.

  Maggie looked effortlessly gorgeous in a deep coral gown. She seemed to be having no issues breathing. Was it just a matter of practice and endurance? "Morning."

  Maggie shut the door behind her and went to Liz, looking troubled. "I was speaking with Tidwell just now. She's our housekeeper. I'm sure I've mentioned that. Anyway, I left the selection of your maid up to her. She usually has such a knack for these things." Maggie paused, almost at a loss for what to say. "She said she sent May."

  "Yes," Liz said slowly.

  "Are you all right with that?"

  "Sure. Of course. I like her."

  Maggie sighed with relief. "Good. We have had guests who refused to have her attending them," she added reluctantly. "Being a mulatto."

  Liz was taken aback by the term, but she tried not to show it. Maggie, of all people, would never purposely offend.

  "One of them made such a scene. She threw something at May. Threw something at her. I was livid. And poor May. She cried and cried. It hadn't hurt her; it hurt her feelings. I couldn't bring myself to look at the lady after that. I'd never have her in my house again. And I told Tidwell to be careful, to be absolutely certain that May would not be put into that sort of predicament again. She is the sweetest girl." Maggie cocked her head. "What is it?" she asked curiously. "Why do you look like that?"

  "It's nothing. May is perfect for me. These stays, on the other hand—"

  Maggie smiled sympathetically. "I realize it's an adjustment."

  "I would say everything has been adjusted. I think my internal organs have been adjusted."

  Maggie shook her head, but there was a gleam of merriment in her eyes. "Today, we'll begin with deportment."

  "I think deportment will be easier than language for me, but the stays may be of assistance there."

  "Oh? How?"

  "It's hard to breathe in it, so it makes one choose their words carefully. And use them sparingly."

  Maggie brought a hand to her mouth and her shoulders shook with silent mirth. "I think it may have helped already."

  Chapter 14

  Liz stood in her room with her hands outstretched while a seamstress measured her. And measured her. And measured her. The woman was on what seemed like the thirtieth measurement. How many could possibly be needed for a few dresses? Waist, hips, bust, sleeve length, waist to floor, those all made sense, but she was measuring each side. Did she appear lopsided or something? The lady, Mrs. Bateman, measured the circumference of each arm and her neck. She measured
from beneath her bust to the floor. She measured her wrist and each finger. Okay, Liz thought. She's getting paid by the hour.

  May was across the room observing after having strapped her into the hated stays.

  "How many?" Mrs. Bateman asked, stepping back and rolling up her measuring tape.

  "How many what?" Liz asked as she lowered her arms and shook them out.

  Mrs. Bateman gave her a look. "Gowns," she said slowly as if she was a moron. "To start with."

  Liz sent May a help look and May shrugged. The woman was waiting for the answer. Clearly, she hadn't been hired for her sunny disposition.

  "How many were you told?" Liz asked hesitantly.

  "I was told to make you what you needed. That there would be several pieces."

  "Five," Liz said questioningly, looking to May again.

  May nodded and took a step forward. "Five formal," she said. "And five day gowns should get her started."

  "Colors?"

  Liz started to shrug.

  "With her coloring," May said, stepping closer and warming to the subject, "Medium blues and greens. Brown is nice this time of year. Gray, soft gray, and pink would be nice, too."

  The woman was studying Liz and nodding. "Shall I do some sketches for approval?" She looked to May for the answer.

  May started with surprise. "For the formal gowns," she replied. "Yes, please. For the day gowns," she looked pointedly at Liz.

  "We trust you," Liz said to Mrs. Bateman.

  Mrs. Bateman nodded. "To include all the appropriate accoutrements, I assume?"

  "Yes," Liz replied, although she had no idea what the correct accoutrements were. She glanced at May, who gave her a discreet nod.