by Ava Sinclair
It was easy enough to leave the alley and disappear among the throngs on the London streets. Abigail felt small and lost amidst the crowds as she made her way toward the office of Nigel Portman. He was the one who’d drawn up the agreement that had made her Simon Abbott’s ward and indebted him to her father’s creditors. She would undo that. She would present herself to the barrister and correct the mistake.
Abigail avoided the sickly beggars and hid her face in the crook of her elbow when she passed hacking, hollow-eyed children pulled along by their poor parents. All classes mingled on the streets, and it was easy to see how illness could spread so readily. Keeping her face covered seemed more important now than lifting the hem of her dress, which dragged through the grey water that stood in some places along the street. By the time she reached the barrister’s office, she felt bedraggled and degraded.
As she expected, the barrister reacted with surprise when he saw her.
“Abigail Barrow!” he said. “What on earth are you doing here? Where is your guardian?”
Abigail took a seat in the chair on the other side of his desk. It occurred to her that unless she was sufficiently convincing, he would simply return her to Simon’s custody.
“He put me out,” she lied, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Put you out?” The barrister’s tone was skeptical. “Why?”
Abigail’s tears were genuine, but she continued her deception about their cause. “He discovered that I was…” She hesitated as she sought the right word. “Tainted.”
“Ah… I see.” The barrister scoffed. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. It seemed a risky proposition, his offer to marry you. And I wasn’t about to cast doubts on your virtue with his being so determined.”
“He was quite furious,” she said. “And obviously, he will now expected to be relieved of his obligation to my father’s debtors.” She paused, twisting her hands in her skirt. “He will be able to do that, won’t he?”
The barrister’s eyes narrowed. “And why would a little guttersnipe like you care whether the man who puts her out is saddled with her father’s debt?”
She looked down, shrugging her slim shoulders. “I-I don’t. I was just curious.”
“Curious, you say?” He stood. “And where will you go now?”
Abigail looked up at him. “I do not know.” She attempted to swallow the lump of fear that was growing in her throat as she sought the courage to say the next words. “I suppose the workhouse. There, at least, I can work to pay off my father’s debt.”
The barrister regarded her quietly. “It will take a lifetime.”
She nodded. “I know that. But there is no one who can pay it now.”
Nigel Portman was quiet for a moment. “Very well, then,” he said. He walked back to his desk and sat down. “Let me send a message to have someone come fetch you.” He scribbled on a piece of paper and then barked to a courier, who looked at the paper and nodded.
“I suppose you can enjoy a cup of tea before you lose your freedom,” the barrister said. He motioned now to a portly woman, whom he instructed to serve Abigail.
She considered declining, but decided to accept this one final pleasantry before seeing her life changed forever. Rain began to fall as Abigail sipped from the cup she’d been given. She watched through the window as it slid down the glass, washing away a fresh film of grime that had settled on the panes. There were two small biscuits on the plate. Abigail nibbled them both, thinking they would be the last sweets she’d probably enjoy. She doubted workhouse residents ever got sweets. Or tea.
When she heard the door open and the sound of someone entering the foyer of the barrister’s office, her hands began to shake. She could hear the barrister talking, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.
The constables had come to take her. She’d be in the workhouse soon. In her mind’s eye she saw the women who sometimes congregated on the stoop of the large brick building near the wharfs. They were dead-eyed and sickly, their fingers callused from days of labor.
Abigail stood and raised her chin. She would go with pride, at least. She would go, knowing she’d done the right thing by the one man who’d shown her love and kindness and guidance, Dr. Simon Abbott.
She gasped when the man himself appeared, filling doorway of the barrister’s office, his usually stoic expression thunderous. The barrister moved beside him, motioning in Abigail’s direction.
“Of course I was skeptical when she told me you’d put her out. And when her one concern seemed to be that you be absolved of her father’s debt, I grew more suspicious. I assume I was right to send for you.”
Simon’s eyes were on Abigail as he approached. “You were exactly right,” he said, his voice tight and his gaze dark.
Abigail suddenly felt very small before him. She could almost feel the force of his disapproval.
“What were you thinking, Abigail?” The question was quiet, but the tone demanded an answer.
“Your aunt…” she began.
“We’ll discuss this at home.” Simon took hold of her arm and turned to the barrister. “I apologize for my ward’s intrusion.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “And for her deceptiveness. Please be assured that she will not repeat this infraction.” He turned to Abigail. “Thank Mr. Portman for the tea.”
“I… thank you,” she said.
Her guardian turned her toward the door then. He did not speak as he led her to the street, where a taxi awaited. Once inside, he did not even look at her as they rode. Through the window she could see people walking past, the bedraggled, infectious horde. She understood then the risk she’d taken. He’d warned her. He’d feared contagion. He’d done everything he could to keep her safe. And rather than wait for him to return, she’d run away.
He’d come after her. He did love her. But he was also very displeased. Abigail looked down. His large hand was draped across his knee, opening and closing. She knew how that hand felt on her bottom, and now the skin there all but tingled with apprehension.
There was another taxi in front of Simon’s house when they arrived.
“Stay here,” her guardian said, his tone indicating that she’d only make things worse by further disobedience.
Abigail watched her guardian depart the taxi and walk over to the other one, which was being loaded with luggage. Beside it, an irate Aunt Helen was facing her nephew, who didn’t seem at all moved by her umbrage. Next to the older woman, Susan Henley stood with slumped shoulders, her face pale and her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
Simon’s aunt continued to protest as she was packed into the taxi. Once it had departed, he turned back to fetch Abigail.
“Out, little one,” he said, extending his hand. Abigail had to force herself to place her small hand in his larger one, the size difference again reminding her of his physical superiority, and of her helplessness.
Nurse Trinket opened the door for them, a look of relief on her face when she saw her charge.
“Goodness, but you gave us a scare, child.”
“Take her to the nursery,” Simon ordered. “Get her out of that dress and into something appropriate. And then bring her to me.”
“To the parlor, sir?” asked the nurse.
He was quiet for a moment. “No. To my bedroom.”
* * *
Upstairs there was a fire in the nursery grate. Nurse Trinket fussed over Abigail as she removed her damp dress and wrestled her wild red hair into the confines of a blue bow that matched the fresh dress she now wore. The young ward who’d left the house as an adult had been restored to her childlike image.
“He’s angry with me,” she said to the nurse.
“He was very frightened.” Nurse Trinket tucked a stray tendril of hair back into Abigail’s bow.
“I didn’t mean to scare him. His aunt…”
“I should have stayed in the dining room.” Nurse Trinket wrung her hands. “I should have listened to my instincts. I knew those awful women were up to no go
od. And when his aunt told doctor what they’d done…”
“She told him?”
Nurse Trinket’s eyes met Abigail’s in the mirror’s reflection. “Yes. She said they’d done it for your own good, and for his. Oh, he was livid, the doctor was. I’ve never seen him in such a state. He took off after you with orders that they vacate his home and never return.”
“But how did he know where to find me?” Abigail asked.
“Do you really think he doesn’t know you?” The nurse’s voice was motherly, soft. “I think there’s a bond there already deeper than either of you realize. Even before he got the note he was going to head to the barrister’s. When he saw it, when he learned that you were planning to enter the workhouse to spare him…”
“So he’s not angry?” Abigail allowed her voice to be hopeful.
Nurse Trinket did not answer. “Come along, child. He’s waiting.”
Chapter Eight: Lessons on the Bare
Simon Abbott’s bedroom was a reflection of the man. It was quiet, and a bit dark and very masculine, with paneling and bedclothes the cover of dark claret. And there was something secretive and closed about it from the massive locked wardrobe to the shutters drawn across the window.
A pool of light from the hallway preceded Abigail, who walked hesitantly into the room illuminated by two wall sconces. Her expression was one of innocent apprehension. Simon felt his heart beat faster as he studied the way she worried her lower lip with her teeth and glanced nervously at him with large blue eyes.
“When should I fetch her back?” Nurse Trinket asked.
“I’ll ring for you when I’m ready, Madge.”
The nurse shot Abigail a worried look and left, closing the door with a click behind her.
The handsome doctor faced his little ward in silence for a few moments before speaking.
“Do you have any idea the risk you took running away? Don’t you understand that the streets are teeming with all manner of contagion?”
“You go out, every day, into the thick of it,” she said by way of defense.
“That’s different,” he said. “It’s my job. And I’m an adult. You’re a…”
“A child,” she said. “Yes. I know. I was reminded of that fact by your aunt and cousin. A selfish child.”
“They had no right to demean you,” he said. “And I underestimated my aunt’s capacity for spite. I should not have put you in that situation, Abigail. I am sorry.”
“They had every right,” Abigail countered with a sad shake of her head. “Your cousin loves you, and was obviously given reason to hope of a marriage with you. Surely you understand why she did what she did.” She paused. “Now at least she can leave knowing she fought for you. That’s more than I can say for myself. I ran. I was willing to let her win.”
He moved toward her, his fists clenched. His jaw set. “Why are you saying this?”
“Because,” she said, standing her ground. “I need to. Because while you would have me live as a child, I am still an adult. And I want to be sure that you understand the adult you are will be marrying as well as you understand the hurt child inside her. I am not refined, sir.”
“Nurse Trinket can teach you proper etiquette,” he said.
“I am not educated.”
“I will hire a tutor.”
“I have no means.”
“I do not need your money.”
She stared at him. “Your aunt said your mother may withhold your inheritance from disapproval of our union.”
“I plan to write her tonight. I’ll explain that I love you, and that you are my choice. And I will tell her if she would withhold my inheritance to force me into a loveless marriage, then I will never see her again. “
Abigail furrowed her brow. “You would choose a woman you barely know over your own mother?”
“It’s not about choosing you over her, little Abigail. But I would have happiness in my life, and I will have it with you, for I already know I love you,” he said, and she gasped at this admission, and at the pained look of need that crossed the usually stoic face.
He stepped forward and took her hands in his. “I know that as a man raised to deny caring for anyone—a man who found medicine his only outlet for compassion—you are the first person for whom I’ve allowed myself attachment. And no, I cannot explain it. I’m the rational man lost in irrational feelings. I only know that I think of you every moment, Abigail. I long to be with you, to protect you. And when I thought you were lost…”
He tightened his grip then, and she cried out from surprise as he continued, his voice intense, his handsome face shadowed in the low light of the lamps. “A thousand horrible scenarios ran through my mind. I realized my own vulnerability, Abigail, in your absence. And I realized something else—the importance of impressing upon you the order of things between us.”
He walked to the bed, guiding her along. Sitting on the edge, he pulled her between his parted legs and looked into her eyes.
“I will be your husband, your guardian, your father figure, your protector. And you will obey me, because that is how I process the world—through chain of command—and I believe you need that structure as much as I need to provide it. I will protect you and care for you. But as I told you that first day, if you disobey me, I will spank your bottom beyond tears.”
“Oh, please…” Her eyes were filled with pleading, but also with something else. So she thought he didn’t know her? Well, she was wrong. Abigail needed this, he realized. And in some part of her she didn’t quite understand, she wanted this. He could tell by the fearful longing in her eyes, by how she went so sweetly over his lap, ready to welcome the security of his painful correction.
Simon pulled up the hem of her dress and this time instead of parting the pantaloons, he undid the little tie at the back of the waist and pushed them down, taking a moment to admire her shapely thighs and her round bottom with the charming dimples atop each pert buttock.
He wondered if he’d find her wet if he dipped his fingers between her legs. He longed to check, but there was another matter at hand.
“I’m going to spank you, Abigail,” he said. “Do you know why?”
“I disobeyed,” she replied.
“Be more specific.”
“I left. I put myself in danger and made you afraid.”
“And…”
He could tell she was struggling to think. He decided to help her.
“What did I forbid you to do the day I caned you? What did I tell you would earn further punishment?”
He heard her sniffle. “You told me I was not to think of myself as a burden.”
“And did you obey?”
“I’m sorry!” She looked back. “Your aunt and cousin…”
“…are evil shrews. And you are my treasure. And I will protect my treasure, even if I must cause her pain to get the point across.”
He reached over then to retrieve a strap lying on the bed, his hand finding it just as Abigail’s eyes did.
“Oh, not a strap! Please!”
He laid the doubled leather across the top of her bottom, his arm tight about her waist. Then he raised it and brought it down—hard—just above her thighs, the force of the blow driving her forward on his lap. Only the arm he’d wrapped around her waist stayed her from moving from his grasp.
Abigail cried out, and even in the lamplight, Simon could see the rectangular mark bloom across the alabaster skin. But he gave her little time to recover as he began strapping her in earnest, his hand rising and falling as she kicked and sobbed and rocked back and forth on his lap.
The doctor was an efficient man, and an efficient disciplinarian. Within moments, Abigail’s alabaster bottom had taken on a rosy, then bright red hue. She kicked her legs frantically, and between her parted thighs Simon caught a glimpse of her shaved pussy, the plump lips slightly open, the inner folds just visible.
“Will you obey your papa from now on, young lady?”
“Yes! Yes! I promise!
” Her words were barely discernable through her full-throated sobs. The bedclothes underneath her face were soaked with tears and when he suddenly lifted Abigail to her feet, the bow fell from her hair, framing her wet, reddened face with a wild tangle of red curls. She was, he decided, the prettiest little thing when she cried.
“To the corner with you,” he said, and marched her across the room. Simon put her hands atop her head and tucked the hem of her dress into the waistband, leaving her thighs and red bottom framed by the dress above and the stocking tops below. Abigail had kicked her pantaloons off during the spanking and Simon retrieved those now, and placed them on the bed beside a small wooden box which he fingered almost lovingly as he stood watching her in the corner.
He left her there for nearly an hour, watching as she shifted from foot to foot as if to evade the pain of the welts. When her shoulders heaved less and her sobs subsided to little hiccoughs, Simon finally called her over.
“Do you know what tomorrow is?” he asked. She was standing in front of him, rubbing her sore bottom in a delightfully chastened manner.
“Friday.”
“Yes. But it is also our wedding day,” he said. “And tomorrow night is our wedding night, and the night I will bury my cock in your sweet pussy and claim you as my own.”
Abigail shifted again, and he could see her squeeze her thighs together. He reached out and pressed his finger against the cleft of her pussy, pushing into the seam between her plump, bare lips. She was soaked.
“Does the idea of my filling you with my cock make your pussy throb?”
She flushed and nodded.
“Did being strapped over my knee, of knowing you were helpless, did that also make your pussy ache with need?”
She sniffled again, and it took her a moment to answer. “Am I a wanton?”
“Yes,” he said. “But that is healthy. However, I worry about your health in other areas. You are prone to nervousness, Abigail, and nurse tells me you are not eating well.”
She moved her hand over her stomach. “My tummy feels sick when I’m nervous.”