An Unacceptable Arrangement

by Victoria Winters

  An Unacceptable Arrangement

  An Unconventional Marriages Story

  By

  Victoria Winters

  Copyright 2014 by Blushing Books and Victoria Winters

  Published by Blushing Books at Smashwords

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Winters, Victoria

  An Unacceptable Arrangement

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-3808

  Cover Design by edhgraphics.blogspot.com

  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

  Epilogue

  Blushing Books

  Chapter 1

  Deep in the countryside of England, a monumental estate stood on 14,000 acres of land. It was a five-mile ride from the town of Hampton, just north of London. This ancient ancestral home housed the current Duke and Duchess Newblythe and their five offspring; Hayden at age twenty-two was the oldest and the heir, Cassandra, nearly nineteen, Reginald, the twelve-year-old spare heir, and the two youngest girls, Emily, age six, and four-year-old Violet.

  After lunch on a lovely day in April in the year of our Lord 1871, Arthur and Eveline Newblythe, called their eldest daughter Cassandra to her father’s study. There she found her parents smiling with pride at their lovely daughter. She smiled back, certain that they were going to congratulate her on how well her coming out ball of the night before had gone.

  Instead her father announced that she had been promised in marriage to a German Baron and would be wed the following day. Cassandra froze in place, her mouth hanging open, certain that her father was jesting and waited for the punch line.

  After several moments of silence, her mother nervously began to speak. “We are decorating the chapel darling, and planning a lovely luncheon afterwards. Won’t that be nice?” She shot a nervous glance at her husband and looked back at Cassandra meaningfully. Cassandra knew that look; it was a signal from mother to daughter not to say or do anything to set her father off. His temper was legendary.

  “Chapel. You mean the family chapel through the grove?” Cassandra asked slowly, biting off each word as if she could hardly believe she was saying it. Cassandra had inherited her father’s sensible nature and was not at all amused by this ridiculous plan.

  “Yes dear, and cook is making a wedding cake right now. The staff is polishing the silver; tables are being set up in the dining hall. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Her mother began wringing her hands, unnerved by the growing tension in the room. Both father and daughter were beginning to bristle and she prayed there would not be a showdown.

  Cassandra grew silent. She looked at both of her parents' faces. Surely this was in jest. Her father awaited her response. When none was forthcoming, he shrugged and sat at his desk, returning to his ledgers. Cassandra glared at him; clearly this announcement meant no more to him than if he’d just announced that it was going to rain.

  “Come along dear,” her mother continued soothingly. “We have a dress for you to try on. Madeline is waiting to fit you.” She gave her daughter her most winning smile.

  Finally Cassandra found her voice, “But, but, I don’t understand. Do I know this man? Have we ever even met? What does he want with me? Why are you going along with this?” Cassandra began to panic as she moved in closer to confront her parents. Arranged marriages were so old fashioned, one did not hear of them much anymore and even when they did occur, the participants were betrothed for some time in advance. Daughters weren’t just given away to complete strangers, were they?

  “Control yourself, child,” her father huffed. “This is a very good marriage for you. He is a Baron with a large estate. I have spent a great deal of time carefully arranging this union. You will wed on the morrow. Now, go with your mother.”

  “An estate - in Germany! Who cares?” Cassandra raised her voice, as she realized that her father was serious. “Father, did you not hear that the ball last night was a huge success? I had scores of fellows – viscounts, earls and dukes, even princes – vying for a dance. I was the envy of every girl there. Why would you throw that all away and banish me to a foreign country forever?

  “I don’t care if you danced with the Prince of Wales himself; you will wed Baron Frederic Von Dresden tomorrow at noon,” he replied, his eyes flashing in anger. Cassandra was being impudent. She would marry a chimney sweep if he so decreed it. The girl clearly needed a lesson in obedience.

  “At lunch? You are giving me away in the family chapel at lunch tomorrow? To a stranger I have never laid eyes on?” Her voice became shrill in her mounting panic, her rage beginning to build. She desperately tried to check her rising anger, which never got her anywhere and decided to try a softer approach.

  “Papa, since I was a little girl, mother has spoken of my wedding day, of how I would be wed at St. Paul’s Cathedral to a high ranking member of the nobility. She said that there would be hundreds of guests in attendance and a formal ball afterwards.” Cassandra began to cry tears of frustration. “And now you plan to give me away in the chapel over lunch to some random fellow who happened to be walking by?”

  “The Baron is hardly some random fellow!” Arthur roared. “He...” He stopped cold, fearful that he had almost said too much. “Go with your mother, girl!” he thundered. He refused to engage in an argument with a little snit of a girl over matters too important to leave to her whim. Oh, he could reassure her that her groom was not a bad looking fellow who seemed quite smitten with her and was, most importantly, one of the wealthiest, most powerful men in Europe, but he had no intention of catering to her emotions. She was his daughter and would obey him and that was that.

  Cassandra was not going to be bullied about as her mother always was and she was not afraid to stand up to her father. She’d inherited both her father’s red hair and his temper, and now she felt that temper flare. She turned her back on her parents, trying to calm herself, willing herself not to speak until she could regain control. Her brain raced... what had it all been for? The French finishing school, the expensive debutante wardrobe she would never get to wear, the years of learning to curtsey and simper and present herself as a well raised, proper daughter of the nobility. All the attention to her appearance and comportment – what had it all been for? To be given away sight unseen to the highest bidder? She was being tossed out of the house like a bag of droppings. Clearly her parents did not care about her happiness at all. Her questions were the flashpoint igniting the fury she felt.

  She whirled a
round and began to yell. “I have no intention of marrying some stranger and being exiled to Germany. I will have the wedding and the life that I have been promised. I will have my season and ultimately I will choose whom I marry. And it won’t be to some stodgy, unpleasant old foreigner.” She declared haughtily to her father, “If you want this union so badly sir, YOU marry him!”

  Her father glared back and slowly rose to his feet. The look on his face was thunderous. Any girl with any sense would have curtseyed at this point and backed slowly out of the room, but Cassandra was past caring what her father thought. She was beginning to hate him; he had robbed her of any chance for happiness and ruined her life! She stood her ground, hands on her hips and glared back at him, nose to nose, daring him... just daring him... to speak.

  The next thing she knew, Lady Cassandra Newblythe lay bare bottomed over the raised arm of a chair in her father’s study as he snapped a birch rod down on her writhing cheeks. She hissed and mewed and waggled her bottom to and fro but refused to cry out.

  Her father stopped and wiped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief. Cassandra had broken position in her exhaustion and was lying over the arm of the chair unmoving. She didn’t care if he spent the rest of the day whaling away on her bottom though; she would not obey. She looked back at her father; he was staring down in wonder at the state of her punished behind. He looked into her face, seeking to gauge whether she’d had enough. She caught his eye and slowly said, “You can birch me forever, father. I am not marrying that man.”

  Cassandra’s resolve faltered as she stole a glance at her mother. Usually her mother looked away or even wept when Cassandra was being chastised but this time mother stared at her, looking as unmoving and determined as father. For the first time, Cassandra sensed she might be fighting a losing battle.

  Her father lifted his arm and Cassandra clenched her cheeks. She dropped her head and swayed her back, lifting her bottom as if she were asking for punishment, then relaxed her buttocks proving to him that she was not afraid to take more. Only then did he strike - the hardest blow yet. It was agony on her tenderized bottom. Still Cassandra held her tongue, determined not to break. They were two very stubborn people.

  He began to strike fast and furiously. Usually he gave a count and struck slowly and methodically, drawing the punishment out and making it last as long as possible, each solitary stroke being etched into her disbelieving mind. But this time there was no count. Cassandra lost track of the number of times the rod had fallen. Bits of twigs were flying about as he broke the rod on her scarlet cheeks. She heard someone cry out in agony and then realized to her dismay that the voice she heard was her own. He continued to strike rapidly, not giving her time to gather her wits. Soon she was shrieking, and then screeching.

  “Sir, please Sir! Please not so hard, Stop... Papa... stop... Yeeowww, I can’t take it!” she heard herself beg. She was babbling and kicking and then she didn’t have the strength to do even that. She lay there unmoving as he continued to strike until she reached a twilight place where she would have agreed to anything, anything at all, to get that rod to stop falling. Finally... finally she sobbed her submission.

  Before she even realized the birching had stopped, her mother helped her up and turned her against the wall and she automatically held up her skirts. She knew better than to rub and that this display would be required, that she show her red, striped bottom to her chastiser and anyone else in the room who cared to look upon it. She could not help shifting from foot to foot though, moving her cheeks about trying desperately to cool them. Normally she would be scolded for this and perhaps given a swat as a reminder to settle down, but this birching had been so severe that her parents seemed to be allowing her this departure from the norm. She leaned her forehead against the wall and tried to stop crying.

  As Cassandra fought to regain composure, her mind strayed to the previous night. She had been in her element. It was the evening she’d been preparing for her entire life. Just that day she had been presented at court and finally found herself at the opening ball of the debut season. She was having the time of her life and savoring every moment. The Season had begun, kicking off months of festivities designed to bring all the young daughters of the peerage who had reached their majority out to high society. Cassandra was finally a part of the current marriageable crop.

  Cassandra had looked around at all the girls arrayed like flowers in their colorful gowns, each one prettier than the next. Each had a dance card dangling from her wrist and hers was already filled. She’d caught more than one eager swain trying to write his name in for more than one dance but she’d scolded them, playfully shaking her finger and waggling her head no as she’d implored them to be fair and let everyone interested have a turn. There seemed to be many who were interested. She had even caught the Prince of Wales himself looking in her direction on more than one occasion.

  There had been a wide variety of gentlemen in attendance - old, young, tall, short, skinny and fat - most of whom she knew or knew of. There was one gentleman in particular who kept catching her eye. He was tall and handsome with a shock of brown hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Her eyes were blue-grey but his were as blue as the sky. There was something a bit... military... about him. The girls quickly dubbed him The Mystery Man.

  When the music began her first dancing partner was Viscount Whitney, the future Earl of Stafford. She smiled at him as he began to whirl her around the floor. He was small in stature but a good dancer, a strong lead, and she enjoyed herself very much. She toyed with the idea of a husband who was a good dance partner and would one day be an Earl. It seemed promising.

  After several turns around the dance floor – and several more partners – she took advantage of a break in the music to escape to the ladies room. The girls were all atwitter with excitement. Her closest friend Nanette grabbed her elbow and the two girls squealed. This was their first adult evening and their heads were whirling with the attention.

  “Did you see who I last danced with?” Nanette asked.

  “Yes, wasn’t that one of the Wimbledon boys?”

  “He’s a second son but very handsome. I quite like him,” Nanette replied.

  Cassandra, being more sensible than her foolish friend, admonished her, “Keep your options open, Nanette. Don’t give your heart to anyone you meet here tonight. Let yourself be pursued. The cream will rise to the top.”

  Nanette nodded but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Cassandra sighed; this was not a time in life to make foolish decisions. Much rested on making a good match this all-important year. It was crucial to not be on the marriage mart for too long. Even with a pristine reputation, one could not help looking picked over after a couple of years. Also, to jump into marriage with someone who did not stand to inherit – what would be the point? Life would always be a struggle.

  There was a lot of gossip about who had danced with whom and which men were the best catches. Cassandra smiled serenely and refused to join in. She wasn’t as man crazy as some of the girls. She knew that as the daughter of a Duke, she would make a good match. It didn’t hurt that she was small and curvaceous with ginger curls. No one in particular had caught her fancy, and she was determined not to give her heart away to just anyone. She would choose carefully - a man who was well established, who was in love with her – that was the important thing. He should also have a kind face and a genteel manner. She didn’t want some coarse, caveman type. She also didn’t want someone who had a temper. She was hotheaded like her father and she needed the balance of a levelheaded man who thought before he acted. With this laundry list of necessary qualities swirling in her head, she headed back out to the dance floor.

  Her mother was seated to the side along with the other chaperones. She walked over and sat beside her.

  “What do you think, dear? Do any of the gentlemen catch your eye?” her mother sweetly inquired.

  “That’s not important, Mother. What counts is who I am catching the eye of. I will t
hen choose whom I wish to wed out of my admirers.” Her mother sighed and sweetly smiled at her. Her Cassandra – such a focused, logical young woman and, like all virgins, rather unforgiving in her outlook. They all thought they knew everything.

  Cassandra looked over at the men gathered to one side of the ballroom. Just then she saw the blue-eyed mystery man watching her. She was curious about him; if he was interested why hadn’t he signed up for a dance? He didn’t seem to be dancing with anyone really, just standing there watching. She leaned over to ask her mother if she knew who he was but just then the music started and her next partner was bowing to her, his hand extended. It was Peter Hawthorne, the widowed Duke of Crandon – tall, blond and bland, but he would make a very good catch. There would be quite an age difference, though there were advantages to marrying one who had already inherited. Would she consider that much of an older man? He had to be at least fifty. She would have to defer to her parent’s wisdom on a matter such as that. She spoke to him as they whirled about the dance floor. There was sadness in his eyes that made her want to cheer him up.

  “Tell me, my Lord, are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Rather so my dear, although I have been to several of these balls before. But you, this is your first, are you enjoying it?”

  She liked that he thought of her and not just of himself. “Yes, very much sir, thank you for asking.” She tried to remember when his wife had died. Three years ago or was it four? He should be ripe to take another.

  Just then someone tapped him on the shoulder and she gasped when she realized who it was. The Crown Prince himself was cutting in, asking for a dance! She flushed as the Duke bowed and placed her hand in the Prince’s. What a coup! She glanced at the other girls; all in her vicinity were staring enviously. She curtseyed to His Majesty and then they began to dance.

  The evening became a blur after that, as one charming fellow after another swirled her around the dance floor. Some were neither attractive nor good dancers but she didn’t hold that against them. She was looking for qualities in a mate that were more substantial than handsome features or gracefulness. She didn’t feel a bit tired; she could have danced all night! Some of the girls had sat out some of the dances but her dance card was full. She had only sat down that once when she had spoken briefly to her mother.