Papa’s Joy: Little Ladies of Talcott House, Book 3

by Lyndon, Sue

  * * *

  Papa was spanking her bottom hole.

  Daisy could scarcely believe it. He swatted her twice more, directly atop her pucker, though these slaps with his fingers came nearly as light as the first one had. At least he wasn’t hitting this particularly sensitive area of her bottom very hard. She suspected it was more about him driving his lesson home with a bit of humiliation. And she indeed felt shamed. Thoroughly so. She would never, ever speak so boldly to her papa again. Now that she understood he had a stern, no-nonsense side to him, she planned to be on her best behavior for the rest of her life.

  The final two swats stung, but they weren’t unbearable. Afterward, Papa still kept her bottom splayed apart. She wondered if he meant to put his finger inside her there once more. She wouldn’t protest if he did, for she wished to be in his good graces again. She desperately wanted his forgiveness, to see him gaze upon her with kindness gleaming in his dark eyes.

  “Your pucker is a bit pinkened now, little girl.”

  Oh, if she hadn’t already felt embarrassed, his words would have done the trick. Shame rushed through her anew, making her hot all over and causing her lower lip to quiver as fresh tears burned in her eyes.

  “Naughty little girls get ouchie bottoms and ouchie bottom holes in my household, Daisy. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Now, come here, sweet girl.” With that, he released her bottom and turned her over on his lap. She kept her gaze on his chest, feeling uncertain and shy.

  She didn’t think she would be able to look into his eyes for quite some time. Not after he’d just scolded her, spanked her, and even punished her bottom hole. It was far, far too embarrassing. Tears burned more fiercely in her eyes and she blinked rapidly, trying to keep herself from crying. She’d never known such shame and remorse during a chastisement before.

  “Daisy, look at me. Look at your papa.”

  She tried. She really tried. But the second her gaze collided with Papa’s, she burst into tears and could no longer see anything, let alone her papa’s handsome gaze. She didn’t know if he still looked angry. But he gathered her close to his chest, close to his heart, and rocked her gently as he stroked her hair and her back. His sudden gentleness, so soon after punishing her, was a balm to her soul.

  “Shh, my sweet little miss. All is forgiven. Papa still loves you, very much, in fact.”

  He loved her? She tried to remember if he’d ever told her so before, and she was certain he hadn’t. Not precisely. Her heart soared with gratitude—not only had he forgiven her for her naughtiness, but he also loved her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight, sniffling as she tried to stop the flow of tears. She had started crying out of misery, but now she was crying tears of relief and joy.

  “Oh, Papa,” she said. “I love you, too. I think I have loved you since I first saw you at Talcott House, even when I believed you would marry another. I-I’m not entirely proud to admit it, but I felt jealous when I thought my friend would become your bride. You were the most handsome man I had ever seen, that morning when you stepped out of the carriage.”

  He tucked her hair behind her ears and cupped her face, forcing her to hold his gaze. Her tears were slowing, and he gave her a smile of reassurance which warmed her heart and put her at ease. Perhaps having a papa who punished her when she was naughty wasn’t a bad thing. If she misbehaved and her papa didn’t care enough to discipline her, she supposed that would be a far worse circumstance to find herself in, even if her bottom still stung from her spanking.

  Lady Miselda’s words about lessons suddenly drifted through her mind.

  “You must contend with your impulsiveness and tendency to overreact and jump to conclusions, as well as your tendency to give in to your insecurities.”

  She resolved to think before she acted or spoke in the future, and she very much hoped this was the only instance of unpleasantness—this one spanking—that their marriage had to endure. The fortune teller had also mentioned Lord Kensington had a darkness in his past he needed to learn to live with. Hm. Perhaps this darkness was the death of his parents or some other loved one. He did live in this big house all by himself. Once upon a time, he must have been part of a family—he at least had parents he must have cared about. As for her papa’s rigid ways which the Romani woman had brought up, Daisy wasn’t certain how to contend with such an issue, at least not without testing her papa’s patience and earning herself another spanking.

  “You will help him find the joy that’s been missing from his life for so long, and in return he will give you the love and security you’ve always dreamed of, as well as the guidance you require.”

  Her spirits lifted as Papa carried her to the bed and wrapped her in his huge dressing gown. He was so gentle as he cuddled her against his chest, and she soon found herself getting sleepy as he stroked her hair. She wasn’t angry with him for punishing her, and part of her wondered if perhaps somewhere, deep down, she had purposely tested him to see what he might do in the face of her bossiness.

  She had been curious about whether or not papas really put their little girls in naughty chairs or spanked them, she reminded herself. Well, she supposed it didn’t matter what had prompted her to behave in such an uncouth manner, because the unpleasantness was over and all had been forgiven. It had been the same way at Talcott House. Punishment and then forgiveness, and for the most part she had tried not to repeat the very behaviors for which she had already gotten into trouble, though not always. She wasn’t perfect and often temptation got the best of her. A certain amount of giddiness wound through her during the times she’d been naughty and thought she’d gotten away with the act—though most often Miss Wickersham or Garland would walk around the corner at that precise moment and spoil her fun.

  Please let me bring my papa the joy that’s been missing from his life, was her last thought before she drifted off. She dreamed of colorful tents, her papa’s dark eyes, and snuggling in her papa’s lap after he gave her a stern scolding and a firm spanking for some unknown mischief her dream self had gotten into. It seemed as though even when she was asleep, she couldn’t quite behave.

  Chapter 12

  When Daisy awoke, she was underneath the soft covers of Papa’s bed. She yawned and stretched, then rolled over and peered toward the window. Darkness had fallen, and she wondered about the time of day. Was it late in the evening? Or was it almost morning?

  She glanced around Papa’s huge bedchamber. He was nowhere to be seen, though she thought she heard footfalls nearing from outside the door. Though she didn’t usually like being alone, she didn’t feel scared in Papa’s bedchamber. She was in her new home now and nothing here would hurt her. The prospect of leaving Talcott House had always left her a little nervous…that was, until she had met Lord Kensington and now he was her husband and papa.

  She sat up against the pillows and shifted uncomfortably in place. Her bottom was still quite sore from her spanking. A flush rushed through her as the memories of everything she had experienced in Papa’s bedchamber since her arrival paraded through her mind. First the lovemaking—oh that had been wonderful and she hoped to engage in such carnal merriment soon again. Then her naughtiness and her embarrassing trip over Papa’s knee. Not only had he spanked her behind cheeks, but he’d pulled her bottom wide apart and swatted her hiney hole—five smacks on that most private part of her, to be exact.

  Not for the first time since she’d gotten married, she was starting to feel feverish. Heated pulses were quickening between her thighs as well, and for a few moments she considered rubbing her clitty. She started to lift up the covers to peer at her nakedness as she spread her thighs, her temptation growing along with her arousal.

  She had never pleasured herself before, but she supposed she could mimic her Papa’s masterful touch if she spread her moisture over her hardened nubbin and then…

  No no no, she scolded herself. Stop thinking about it. You don’t want an
other spanking, do you?

  She hastily covered herself back up. She knew touching her kitty wasn’t a good idea, even if her clitty was aching. Papa had told her in the carriage that her privates belonged to him. She didn’t want to break any of his rules again, especially so soon after the first—and hopefully, the only—punishment she’d received at his hand.

  The footsteps grew louder and the door opened. She heard voices for a moment but then was surprised to see a fully dressed Papa enter with a huge tray containing two covered plates and other refreshments. She saw a glimpse of an arm in the doorway as a servant pulled the door shut, as Papa had his hands quite full. She perked up at the sight of the bottle of wine on the tray, next to two wine glasses. She’d only once stolen a few sips of alcohol from a decanter in her mother’s former employer’s grand home. She remembered her throat burning and how naughty and excited she’d felt while swiping the forbidden drink. But now, even though she was Papa’s little girl, she was pleased to realize he was apparently going to allow her to share in his grown-up drink.

  He smiled at her and set the tray on a table, beckoning her over with a wave of his hand. “Come, my sleepy wife, I know you must be famished.” He paused and gave her a bold look as he uncovered the plates and arranged them on the table. “I imagine you must have worked up quite the appetite, in fact, my responsive little bride.”

  His words made her flush with pleasure. She crawled out from under the warm covers and approached the table Papa was setting, still wearing his dressing gown. As she took her seat with his assistance, her stomach gave a loud growl.

  “It appears I have arrived just in time,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Very funny, Papa. As I told you, Miss Wickersham would not allow me to finish my breakfast and I’ve been up since before sunrise.”

  “Ah, and to think,” he said as he took his own seat directly across from her, “if you had been a good little girl this morning and not run off to the fair—against your guardian’s orders—you could have enjoyed a filling, relaxing breakfast rather than have your bottom smacked with a hairbrush. It was a hairbrush she used on you, is that right, instead of the ruler?”

  She shot her papa a saucy smirk before she placed a napkin on her lap and picked up her fork, eyeing the scrumptious food. Baked ham and potatoes, vegetables, and a sauce drizzled over everything in a swirling pattern. She’d never seen a plate of food so artistic—and delicious looking—in her entire life. Even when she had lived at…

  But no. She would not even think of that place. She had to pretend that house did not exist. She wanted her papa to be proud of her and she wanted them to stay married happily forever and ever. If he found out the truth—about where she’d grown up—it would only lead to more questions. The more questions he asked, the closer he might come to discovering the God-awful truth she desperately wished to conceal from him.

  She was born an illegitimate child.

  Though her mother had once told her fanciful, romantic tales, about Daisy’s supposed father—who her mother had claimed was the man she was once married to—as Daisy grew up she had started to suspect that though her mother had once been married to a man named John, this John fellow hadn’t actually sired her. And then, as her mother struggled for her final breaths on her deathbed, the full truth had come pouring out. Daisy closed her eyes as memories from long ago washed over her…

  “Mama, you must try to drink some more broth. It will help you get better soon.” Daisy sat on the side of her mother’s bed, holding a spoon and the bowl of sustenance. A cold ball of desperation formed in her stomach and fear clutched her heart. Mama looked paler today than she had the day before. There was an odd rattling noise when she breathed as well. Tears sprang to Daisy’s eyes.

  Mama appeared to be struggling to keep her eyes open. Daisy sat the soup aside and reached for her mama’s hand.

  “Oh, Mama.” Daisy sniffled, tears rolling down her face. “Mama, I love you, please don’t leave. You can get better. I know you can. I’ll nurse you back to health no matter how long it takes.”

  “My sweet daughter,” Mama whispered so lowly Daisy almost didn’t hear her.

  “Yes, Mama? Do you need something?” Daisy leaned closer to better hear whatever her mother said.

  “In case I don’t survive this illness, there is something I must tell you.”

  “No, Mama, no. You will survive. Don’t talk like that. I promise you will survive this.” Grief and heartache made it difficult to breath. Daisy had never felt so hopeless and choked up before in her life. It seemed as if her entire world was about to come crashing down and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She’d spent the last two weeks by her mother’s side, trying to help her. A physician had visited several times, but the man claimed naught could be done other than for her mama to get rest and consume plenty of fluids. But rest and broth weren’t helping. Mama kept getting worse and worse and the household servants were already looking upon Daisy with pity, as if her mother had already passed away.

  “Listen to me, sweet daughter. I must tell you this. I should have told you long ago, but I was a coward. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, Mama, you could never be a coward and of course I shall forgive you, whatever it is I will hold no grudge against you, I swear it.” Suddenly a thought struck Daisy, a dark suspicion taking form, and she knew what her mother was going to say even before she said it. She steeled herself to hear the terrible truth she’d already feared for quite some time—her suspicions first arising when she’d overheard some curious gossip between two of the laundry maids about how Daisy’s eyes were the same shade of brown as the master of the house, among other details, many of which she did not quite understand. But she would hold to her end of the bargain and bear no ill will toward her mother for finally making the confession.

  “My late husband, John, he-he was not your father. I am so very sorry, my dear. I lied to you, time and time again as I told you fanciful stories about him, because I wished you to believe your father was a good man and that we were once in love. The truth is John did not treat me well, and soon after his death I-I became the mistress of…”

  “Mama, you do not have to say his name.” She squeezed her mother’s hand. “I know the master of the house is my real father. I-I am not angry that you kept this a secret for a long time. When I was a child, I would not have understood anyway. But I’m not a child anymore, Mama, and I understand now. Does-does his wife know?” The lady of the house did not treat Daisy with any amount of kindness and her mother’s revelation would explain a lot of things—if she knew her own husband had fathered the governess’s daughter.

  “I-I believe she does at least suspect it. He’s a good man, your real father. We were in love. He brought me here to protect me, and I presented myself as a new widow who was expecting soon and needed a job. My Aunt Martha who raised me, God rest her soul, was a governess for another prominent family and it was she who taught me all I needed to know to seek such a position.”

  It all made sense now. The master of the house was always kind to Daisy, but whenever his wife caught him speaking with Daisy or her mother, the woman would get a pinched look about her face and call her husband away on the pretense of needing his assistance with something or other.

  “Be careful when I’m gone. I don’t think he would ever dream of sending you away—I am sure he will try to keep you on here as a servant—but his wife will want you gone. She has a devious, mean side to her, and I suppose I cannot blame her, for I helped to create that part of her. It was wrong of me to work as a companion to a wealthy lord in the way I did. Please never tell anyone, my dear. If it becomes well known that you were the illegitimate child of a lord, it will hamper your ability to marry as well as I have always dreamed you would. You will still find your handsome prince one day, I promise. I can see it now. You will be a lovely bride, my sweet daughter.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Daisy was openly crying, sorrow unlike any she’d ever known shredding apar
t her entire universe. Her mama’s next words only made her sob harder, because she did not know how she would live without her beloved mother and could not under any circumstances envision a world in which her mother no longer breathed and smiled and laughed. And danced. Mama used to dance around their shared bedchamber in the mornings, singing as she opened the curtains wide to allow the morning sunlight to crawl across the floor. Please God, she begged, don’t let this happen.

  “No matter how dark and unfair life may seem at times,” her mother said in a rattling whisper, “if you look hard enough and you believe hard enough, you will always see a flicker of light in the darkness. That light you will see, my dear sweet daughter, is hope, and no one—not even the devil himself, can extinguish your light, your hope.”

  Then Mama closed her eyes and never opened them again.

  “Daisy? Little girl? Are you all right?” Papa started to stand up, and the movement caught Daisy’s attention and brought her fully out of her reverie.

  She forced a smile. “Oh, forgive me. I am fine, Papa. I was just thinking.” Though her trip down memory lane had suddenly left her with little appetite, she took a bite of the ham anyway, hoping Papa wouldn’t ask any more questions.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “About how fortunate I am, Papa.” She smiled again, and this time it was genuine. She felt guilty for lying to him in this moment, but she couldn’t very well sit across from him and tell him she was a bastard. Though all the girls at Talcott House came from unfortunate backgrounds, she still worried he might look upon her differently if he knew the full truth of why she’d come to live there, particularly since her mother had pressed upon her the importance of keeping this dark secret. Better to keep insisting she had once lived in the north country, and she would be as vague as possible about everything and make him believe she’d lived at Talcott House from an early age—that would hopefully lead to less inquiries.