by Sue Lyndon
“Oh, yes, Miss Wickersham, I am exceedingly grateful. But,”—She paused trying to put together all of the confusing thoughts flying through her brain—”I will be sad to leave here. And...what if he does not care for me?”
“Ah, I see why you are worried, but never fear, Miss Wickersham is here. I have met with your new papa and talked with him very extensively about you...”
Cammie gasped and felt her face heat. “Really? What did you say?”
“I told him you were a very well-behaved young lady who is sometimes easily distracted. Is that not correct?”
“Yes,” Cammie said with a giggle. Happiness bubbled up inside her, and she thought she might float around the room. A papa!
“Please, tell me all about my new papa. When can I meet him? Is he handsome?” She had always imagined a very handsome papa for herself whenever the girls talked about it. Dark and brooding, but he would smile and cuddle her to his strong chest, because he was the best papa ever. And she would be the very best little girl, ever. She was sure of it.
“His name is Lord Cavendish and when you are married, you will become Lady Cavendish.”
Cammie gasped. “A lady!”
“Yes, a real lady.”
“Miss Wickersham”—Cammie threw herself into the arms of her teacher—“you have made all my dreams come true. When may I meet him?”
Miss Wickersham pried the girl’s arms from around her neck and returned her to her seat. “We will leave in two days’ time,” she said. “That will give you an opportunity to pack your things, to say good-bye to your friends and —”
“Ohhhh,” Cammie cried. “Will I never see Hyacinth or Daisy or Rosie again?”
“Cammie.” Miss Wickersham turned strict. “It is rude to interrupt when someone is speaking. If you are to become Lady Cavendish, you must curb your outbursts.” She pointed to the corner where a hard wooden stool was perched. “Go to the naughty chair for your impertinence and when you have finished, then we will continue our discussion, but only if you are able to hold your tongue.”
“But what about my papa?” Minimally obedient, Cammie stood and made her way to the appointed punishment, but she dragged her feet and kicked the stool once she reached it. “I want to know about my papa!”
Miss Wickersham, always efficient and sparing in her movements, navigated the short distance between herself and Cammie in record time, taking her firmly by the shoulder and, while holding Cammie at arm’s length, rapidly applied three swift swats of a ruler to her backside. “Now, sit and be quiet or you will force me to spank you on the bare. How do you think Lord Cavendish will feel about a bride who arrives with a reddened bottom because she cannot behave herself properly?”
“Oh,” Cammie said after Miss Wickersham released her arm. “I apologize, Miss Wickersham,” she said softly as she climbed upon the stool. “But, I want to meet my papa sooo badly.”
“An apology that includes the word ‘but’ is no apology at all, as well you have been told, Miss Camellia. I had great hopes for you and Lord Cavendish, but now I must reconsider. Perhaps you need additional lessons before you can be trusted to represent Talcott House amongst society. Once you leave here, your actions will reflect on everyone at Talcott House, and if you misbehave, it will make us all very sad and embarrassed. It might make it more difficult for me to find papas for all the girls here. You do not want to do that, do you?”
“No, Miss Wickersham,” she said to the corner, eyes straight ahead, though her vision blurred from the as yet unshed tears forming in her eyes. Miss Wickersham would not really send another girl to be her papa’s bride, would she? Cammie’s heart weighed heavy in her chest and she clasped her hands together in her lap, her right leg swinging against the leg of the stool. Her bottom stung slightly in the aftermath of Miss Wickersham’s firm application of the ruler, and she squirmed a bit on the chair in an effort to alleviate her discomfort.
“Stop moving and be quiet.” Miss Wickersham set a book upon Cammie’s head, forcing her to keep it level and be still. “Use this time to think about how to be a proper bride for Lord Cavendish and how to make me proud of you. When your time is up, if you have done as I have instructed, I will tell you all I know about your papa.”
Cammie nodded her head, not daring to speak, but she had already forgotten about the book, and it slipped off her head and landed on the floor with a thud. Miss Wickersham retrieved it with an exasperated sigh and returned it to its place atop Cammie’s braids.
Staring at the paint on the wall in front of her, Cammie thought about all the other times she had been called into Miss Wickersham’s study and placed in the naughty chair. Being a good girl could be so hard sometimes. Her new papa would want her to behave herself and be the best little girl she could, but, she wondered, would she really be able to do it? Plus, she had heard whispers among the girls that papas and their girls shared the same bed. Why would a papa do that unless he wanted to keep an eye on her at all times, just to be sure she did not misbehave? Either she would learn to be a good girl or she would disappoint her papa.
Would her papa punish her for being bad, the way Miss Wickersham and sometimes some of the other staff at Talcott House did?
She got a funny feeling in her down there parts when she thought about her papa giving her a punishment, like a spanking or a scolding. Did he have a naughty chair like Miss Wickersham? An excited shiver ran up her spine. She imagined how he would use his gruff voice when he was upset with his little bride and would look at her down the length of his nose. She felt her toes curling inside her shoes just thinking about it.
Her own papa. She could scarce believe it. All her years at Talcott House she had been told that one day she would have a papa. Every few months one of the older girls would leave to meet her papa and everyone who stayed behind watched the carriage go out the long driveway. Cammie always felt a little jealous of the girl who got a papa, but also a little relieved that she still had time to play with her friends in the gardens and to get hugs and cuddles from Miss Wickersham when she behaved properly and made her happy.
But she had to admit that of late, she had developed yearnings. They were vague and she did not understand what they meant, but she suspected they related to the things that married people did together. The things that some of the girls whispered about when none of the staff at Talcott House were around.
Heated excitement wound through her body. Soon she would know what until then, had only been whispered about.
Chapter Two
“A papa?” Hyacinth grabbed Cammie’s arm in a painful squeeze. Cammie knew her friend did not mean to cause harm, but her thin fingers were tight. Cammie tried to pry them off as she answered.
“Yes, Miss Wickersham has found a papa for me.”
“Who is he? When will you leave?” Hyacinth removed her fingers from Cammie’s arm but continued to stare. “Ohh, I wish I had a papa. When will Miss Wickersham find a papa for me?” Hyacinth put her hands on her hips and pouted.
“Now, now.” Cammie tugged on Hyacinth’s pigtail of golden curls. “I am the one who is getting a papa. You will have your turn soon. I am sure.”
“I am sorry,” Hyacinth said, looking at her friend with her big blue eyes. “I will miss you. I do not know if I should feel sad or happy.”
“Me too!” Cammie squealed then lowered her face and her tone, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else heard her raise her voice. Miss Wickersham had some strict rules about young ladies speaking too loudly, and Cammie had no desire to feel the ruler applied to her bottom again so soon, or to serve another stint on the naughty chair. “Is the building on fire?” Miss Wickersham would ask whenever she heard her charges talking in what she considered to be an unladylike pitch. “Because that is the only reason a proper young lady’s voice would reach such a volume.”
“Tell me everything about him,” Hyacinth said, pulling Cammie to the corner of the garden where the young ladies of Talcott House were spending some time g
“Miss Wickersham says that his name is Lord Cavendish, and once we are married, I will be Lady Cavendish.”
“Ohhh,” Hyacinth squealed. “A lady! Oh, Cammie there is no one who will make a better lady than you.”
“Thank you, Cynny.” Cammie squeezed her friend’s hand. “I am very nervous. You know I am just a poor girl from a poor family. I do not even know anything about where my family came from. How can I be a proper wife for a lord?”
“Miss Wickersham would never select a papa who would not be just the right man for you. She loves all of us and wants us to be happy with our papas. She tells us all the time.”
“I know,” Cammie said, staring at her hands as she worried them together at her waist. “B-but, a lady? And, I do not know how to be a proper w-wife.” She put her mouth to Hyacinth’s ear and whispered, “What about the things that married people do together? The things that no one will ever tell us? Our special gift, that Miss Wickersham always makes us promise to protect and keep safe. I-I still do not know what she is talking about.”
“Oh fiddlesticks,” Hyacinth said, then covered her mouth with both hands when she realized she had used a naughty word. “You will be a wonderful wife.”
“But what about the other part? Cynny, I need to know.” Cammie felt panicked, desperate, even. She had no idea how to be a wife. Her own mother had died so long ago she could not even conjure up an image of her, and there was a decided absence of men at Talcott House. Although the sole purpose of Miss Wickersham’s establishment was the training of future brides for wealthy, powerful men, specifics had been sorely lacking. This realization weighed heavily on Cammie’s diminutive shoulders, and she implored her friend for reassurance. Unfortunately, Hyacinth had no useful information.
“Cammie, I am sorry. I cannot help you. But, it cannot be that difficult or else Miss Wickersham would have made sure we knew all about it, do you not agree? Or perhaps she will tell you before you leave.”
Cammie paused for a moment and considered all she had learned in her years at Talcott House: manners and posture, reading and writing, painting and singing. Her education had been more complete than anything she could have ever dreamed of before her arrival. Surely all those hours of preparation would assist her in pleasing Lord Cavendish. The tension in her shoulders eased a bit and optimism crept into her countenance.
“I am going to miss you, Cynny.” Cammie’s eyes filled with tears and she sniffed them back.
“I will miss you more.”
The two girls sat for a few minutes on a bench in the garden, holding hands while gentle tears rolled down their cheeks.
* * *
“Nurse Lister would like you to come with me to her office.” It was bossy Garland again, looming over Cammie the next morning as she finished her breakfast. Cammie looked up at Garland, certain that her face conveyed annoyance. She only had another day at Talcott House and she did not wish to spend any of that time with the silly old nurse.
“I do not wish to go,” Cammie said, her chin jutting out impertinently. “I have a papa and I do not need to listen to you anymore, so you can take your bossy self back to Nurse Lister and tell her the future Lady Cavendish has no interest in spending time with her today.” Cammie turned back to the last of her porridge giving Hyacinth, Daisy and Rosie a smug smile. All of the young ladies at Talcott House had been set a twitter at the news that Cammie had a papa. The whole morning girls had been stopping her and asking questions about her papa and wishing her good luck. Cammie puffed up with pride every time she told the story about how she would soon be a proper lady, married to Lord Cavendish. Her news was met with envious squeals and more than one of the youthful residents of Talcott House had been taken to stand in the corner for her loud and improper noises.
“I will give you one more opportunity to do as you were told.” Garland crossed her arms over her ample bosom and shifted her hips to the left. “You had best be out of your seat and on your way to Nurse’s office before I count to three. One...”
“Or what?” Cammie said, waggling her head about on her neck with a dangerous amount of pride and conceit. “What are you going to do to me, Garland? I shall soon be Lady Cavendish and you will still be here bossing around young ladies. Hmpfh. Why ought I to do as you say?”
Cammie glanced about her breakfast table at Hyacinth, Rosie and Daisy, expecting all of them to be suitably impressed with her big girl manners and ladylike demeanor. Surely she was destined to be an outstanding lady for her papa, Lord Cavendish. Instead of the admiration she expected, Cammie’s tablemates stared at her with wide-eyed wonder and a reasonable amount of shock. Daisy clapped both hands over her mouth and gestured with her eyes to something significant behind Cammie. A shadow fell across the table and Cammie carefully peeked over her shoulder, though before she could even get her head turned that far, a firm hand landed on her shoulder.
“Now,” the scratchy voice of Nurse Lister said, “I wonder why Garland is standing in the middle of the breakfast room counting. A group of smart young ladies such as yourselves ought not to need any help with your numbers. Besides, it is not time for lessons yet, is it?”
“N-no,” Daisy said against her palms which still covered her lips, though she lowered them to her lap after Rosie elbowed her in the ribs.
“You know”—The nurse’s fingers closed over the small bones of Cammie’s shoulder—“I do not care to leave my duties at the nurse’s office in case there is some sweet girl who needs my help. But, when Garland did not return with Cammie in a timely fashion, I had to abandon my post and come in search of her. What a shame if one of your sisters here at Talcott House has a tummy ache or a cold. You know all the girls here come to me for care and how frightening and upsetting it would be to arrive and find my door closed and locked. You would not want to be the cause of distress for one of your friends, now would you, Cammie?”
Cammie swallowed hard around the dry lump in her throat. “N-no,” she managed to squeak out. “I-I was just on my way to see you, Nurse Lister. I am sure you have something important to tell me.”
“Oh, believe me, I do.” And quick as a wink, Nurse Lister’s hand went from grasping Cammie’s shoulder to a firm pinch of her earlobe which she then used to guide Cammie from her seat at the breakfast table, out of the room and down the hall. Nervous giggles followed their exit from the eating area.
“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” Cammie scampered to keep up with Nurse Lister. “That hurts.”
“How fortunate, then, that I am a nurse, do you not agree?” And Nurse Lister gave an extra tug on Cammie’s ear and hurried her along the corridor. When they reached her office, Nurse Lister efficiently retrieved her key and unlocked her door single-handedly while continuing to maintain a solid pinch on Cammie’s lobe.
Once inside, she relinquished her hold and Cammie rubbed her ear with her palm, though she dared not meet Nurse Lister’s gaze.
“I understand you are to be married soon.” Nurse Lister pulled out a stack of papers and began scribbling notes upon them.
“Yes,” Cammie puffed up. “Miss Wickersham has found a papa for me. Lord Alexander Cavendish.”
Nurse Lister glanced up from her paperwork and peered at Cammie over the top of her spectacles. “A lord, you say? Well, now I have heard everything.”
Cammie was not exactly sure what the nurse meant by that, but she felt certain it was not a vote of confidence. Still, she refused to be cowed by a nurse whom she would see no more after this day. “Yes,” she said, her voice pert, “I will be Lady Cavendish and you will have to call me Your Ladyship when next we meet.”
Nurse Lister put her papers aside and focused her attention on Cammie. “Is that so, Miss Cammie?”
“W-well, yes. I believe it is.” Cammie squirmed under the sharp eyes of the school nurse.
“And tell me, little miss Lady Cavendish, do you believe that a proper lady would need to be dragged down a hallway in front of a roomful of her friends because she could not obey a request from the school nurse? A request she knew she was obligated to obey?”
“H-how was I to know what you wanted?” She ought not be so flippant with Nurse Lister, but Cammie simply could not stop herself.
Nurse Lister’s mouth puckered in surprise, though she quickly clamped her lips closed into a straight line while she appraised her impertinent patient.
“Well, you are about to find out why I wished to see you. Take off your clothes and lay upon the table.”
“Wh-what?” Cammie stared up at Nurse Lister. Although she had often visited the nurse’s office when she had a tummy ache or needed to have a tooth pulled, she had never stripped off all her clothes. It was unheard of and she took a step back, clutching her pinafore.
“Did you not hear what I said, little Lady Cavendish?”
The nurse’s mocking tone raised her ire, but Cammie also knew she had pushed well past the limit of Nurse Lister’s patience. “I-I am sorry I did not come right away when Garland arrived for me,” Cammie said. “But I had not yet finished my meal, and I did not want to be wasteful of my food.”
“Are you certain what you say is true?”
“Oh, yes, I am quite certain. Miss Wickersham detests wastefulness. We have many mouths to feed, she always says.” Cammie gave the nurse a tentative smile.
“Hmmm,” the nurse said. “As I recall, your plate was empty when I came to the breakfast room.”
“Are you certain?” Cammie pressed.
Nurse Lister paused and gazed down her nose at Cammie as though she had difficulty believing what she had heard. Biting her lip, Cammie wondered if she might have pushed too far with the school nurse. An involuntarily quiver raced across her bottom cheeks. She most certainly didn’t want to arrive at Lord Cavendish’s manor tomorrow with a reddened behind. The very idea was shameful, and Cammie started to regret her recent insolence. She’d heard whispers that married couples saw one another naked, and while that still seemed like an outlandish tale, she supposed she ought not risk the possibility of Lord Cavendish being greeted by a blushing, red-bottomed bride, just in case there was any truth to that scandalous rumor. Her face promptly heated, as she begun to wonder if she would ever see her future husband without clothes, and if he in return might see her unclothed as well. What did men look like naked, anyway? Were they hairy? Did they have muscles in strange places? What did it feel like to kiss a man on the mouth? And what on Earth did a man’s privates look like?
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