The array of fabric and frippery was beyond overwhelming, row upon row of ribbon, silks, damasks, cottons and wools, colour upon colour. Why, the ribbon choice alone made all of Williamsburg look like a dry goods store on the frontier; Rose was in heavenly awe.
Madame Emmerson gave a knowing smile. "Zere are many colour choices, non?" She directed Rose to the back of the shop where she told Rose to undress down to her chemise and corset. Madame and her assistant measured and poked and prodded Rose while they chattered together about silks and colours excitedly.
"Zis will be absolutely beautiful on you, ma cherie, parfait pour un royal reception, non? Pink rosebuds for zee trim also pour all of the garments, oui? Your signature note—rosebuds, for a beautiful Rose, quite fitting pour vous, oui?" Madame Emmerson picked out the loveliest shimmering pink silk fabric that Rose had ever beheld. It set off her green eyes and made her hair look like it held streaks of sunshine.
"Yes, Madame, it is truly the most beautiful fabric I have ever seen." Madame Emmerson beamed with pride.
"Zee rosebuds trim for a rose unparallel, oui!" Rose couldn't help herself. Lord Mortimer or no, she grinned from ear to ear.
"You must be overjoyed, eet eez quite an honour to be invited for an audience with zee King." Rose nodded and tried not to show her discomfort. The dress was going to be finer than anything she had ever owned before. Eloise told Madame Emmerson that she was to make five new dresses for Rose and the pink was to be delivered the next day.
"Ah!" Madame fluttered. "I shall 'ave to employ five more seamstresses for such a task!"
"Mister Randolph said to spare no expense, Madame. The final four dresses can wait but the pink must arrive before tomorrow evening." Handing Madame Emmerson a bag that clinked with coin, the dress maker smiled and assured them the dress would be delivered punctually.
Chapter Four
Benedict looked about the throng of elite guests and tried but failed to locate Lord North. He wanted to get a glimpse of the American chit he was supposed to become engaged to. He only hoped that she possessed some of the sparkle of the pretty colonial lass who had slapped him a couple of days ago. He grinned ruefully, the little termagant! She had been rather exceptional too, with her golden hair and wide green eyes. Benedict would have enjoyed teaching her pert little behind some manners and had she been alone and not tailed by her sour faced maid, he might just have done so. However, the presence of a maid indicated that she was not some low born hussy to be idly toyed with.
While Benedict was day dreaming, he failed to notice the arrival of Frederick, Lord North himself, accompanied by a distinguished middle aged gentleman wearing the usual powdered wig until they were standing in front of him. On the gentleman's arm was none other than the colonial rebel herself! She was dressed in an exquisite rose coloured gown. Benedict was so surprised that he nearly dropped his goblet of claret. The gown didn't hold a candle to the woman wearing it. Her skin glowed like creamy milk and her green feline eyes sparkled as they reflected in the candlelight. His eyes came to rest upon the pout of her lips then dipped to her lovely décolletage.
"Lord Mortimer, may I present Mr. Henry Carter Randolph of Virginia and his particularly lovely daughter, Rose."
Benedict couldn't quite believe his luck. The beauty that had slapped him was the very same beauty he was to wed! He composed himself and executed the perfect leg. A female voice cried, "You!" He glanced up, a trifle surprised by the tone used; he was face to face with his colonial assailant. Benedict couldn't help himself and he made the mistake of grinning. The young lady concerned was so incensed that she took the opportunity to assault him for a second time. She raised her gloved palm to administer a quickly executed slap upon his cheek.
Lord North looked shocked and the chit's father boomed, "Rose, stop this instant!" Benedict flashed out his arm and clasped the girl's wrist in his. He pulled, reeling the young woman in until she was pressed up against his chest. He lowered his mouth to whisper into her ear.
"Well met again, my lovely, but should it cross your pretty little mind to strike me once again, you can be assured that I will strike back and it won't be your face that will suffer. Should I have to retaliate, you won't sit pretty for a good while, my dear." Rose's face suffused with colour as she determined his meaning and she yanked her wrist out of Benedict's hold. She spun about and fled away into the crowd of elegant bystanders, whilst her father, embarrassed, struggled to explain away her very rude behaviour.
Benedict watched Rose leave, his lip twitching with amusement. Perhaps this marriage would not be such a dreadful thing after all? A picture of the delectable creature turned across his knee had Benedict's balls tightening and his pego throbbing. He looked forward to schooling the wilful Miss Rose Randolph in the behaviour expected of her by a peer of the realm.
The presentation to the King went as expected and Benedict agreed with His Majesty that Rose seemed to be a suitable young woman who he would be proud to call wife. It was planned that Benedict should make a formal declaration to Rose at a picnic to be arranged by Benedict's mother, Lady Beatrice, in Kensington Gardens, on the coming Sunday.
In seventeen twenty eight, Queen Caroline, wife of George II, decided to take three hundred acres of land from Hyde Park and turn them into separate gardens. She employed Thomas Bridgeman to produce the new designs for this garden. She named them Kensington Gardens since the area had a splendid view of Kensington Palace. The new gardens had a strip of water, channelled in stonework that was called a Ha-Ha. This divided the more formal flower gardens and the Round Pond, from the wilder and much larger Hyde Park.
In the meantime, back at the reception, dancing had begun and a cotillion was called. The young men sauntered over to the young women before selecting a dancing partner from amongst them. Rose stood next to her father who was busy reprimanding her for her earlier behaviour.
"Honestly, daughter, I hope you haven't ruined your chances with Mortimer." Henry looked as if he were going to strangle her and Rose cringed. The crowd drew back and dragged Rose and her father along with them. Musicians began to play and the dancers began forming up.
Rose took her father's arm as they stood near to the wall but Henry was soon distracted and left Rose in the care of some elderly dowagers, none whom she knew. They ignored her completely, seeming content to simply whisper among themselves. Rose gazed down at her toes wishing she could disappear.
A pair of silver buckled shoes appeared in her downcast vision and her gaze snapped up. Benedict grinned at the beautiful young woman as a look of panic crossed her face and she flattened herself against the wall.
"Miss Randolph, may I take your hand for this dance?" Rose flushed prettily at his request.
"Oh no, no, sir, please, I-I don't know this dance, I will ruin it." Rose placed her hands behind her back and Benedict thought perhaps she was doing her best to melt into the wallpaper. He moved beside her and whispered kindly in her ear.
"Let us stand and watch for a moment, Miss Randolph. The ladies will face the gentlemen, curtsy, yes, now the gentlemen will bow and so there they go. Now the ladies will move to the right and the gentlemen to the left. Surely you can copy their movements if I am there to guide you, Miss Randolph?" Benedict smiled down at her, he watched as the candlelight cast a glow upon her face. She seemed entranced now by the dancers. Benedict decided that he had never seen such a lovely creature. A long curl escaped from her elaborate coiffure and lay tantalizingly over her breast. Benedict gave a hard swallow; he longed to place his lips against her ear and trail kisses down her creamy neck. Oh lucky curl, to lie upon her bosom where he himself would like to lay his head. Slowly his arm reached down and his hand caught her gloved one gently, yet Rose tried to pull away.
"Truly, Lord Mortimer, I would rather not dance this night." Benedict would not take no for an answer. Placing his arm about her, he led Rose out onto the dance floor.
Rose nervously copied the other ladies' movements and all seemed to be going rather w
ell until everyone appeared to gallop about, suddenly weaving in and out in a complicated turnabout.
Poor Rose found herself standing alone and so she stopped, standing absolutely stock still. A giggling group of older ladies stood watching her. Their eyes centered upon her as they raised their flickering fans to cover their spiteful gossiping faces, leaning in one to another to whisper vitriol.
A firm arm slid suddenly about her waist, scooping her along and back into the midst of the dance. Benedict swept her forward amidst male chuckles of delight. He spun Rose about and she found herself once again in line with the other female dancers. They all curtsied to their dancing partners and again the gentlemen gave courtly bows to the ladies.
When the dance was done, Rose placed her hand upon Benedict's arm as he led her off the dance floor. She smiled shyly up into his cornflower blue eyes. "You were most kind, I thank you, sir. I am certain those ladies that hid behind their fans thought I had but two left feet."
"Have no fear, Miss Randolph, those ladies were far too envious of your beauty to be concerned about your dance steps. I always look out for my own and you, lovely creature, are about to become my very own. I promise you, dear lady, that I shall always protect you from harm."
"Ah, but then who shall protect me from you?" Rose murmured shyly as she looked away.
Benedict lowered his mouth to her ear, his breath warm against her face. "No one shall ever be able to protect you from me. Believe me when I tell you, Miss Randolph, you won't want them to, either."
Benedict watched as goose flesh sprung up along Rose's shoulders and smiled inwardly to himself. He was going to enjoy instructing the lovely Miss Randolph in the joys of marriage and her duties as his wife. Oh yes, very much indeed!
The reception that evening was not intended to be a late night affair and Benedict was sorry to see Miss Randolph depart shortly after their dance. No matter, there would be plenty of time to enjoy his courtship of her. It was obvious she was inexperienced and an innocent; Benedict smiled to himself. He was in good spirits anticipating their next meeting, the picnic where he was to propose to her.
Sunday dawned bright and clear, perfect picnic weather. The house servants spent all morning setting up trestle tables and laying out rugs and comfortable cushions upon the grass. Chairs were carried over to the park by the footman for the more senior members of the group and the cook nearly had a breakdown when one of her special ham and chicken raised crust pies, came a cropper on the way to the venue. Luckily there was plenty of food and so no one would miss one pie.
The invitation list had been kept short, with only thirty guests attending, mainly young friends of either Imogene or Benedict. Benedict saw Rose arrive with her father and stayed where he was with his friends, watching her surreptitiously. She looked lovely in her pale lemon coloured tea gown as she twirled a matching parasol between her white gloved fingers. Benedict smiled, she was nervous, he could tell. Her wide-eyed gaze glanced from side to side, no doubt looking for him. She gave a nervous laugh when introductions were made and executed many a wobbly curtsy.
Benedict waited for a full hour allowing the guest of honour to calm down before he approached her. He was quite sure she would be overjoyed at what he had planned and chuckled to himself, imagining her smile of happiness.
To his delight, Rose wandered away from the throng and amused herself studying the flowers in the flower beds. Benedict circled about his crowd of friends and came up quietly behind her. "Miss Randolph, may I call you Rose?" His words startled her.
The little madam frowned and said firmly "No." She then turned up her nose and gave Benedict her back.
Benedict's brows drew together. He decided to overlook her rude behaviour and continued, using his most charming smile and winning voice. "Well, my dear, it seems that we are destined to be wed."
Rose turned toward him at the mention of marriage. She had a look of such utter fury on her face that Benedict was unsure whether to continue or not. Perhaps Rose wasn't feeling well but then she might feel better after he made his declaration and so he continued.
"Being a traditionalist and also a romantic," said Benedict, dropping to one knee, "I would like to ask for your hand in marriage and thus do me the very great honour of becoming my wife."
It was somewhat of a shock to his sensibilities to find himself summarily shoved backwards onto the grass as the object of his affection ran helter-skelter in the opposite direction of the gathered picnickers, heading speedily toward a coppice of trees.
Benedict ground his teeth, enough was enough, by gad! He would start as he meant to go on. He leapt to his feet and dusting off his pale grey breeches and deep blue cut away coat, he strode determinedly after his little American wildcat. He caught up with her rather easily despite the fact that she was running and he simply striding. Rose was severely hampered by her dress and petticoats, also by her silly silken slippers, utterly useless for running.
She also had to contend with the constriction of her stays. Still, she seemed surprised at just how close Benedict was until his arm snaked out and pulled her to a jolting halt. She was panting badly and completely out of breath; she had no fight left in her. Nevertheless, she let out an enormous squeal when she found herself upended over her betrothed's hard thigh.
Benedict grasped Rose and spun about to where a sturdy branch from a magnolia tree sprung forth at just the right height to support his foot. He secured her about her waist and lifted the light material of her dress and two petticoats, leaving the third down for modesty. Benedict took a moment to admire her heart shaped bottom before raising his hand in the air to bring it down forcefully with a hard swat against Rose's thinly clad behind. There was a shocked squeak from somewhere down in the region of Benedict's boot and then a flurry of ankle kicks, which resulted in some painful slaps to Rose's drumming legs.
"That's enough of that, young lady. Keep those legs down, or I shall smack those as well. Rose, if you continue to kick, then I will be forced to take a strap to your bottom!" Another kick resulted in a series of sound spanks that soon had Rose howling. "Desist!" Benedict warned.
Rose acquiesced and kept her legs down. The spanking continued on in much the same vein. Benedict was thoroughly enjoying dishing out a much needed lesson in manners to his American cousin from across the sea. He could see how pink her bottom was becoming through the thin white material of her petticoat. Benedict spanked hard and fast, the gasps and sobs coming from the punished Rose trailed off into hiccupping pleas for mercy. Benedict grinned; good, she was learning her lesson at last. "Rose, I intend to let you up in a moment but I want a promise from you first." Rose nodded and yelped when her backside received a volley of smacks. "A verbal response would be polite," said Benedict in a firm instructional voice.
"Yes, sir!" she whimpered instantly.
"Now then, I shall ask once again. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife? By the way, Rose, think carefully about your answer before you speak this time, my dear," he warned her. Benedict waited but heard no sound. "Rose, what is your answer please?" She didn't make a peep. Benedict couldn't even hear any sniffling. Becoming concerned, he lifted her from his knee and stood her on her feet. Her hair was mussed and her hat was at an odd angle but amazingly still sat, albeit crookedly upon her head. A tear trailed down her cheek. Benedict's hand swept the curls from her eyes and tilted her face up to his.
Her head dropped back and he brought his mouth down to claim hers. His lips seared her as his tongue softly traced the inside of her lower lip. Ever so shyly, Rose began to respond to him. She touched the tip of his tongue with her own and opened her mouth to receive his. Benedict warmed to the task and he deepened the kiss thoroughly getting to know every inch of her young mouth. Benedict was more than satisfied; he had her—she was his. As he released her from his kiss, he smiled down into her lovely face which held a dreamy expression that softened her green eyes and curved her bow shaped lips.
He lowered his gaze taking in the delecta
ble swell of her bosom; he was growing rampant, his manhood pressing uncomfortably against the fall buttoned opening of his breeches; Benedict suddenly found himself looking forward to his wedding night. Teaching this delectable peach the joys of the marriage bed would be a far from arduous task! In fact, he found himself imagining all sorts of wicked and wanton deeds featuring Rose as his star pupil. Yes, he decided that after all, this marriage was most definitely cause for celebration.
The little miss opened her dreamy eyes wide and gave him his answer. "No, I do not wish to marry you, Lord Mortimer, for I wish to return to my home in Virginia." She immediately tried to leave, but Benedict held her to his side and rejoined the gathering. Much to Rose's chagrin, a toast was made to the happy couple and afterwards she had to stand with Benedict's arm clamped about her waist, receiving each member of the party's warm congratulations.
Benedict looked down with amusement at his fiancée's miserable face, really she only had herself to blame for this afternoon's debacle. Rose would come around, especially after he had given her the engagement ring that had belonged to his grandmother and which she had bequeathed to him for his future bride. Benedict knew that his younger sister Imogene would also help Rose to settle as Lady Mortimer. He knew that Imogene was longing to spend time alone with Rose so that she could get to know her soon to be sister-in-law a little better.
Beatrice was certain that her son had spanked his lovely new fiancée that afternoon. She knew the signs, after all hadn't Benedict's father taken her in hand on numerous occasions? Benedict was certainly a chip off the old block and took after his father. Beatrice smiled sadly. What she wouldn't give to be starting out on the wonderful new adventure of marriage once again. Really, Rose Randolph had no idea of the delights yet to come. Beatrice sighed, the lucky, lucky gal.
His Colonial Rose Page 4