by Lucy Wild
“Come on, Charles. It’ll be a hoot. Besides what better way to prove she obeys your every command?”
“You cannot possibly expect me to tell her to appear at a ball in nappy and dummy.”
“And strip out of them.”
“I won’t do it.”
“That’s up to you. Just remember that if you don’t, you lose and I win everything.” A faux concern spread across Glossop’s face. “What a dilemma for you, win the wager or humiliate her in front of everyone you know. They’re all going to be at the ball, you know. I hear you weren’t invited though, know why?”
Charles sighed. “Why?”
“Well, word got round that you were a bit too busy with your charitable endeavour, keeping a pauper as a pet.”
“And how did word get round, exactly?”
“I couldn’t possibly say.”
“Charles?” a woman’s voice said. “Is everything all right?”
He spun round to find little Beth standing in front of him. “I’m fine,” he snapped, pulling her away from Glossop’s table before he had a chance to speak to her. “Come on, let’s go.”
“You look cross, are you sure you’re all right.”
“Yes,” Charles said, thinking to himself just how far from all right he felt. He felt about as bad as it was possible to feel, looking at little Beth as she radiated concern from every pore. Could he possibly make her attend the ball in little clothing, nappy and all? She would do it if he told her to, she was submissive enough for that. But to tell her she had to strip. The very idea was so far-fetched as to make him shake his head. He couldn’t do it.
But if he didn’t, the estate was lost, he was lost, it would all be over. His banker had not been able to help, nor his solicitor. He could think of no one else who would be able to help him out of his predicament. Not for the first time, he wished he had never gone out to the club that night, never made that bet. But if he hadn’t, he would never have spent these last few days with the most wonderful woman. Poor or not, there was something about her that no other woman possessed, the ability to win his heart and hold it close.
“What shall we have?” he asked, picking up his menu and fixing a smile on his face. His heart sank as he looked at her, thinking of her weeping as she stripped her clothes off, all the cream of society watching her, Glossop laughing from the wings.
Though the food was excellent, he ate almost nothing, too busy seeking an answer to his dilemma that would not involve destroying the woman opposite him. The answer, as far as he could tell, did not exist.
Chapter 25
Little Beth sat opposite Sir Doyle in the carriage, wondering what she had done wrong. From the minute they had arrived at the restaurant, he appeared distant, even more so after his heated discussion with the gentleman on the far table. She frowned as she tried to work out where she’d seen that gentleman before. His face was familiar but she just couldn’t place him.
The food, when it had arrived, was wonderful but she’d found it hard to eat it. Despite the delicious smell wafting up from the roast beef on her plate, she only had to look up and see him to lose her appetite. He was just sitting staring at his plate, as if oblivious of her presence.
Was he angry with her over something? Had she said something to offend him? Had she not touched herself in the right way? Was he cross with her for agreeing to do something so sinful? She had thought about refusing his command in the carriage on the way there, the very idea of doing such a thing filling her with fear. But when he had insisted, she had no choice but to obey, and in doing so, she relaxed internally, able to enjoy the sensations more knowing that it was not her idea to do it, she was being made to, she was being told what to do. Not only that, but the expression on his face as he watched suggested he was struggling to keep his hands off her.
The hardest part had been stopping when the carriage completed its journey. Her insides ached with desire as they had walked past the doorman into an entire world she had not seen before.
The inside of the restaurant was a glorious sight, gaslights illuminating the countless tables, a hive of activity and conversation, everyone in their finest clothes. She felt as if she would be caught out as an imposter at any moment, that someone would point at her and scream, “You, you don’t belong in here, get back in the slums from whence you came.”
She looked across at Sir Doyle, his head on his hands, his eyes half closed. “Have I done something to offend you?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, forcing a smile onto his face. “Of course not, my little Beth. Do not trouble yourself with worries, all is well.”
But it didn’t seem well. He didn’t look well. She had been planning to tell him about the cruelty of her tutor but one thing after another had prevented her. On the outward journey, she had not wanted to ruin the mood by blurting out about the spanking she had undergone, the pain it had caused her, the fact that even with thick cushions on the carriage seats, she still winced whenever the springs jolted her upwards. She couldn’t tell him on the return journey either, not when he looked so pained. He clearly had enough to worry about already.
She thought about everything that had happened since she had come to his house, trying to decide if he had ever looked this unhappy before. He had been angry with her, when she had displeased him, but never sad. Never had he looked as if the weight of the entire world were upon his shoulders and there were none out there who might share the burden.
“Are you ill?” she asked, trying again to establish whether he might speak of his troubles. “Did the food perhaps disagree with you?”
“I am fine, I promise you. Look we are nearly home and I promised you a gift, did I not?”
“You need not trouble yourself with gifts. I have all I want with me right now.”
“Nonetheless, I am not one to break a promise. Once we are inside, I want you to go the nursery and wait there until I call for you. Understood?”
“Of course, Sir, but if you are unwell, perhaps you would be best with some assistance. I could ask cook to prepare a little chicken soup for you. It may aid your recovery.”
“For the last time, I am not sick, only sick of your refusal to listen to me.” The tone of his voice made her wince and she spent the rest of the journey in silence, glad to finally step down into the fresh air when they finally arrived.
Sir Doyle strode past her into the house without looking back, leaving her to make her own way inside.
“I have changed my mind,” he said, already halfway up the stairs as she removed her hat and hung it on the stand by the door. “Come to my room in five minutes. Undress when I say it is time.”
He continued upstairs, leaving her to wonder just what was going to happen. She suddenly felt afraid. Something in his manner had frightened her though she could not pinpoint exactly what it was. With each step upwards, she felt the weight of fear growing until by the time she reached the landing, she was terrified.
Her fear was not enough to stop her going to him, her fear of letting him down was far greater. She reached his room and found the door open, a single candle above the fireplace illuminating the space, revealing his outline as he sat in an armchair over by the window.
“It’s time,” he said, motioning towards the bed.
“Already?” she asked, realising what he meant. “I’m not ready.”
He didn’t answer. He meant to do it then, he meant to take her. Just an hour before, she would have been thrilled at the idea but the way he’d looked at her from the stairs had changed her, had made her fear him as she had when she’d first arrived at the house. Nonetheless, there was no running away, not anymore. Where would she even go?
She slid the straps from her shoulders, letting her dress slide down to the floor. Was he going to beat her instead? Was that the reason for his fury? Was she to be punished for something?
“All fours, head down,” he said as she crossed to the bed. Would he see the bruises on her bottom, the ones caused by the cruel tutor
he had hired? Or had he hired her for exactly that purpose? Her heart thumped in her chest as she knelt on the bed, putting her elbows down, her chin resting on the blankets, her posterior sticking out towards him. She heard him moving and then a blanket was draped over her, leaving her cocooned in warmth with only her rear still exposed. She thought about how she must look to him, just that most sinful part of her presented for his approval. Did he approve? Did he approve of her? She wanted to believe he did but then he seemed so cross with her, it was hard to trust her own judgment anymore.
She shivered in the cold as she waited, listening to the creak of the floorboards as he paced slowly back and forth behind her. Was he even looking at her? She tried to control her breathing, the air thinning in her blankets. Oh, please get it over with, she thought. She no longer cared what he was going to do to her, the waiting was worse than anything he might do.
Still nothing happened. She tried counting silently, her mind whirling with fears and troubles. She realised he had stopped moving a second before his hand suddenly fell onto her bottom. It landed on the sorest point and she screamed into the blankets, muffling the sound a little as his hand began to stroke across her rear, moving slowly from left to right.
Suddenly he struck her again. She had barely begun to feel the sting before his hand slid down between her legs, finding her core, rubbing it roughly. Again he smacked her bottom, landing a sharp blow that sent a burning pain deep into her. Almost at once, he was back to her core, stroking so softly it was as if he were a different person. He didn’t say a word, just rubbing her clit with the tips of his fingers, drawing a wetness out of her as she began to push her hips back towards him, her body reacting to his ministrations even as her mind continued to churn with fear and confusion.
“Go to bed,” he suddenly said out of nowhere.
Little Beth waited in place, hoping she’d misheard him.
“I said go to bed!” he roared in anger, pulling the blanket off her and almost throwing her across the room.
She stumbled out onto the landing, walking naked to the nursery, her heart still pounding as his bedroom door slammed shut behind her. What had she done wrong? He had sounded furious with her, yet she had done exactly what he asked.
She dressed in a nightshirt, in a daze as to what had just happened. Lying in her cot a minute later, she closed her eyes and did her best not to cry, failing after a few brief seconds of calm. As the tears ran down her cheeks, she tried to keep quiet, not wanting to risk him storming in and telling her to be quiet, or worse still, telling her to leave his house and never come back.
He had lied to her, that was the hardest thing to deal with. In all the time she’d been with him, he’d never given her a reason not to trust him but now he’d lied. He was evasive in the carriage, refusing to tell her what was troubling him, pretending instead that he was absolutely fine. She felt as if a wedge had been driven between them, hammered home by the way he had just treated her, moving from lust to anger and back again before discarding her to be alone.
If only he would let her in. She might not be able to end his troubles but if he would only share them, she could at least take part of the burden from his shoulders. Her heart ached with her love for him but it was now tainted by his most recent actions. Could she trust him again after what he’d just done?
She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms round him, tell him it would be all right, that she would look after him. She dared not risk incurring his wrath again, wrapping her arms round herself instead, rocking from side to side in the cot whilst her tears continued to fall, her chest hitching as she fought for breath.
She’d looked up to him, she realised, he who was always so calm, so rational. Even when he had been disciplining her, there was no sadism to his actions, not like that devil of a tutor he had hired. No, there had been only affection and compassion, even during the spankings she had undergone, he had cared for her, wanted her to learn how to be the person she really was, his little Beth.
But not anymore, she realised, wracked by another bout of sobbing. He clearly didn’t want her anymore. Something had happened to him in the restaurant and he’d decided he didn’t want her, he was just working out how to tell her. Her whole body ached from crying, her head pounding so hard she barely heard the nursery door open.
“May I come in?”
She looked up, wiping her eyes to clear her vision. Sir Doyle was standing in the doorway holding a candlestick.
“Of course,” she said, sitting up in the cot as he walked slowly towards her.
“I want to apologise for what just happened,” he said, kneeling down and looking at her through the bars. “There is something I’ve been keeping from you but I can do so no longer. I must tell you something and I must tell you now before I lose courage.”
Chapter 26
“Tell me something about your past,” Charles said, reaching through the bars of the cot to take little Beth’s hand in his.
“What sort of thing?”
“Anything. Where were you born?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What do you mean you don’t know? Didn’t your parents tell you?”
She shook her head. “Where were you born?”
“Right here in this house.”
“Really? How old is this place?”
“It was started in 1690 and if you ask my opinion, it was never finished. There’s always something that needs fixing or replacing somewhere.”
“I like it here.”
“So do I, I’ll be sorry to see it go.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. Tell me something else. What were your parents like?”
“My father left when I was six.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I wasn’t. He was a brute.” She looked at Sir Doyle but he said nothing, the tip of his finger stroking the back of her hand as he looked in at her. “I hated him.”
“I was not a fan of my father,” Sir Doyle replied.
“Did he beat you and your mother? Ravage her in front of her infant child? Lock you in the wardrobe when he was drunk?”
“Good God, you don’t mean to say that happened to you?”
She nodded. “My only regret is that I did not have long with my mother after he left.”
“She died?”
“When I was eleven.”
“But how did you survive on your own?”
She shrugged. “The same way anyone does, whatever way you can.”
“But an eleven-year-old alone in the world, I cannot begin to imagine what it was like.”
“It is in the past now,” she said with a smile, squeezing his hand. “I am here with you, if you want me to be here.”
Sir Doyle looked down at her, wishing he could tell her the truth about the wager. But he couldn’t do it, it would crush her.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“Oh, I was just wishing I could have known you when you were young. I could have protected you from your father.”
“You are protecting me now, you are keeping me safe and warm.”
Yes, he thought, but for how long? “I should let you get some rest,” he said, getting to his feet. “I am sorry for shouting at you. It will not happen again.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“That’s all right, Sir,” she replied as he crossed the room to the door. “I forgive you.”
“You satisfy me with your mercy,” he said, nodding towards the Scripture quotation on the wall above her cot. “Goodnight, little Beth.”
He left her then, walking through the house as if to his own funeral, slow, dragging steps, his shoulders slumped. He reached his study and sank into the chair, groaning out loud. From nowhere, James appeared in the doorway, a tray in his hand. Upon the tray was a tumbler of whiskey. He set it down on the desk before turning and silently heading for the door.
“I don’t think I can do it, James,” Charles said out
loud, the sound of each word heavy as it hung in the air. The house seemed to resent hearing the words, the meaning of them penetrating the very walls, walls that might not be his for much longer.
“Give me some advice, would you?” he continued, picking up the tumbler and draining it in one gulp, feeling the amber liquid burn a path down to his stomach. “What would you do?”
“About what, Sir?”
“About little Beth, about Glossop, about everything.”
“Have the conditions for winning your wager been set?”
“They have.”
“Might I ask what they are?”
“I must take her to the Billingham’s on Saturday.”
“That is not so bad, Sir. Things have improved since they hired a new cook.”
“Now is not the time for humour, James. I am supposed to take her in a nappy and little frock, with a dummy in her mouth.”
“That is not ideal, Sir, but perhaps it is worth the pain to ensure the continued ownership of your estate.”
“Ah, if it were only that, it would not pain me so to think of it. He wants me to make her strip, if you can believe that? Right in the middle of the dance floor. I can’t do it, James. It would destroy her trust in me to make her do such a thing.”
A silence fell in the room, the ticking of the clock the only sound. Charles leaned forwards, his head in his hands, his eyes closed. He groaned again. “What am I to do?”
James coughed politely, a sound akin to a butterfly stroking the air with a single wing. Charles looked up, wondering how he could even make a sound so mild yet loud enough to gain his attention.
“If I am to be allowed an opinion on this matter, I would suggest that you send Miss Wilkinson away.”
“Away? Just like that? Send her away?”
“If you care for her, you wish for the path that will cause her the least pain, correct?”
“As ever, James.”
“Then you have a number of options and that seems the least onerous. You can send her away now, which will cause both you and her pain but then dealing with the loss of your estate will be a burden that you alone must bear. You can keep her with you and fail to go through with the wager, losing the estate and forcing her to watch you lose everything, causing immense pain for you both. Or you can win the wager, whereby you get to keep the estate but lose her when she is made to humiliate herself in public and finds out the reason why, the fact that you have lied to her since the moment you met her.”