by Renee Rose
He stood up and turned to face the young lady entering the dining room, then stopped short in recognition, watching as her eyes widened and her face paled. Her expression was one of absolute horror.
* * *
Oh no. Ice washed over her and her mouth hung open in shock. It was the man from the carriage. The Colonel. Surprise flickered momentarily on his face as well, but then his face went blank again, as it had appeared the night before.
“You must be the governess,” he said, inclining his head in a slight bow.
She swallowed. Her mind was reeling. All the things she had said the night before came back in a wash of anguish—that she'd lied about her references, that the family she worked for was dreadful. She could feel the blood drain from her face completely, and she swayed a bit on her feet. “Miss Downy,” she managed to choke out with a curtsy.
“Colonel Watson,” he said coolly.
She stood there trembling, waiting for him to tell her to pack her things, that was she dismissed effective immediately, but he merely sat back down to his toast and jam. She stood there stupidly for another moment and then managed to walk to the table and take the seat opposite him.
“Have the children already eaten?” she asked, forcing herself to speak.
“Yes, Julie fed them in the kitchen this morning,” Miss Watson said crisply.
Had he not recognized her? Impossible. He most certainly had. But why say nothing? Was he sparing her the embarrassment? If so, she was grateful for the temporary reprieve, though she couldn't choke down much for breakfast. Miss Watson was prattling on, informing her brother of every member of their societal circle, including all the gossip that Mandy had heard her repeat tirelessly for the past five months.
She was grateful when the children peeked their heads into the dining room. She smiled at them encouragingly and beckoned them in, speaking in French, as she always did, to help them learn it. “Come in, children. Are you happy your Papa's back?”
They came in cautiously and stood with a curious mixture of eagerness and formality. Rosie, the seven-year-old, clasped her hands in front of her and her brother Tom, the four year old, hid partially behind her. “Oui, Mademoiselle,” Rosie said, her accent perfect. Then the child switched back to English. “Papa said he's going to—”
“En français,” she interrupted with a smile.
Rosie plowed ahead, used to her corrections, translating into her stumbling French. “Papa said he's going to take us for a ride in the carriage this morning, to go to the park. Would you like to come?”
She swallowed convulsively at the idea of being alone in a carriage with the Colonel. “If your father permits it,” she managed to say, still speaking in French.
“Well, I'm not sure there will be room, will there?” Miss Watson interjected shrilly in English. “Mrs. James and I wish to go as well.”
“Will you and Mrs. James take responsibility for the children, then?” Colonel Watson asked with one eyebrow raised.
Miss Watson blanched. She seemed to like her niece and nephew well enough, but considered their care to be beneath her. “Well, no, we wished to walk about the park, of course.”
“Then Miss Downy will accompany the children and me and you and Mrs. James may take the other carriage.”
Miss Watson looked irritated at that, but there was nothing she could say, as the Colonel's logic was sound.
“When do we leave?” she asked the Colonel.
“When do the children have their lessons?”
“Lessons are normally from after breakfast till noon, but I am flexible. I'm sure the children are quite anxious to spend time with you after your long absence.” She dared a look at him and caught her breath a little when she found him regarding her coolly. He was older than she—at least by 10 years—but his face was handsome, with broad planes that gave him the look of strength and determination. He had dark curly hair and dark eyes that held a penetrating intelligence. She'd never been attracted to a military man, but suddenly she could see the appeal. She felt herself flush immediately under his gaze, wracked with guilt and fear over the lies she had told to gain his employ. Something in his look told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“We will go after lunch, then. That will give me time to begin getting things in order here. All right, children?” he said, turning to look at them.
“Yes, Papa,” Rosie said.
Mandy's heart went out to her—the child seemed nervous. Not having seen her own father for so many long months seemed to make it awkward for her to interact with him now. Mandy stood and took the girl's hand.
“Come, my love, it's time for you to read to me,” she said in French.
“And to me?” Tom asked in English, taking her other hand. He understood French but didn't speak it much yet.
“Et pour vous,” she said, squeezing his hand and smiling warmly.
She spent the morning fully engrossed in the children's lessons, because if she let herself think about the utter precariousness of her employment, she would surely fall apart. To get through lunch, she directed her attention to the children, engaging them in lively conversation in French about what they might see and do in the park. It wasn't all that different from usual, as she had always taken refuge in the children, except that this time half her mind was occupied with worrying over every word the Colonel spoke.
Mrs. James did not accompany them to the park after all, so Mandy was not forced to ride in the carriage with the Colonel alone, which was a relief. Instead, Miss Watson rode with them and monopolized her brother's attention for the duration. Mandy was left to her own thoughts, which only served to increase her anxiety.
She was most certainly going to be dismissed. Why the Colonel was waiting, she couldn't guess. Perhaps he wanted to secure a new governess first. If not, she would have to ask him if she could remain until the end of the month, as she had borrowed against her wages just to make the trip to see her mother, and didn't have a farthing to her name. If he did not allow her to stay, she would literally be on the street with no means to even hire a coach to get to her mother or sister.
She could try to sell her locket, she supposed. It was silver, a lovely oval shape with filigreed etching. Her father had given it to her on her sixteenth birthday. If she could pawn it at a shop somewhere, she might have enough money to get herself to her relatives. But how horrible that would be! They hardly had the room or means to keep her mother, much less her. Well, she would just have to beg the Colonel to let her stay until he found a suitable replacement. It was her only option.
She entertained the children at the park—sitting on a park bench and sending them on a scavenger hunt for various things she invented for them to find—a feather, a heart-shaped rock, something purple, five different colored flowers, etc. They ran to and fro, eagerly seeking the items she named and racing breathlessly to bring them to her. She focused on them with only half her attention, as the rest of her mind was occupied with observing every move the Colonel made as he walked with his sister. The building tension was dreadful.
She watched the pair round the corner toward her, Miss Watson stopping to speak with a group of ladies and the Colonel leaving her behind, advancing directly to where she sat. Rather than invite him to sit with her, she stood up before he arrived.
“Miss Downy,” he said coolly, more like an ending statement than the beginning of a conversation.
“Sir?”
“We have some things to discuss, don't we?”
Her heart beat faster than a little bird's. “Yes, sir.”
“After supper. In my study.”
“Yes, sir,” she squeaked. Just then Tom ran up and wrapped his little arms around her leg, chattering on about the dove he had chased. Her eyes blurred with tears, realizing suddenly that she would have to say goodbye to these children who had become her whole world.
* * *
Miss Downy followed him to his office after supper, looking as though it were her death sentence. He
was satisfied that she at least understood the gravity of the situation. Lying about a reference was an offense he didn't take lightly and it needed to be dealt with. However, from what he'd witnessed and from interviewing the staff, it seemed that she was an excellent governess, despite her lack of prior experience.
“Miss Downy. Have a seat,” he said, settling himself behind his large desk and indicating the chair opposite it.
“Colonel Watson, if I may just make one request?” she asked in a rush, looking anxious.
He raised his eyebrows. “All right, Miss Downy.”
“Please, I beg of you, allow me to stay through the end of the month. I had to borrow against my wages for my holiday this past weekend, and I want to be able to make that up to you.”
He frowned. He didn't like the idea that she'd had to travel to see her sick mother without the necessary funds. What if a carriage hadn't been found to bring her home after the accident? Would she have had the money necessary to secure lodging? The thought of her being alone in the country with no means to provide for herself made him feel inexplicably protective of her. “I wasn't planning on dismissing you,” he reassured her.
Her mouth fell open. Clearly she'd been prepared for the worst.
“But I don't need to tell you how serious I consider lying about your references to be.”
She nodded her head. “I understand, Colonel. I am terribly sorry. I just was afraid you wouldn't accept me without real work experience, and I had none.”
“No,” he agreed. “Miss Downy, I have spoken with everyone in this household and not a single person could make any critique of your care and education of my children. That is the only reason I have decided to keep you on.”
She heaved a sigh, which drew his eye to her décolletage. Her skin was creamy white and her breasts were lifted and framed alluringly in a square-cut neckline. Feeling a prick of heat rising from the sight, he quickly looked away with a mental shake.
“Thank you, Colonel,” she gasped.
“I cannot allow your lie to go unpunished, however,” he said firmly. He would treat her as he would an errant soldier. In the military, they certainly couldn't dismiss the men for not following orders—they needed them. Instead, they flogged them so it wouldn't happen again.
He opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a leather strap.
Chapter Two
Her hands turned ice cold as she realized what kind of punishment he had selected for her. She willed her body to move and stood up. Be brave, Mandy, she told herself. She clenched and released fistfuls of her skirts at her sides.
The Colonel had walked around to her side of the desk. He patted the top of the desk. “Bend over,” he said.
Her breathing was coming in fast, short gasps. She stepped to the edge of the desk and hesitatingly leaned over it.
“Lift your skirts,” he commanded.
Oh mercy. She had not adopted the new fashion of wearing drawers under her dresses, so lifting her skirts would mean completely baring her backside for his view and punishment. Embarrassed by the mere thought, she slowly reached back and gathered the skirts of her dress and petticoat in each hand, hiking them up to her waist to expose her bare bottom for his view. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the humiliation that was making her skin feel hot and flushed all over. The edges of the skirts still hung over her bottom, offering a bit of cover, but she felt the brush of his sleeve and the skirts were flipped up onto her back. She shivered involuntarily and for some reason remembered the feel of his hands on her bottom the night before, boosting her out of the crevice.
Her heart was hammering in her chest. She had not been whipped since she was eight years old and had smashed her sister's china doll in a fit of jealousy. She imagined an adult whipping would be much, much worse. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, her eyes still squeezed shut in anticipation. She heard the whistle of leather swinging through the air the second before it struck her buttocks and she gasped at the sting. Another fell and then another and another. Tears came to her eyes and she tried hard not to cry out, embarrassed beyond belief at the humiliation of having her bare bottom chastised by her stern employer, and she was determined to take it all with a stiff upper lip. By the time he had applied the strap up and down her bottom two times, she found the pain was unbearable. She was starting to dance in place, jerking and flinching to avoid the strap, making soft little sobs. She felt a firm hand at her low back then, pressing her torso down and holding her in place. For some reason it made her feel further chastised, as if she had failed to hold still and take her punishment properly.
The strap continued singing through the air, its stinging bite now causing her to cry out each time it struck and tears to flow freely onto the desk. It struck her upper thighs and she nearly screamed. On and on, he continued to apply the strap until she was sobbing. Her backside was on fire, a burning tingle on the surface and a tender soreness down deeper. Finally, she realized the strap had stopped swinging and she started to lift her torso, but the Colonel's hand on her back pressed her back down.
“I'm not finished,” he said. “It just seemed as though you could use a break.”
She wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the break or to curse him that it wasn't over. She lay there, prostrate over the desk, her legs trembling, her face a wet mess of tears and her flayed bottom still on full display to her employer. She tried to stop her cries, but it only caused her to make awkward snorting noises.
“Shhh,” he said, and the hand at her back made the slightest motion, as if to gentle her.
She gave up all struggle for control then, and lay her face down on the desk and let herself cry. She reached back and rubbed her burning cheeks with both hands. She had no idea how much time had passed before he cleared his throat, which she took as a warning that it was to begin again. Her hands were still covering her sore bottom and he took hold of one wrist gently and brought her hand back up, passing her head and extending it until her arm was straight. He repeated the same action with her other hand, so that she was now pressed flat on the top of the desk, her arms extended above her head where she could grip the opposite edge of the desk. She tightened her fingers around the edge of the desk as the strap struck her again. She screamed immediately—the agony of the strap biting into her already chastised flesh was overwhelming. He hesitated, as if her scream had given him pause. Then he brought the strap down three more times and stopped. She prayed this time he was finished. It seemed he was, because she felt his hand lift off her back and he smoothed her skirts back down to cover her throbbing bottom. She hissed, as even the fabric of her skirt felt rough against her chafed skin.
She remained bent over, trying again to calm herself, not wanting to show her face. A handkerchief was pressed into her hand and she buried her face into it, sobbing until there were no more tears left to cry. As the cries slowed, she felt his large, warm hand grip the nape of her neck and gently lift her from her position. She was stiff and he allowed her to erect herself slowly, and when he turned her around she kept the handkerchief to her face, not wanting to look at him or be seen. To her astonishment, he pulled her against him, so that her wet face pressed against his broad barrel chest. He was a large, burly man—tall enough that her head rested below his chin without needing to tuck it. She hiccupped a few times and then let go and pressed her face into the comfort that was offered, grateful for the small kindnesses he had shown her throughout the horrible ordeal.
He smelled clean—of soap and faintly of cedar—and she could feel the hard muscles of his chest against her face. He still held her only at the nape of her neck, like a kitten held by the scruff, but she somehow felt enveloped by his strength. She remembered the way he'd taken charge of the situation the night before—calm, efficient, and so very capable in an emergency. Despite the pain and humiliation of her position, she found Colonel Watson more than a little arousing.
* * *
He hadn't planned on holding Miss Down
y. Well, technically he wasn't holding her, since he'd just put his hand on her nape. He felt the urge to wrap his arms around her and offer her comfort and reassurance. Punishing her had been so much more difficult than he'd expected. He'd found he didn't want to hurt her at all. At first he'd been aroused by the sight of her bared to him that way, the quivering moons of her cheeks more lovely and enticing than he was prepared for, but that quickly disappeared as he'd administered the chastisement and listened to the poor lady's sobs. He was so stricken by her pain that he'd cut the punishment short.
That was how it had been with Gracie, his deceased wife. Punishing her for a serious infraction (which only happened twice) was one of the most difficult tasks he'd ever had to complete. It was odd that he would feel the same way about his new governess, who he'd only known for twenty-four hours. Yet her tears pained him.
When her crying calmed, he tipped her head back to face him. “I want your word that you won't lie to me again,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. Her thick hair had come unpinned during the whipping and a lustrous brown wave was falling into her face. Her lower lip trembled and he couldn't help but watch it, fascinated by the lushness of her mouth, lips the color of ripe raspberries. Though he should release her, he kept his hand there at the back of her slender neck, keeping her quite close to him. Without it, she surely would have taken a step or two back and he found he did not want her separate from him.
“I promise.”
“I'm going to consider your employment to be on probation for the next three months, Miss Downy. If you've proven yourself a capable and trustworthy governess by the end of that time period, you may stay.”
This pronouncement seemed to deflate her. Her shoulders sagged and she looked quite hopeless, which gave him a renewed stab of guilt. She must be extremely worried about her financial situation.