Corrected
By the Colonel
Celeste Jones
Copyright 2014 by Celeste Jones
All Rights Reserved
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any from or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Celeste Jones.
This book is intended for mature audiences. 18+.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, brands or events is coincidental.
Cover by Anthony Walsh www.thecoverartisan.blogspot.com
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Blurb:
Miss Cassandra Sheridan is desperate to get married. Not because she is deeply in love, but because her family is deeply in debt. She leaves behind her two younger sisters to care for their ailing father while she heads out to do the only thing she can to secure the future for herself and her family—marry a rich man.
She sets her sights on Lord Owen Tyndall, attractive, rich and gullible. Just when Cassandra is sure a proposal is imminent, Lord Tyndall's cousin, the annoying and attractive Colonel Blaise Sinclair, arrives.
The Colonel is not nearly so easily fooled as his cousin and he is determined to find out the real story behind Miss Cassandra Sheridan's presence at Hadley Hall. If he must employ over the knee discipline to ferret out her plans, then so much the better.
Corrected By The Colonel is an erotic romance that includes explicit sex, rapid fire dialogue, anal play and anal sex all within the confines of proper Regency society. If such topics offend you, please do not buy this book.
Chapter One
Miss Cassandra Sheridan perched daintily upon a settee in the drawing room of Hadley Hall embroidering an elaborate pattern. Whether it would be made into a tablecloth or wall decoration she cared not. Performing the feminine arts was expected of her and while a guest at Hadley Hall, she would make no missteps, regardless of how much she disliked country activities and most ladies’ endeavors in general.
She stitched on. She loathed needlework. All those hours spent making tiny sews, the finer the better. As though the mark of a woman’s worth came from the number of stitches she could cram into an inch of fabric.
But she had an imperative mission and if success required a few hours sedately pushing a needle into a piece of cotton cloth in order to complete her goal, then so be it. What was an afternoon or two of drudgery compared to a lifetime of grandeur as the mistress of Hadley Hall?
While feigning interest in the discussion of the other ladies she took a visual tour of the room. Large paintings adorned the walls, mostly likenesses of generations of Tyndalls. A few were reputed to be by famous artists and allegedly worth thousands of pounds.
One large portrait depicted the current mistress of Hadley Hall, Lady Blanche Tyndall. In addition to the rapturously luxurious gown she wore in the portrait, diamonds and sapphires adorned Lady Tyndall in such abundance Cassandra wondered how the diminutive woman had been able to bear the weight.
Cassandra envisioned herself sitting for a portrait bedecked by the same jewels; the weight of history and family money around her neck and dangling from her ears. A most heady thought, indeed.
But first, she had to secure a proposal from the son of the widowed Lady Tyndall. It had been her singular goal since making the acquaintance of Lord Owen Tyndall in London and when she learned that dear, rich, and available Lord Tyndall had a younger sister, Cassandra had made it her business to befriend the sweet girl.
Lady Jane Tyndall, a delicate, harmless, and trusting girl, found the attentions of the lively Miss Cassandra Sheridan flattering and amusing. Upon the basis of that friendship Cassandra managed to get herself invited to a house party at Hadley Hall. She had even dropped sufficient hints to Lady Jane to secure an invitation to travel with Lady Jane, her mother and brother from London in advance of the other guests, like she was already a member of the family.
Oh, the idea of it made her heart flutter.
She dutifully stitched on.
***
Cassandra lay upon the bed of her guest room in her undergarments ostensibly resting before dinner.
Cassandra did not need rest. She needed a husband and she needed one now.
Not that she was some lovesick girl mooning over Owen Tyndall, though his looks were more than tolerable. What he lacked in charisma he made up for with wealth, social standing, and more wealth.
Why the rush to wedded bliss?
Cassandra had it on good authority from his sister, Lady Jane, that another party of guests was expected which would include Miss Eliza Collins, a reputed favorite of Owen’s. If Cassandra was going to secure his affections and a marriage proposal, she needed to do it before the arrival of her adversary.
A potential husband such as Lord Tyndall was too valuable and important to allow to slip through her fingers and into the waiting arms of Miss Collins.
The Collins' family wealth rivaled that of the Tyndalls. Why should all that money be hoarded by two families not in need when it could be spread out to Cassandra, and more importantly her younger sisters, who required decent clothing and respectable dowries if they were going to avoid a life of drudgery as governesses or widows' companions.
She shuddered at the thought. The only thing between the Sheridan sisters and abject poverty was Cassandra’s sheer determination to keep them from it.
Cassandra’s father suffered a grave illness and with his estate entailed upon the male line, once he died, Cassandra and her sisters would be at the mercy of a distant uncle who had no interest in his nieces’ futures other than how long it would take them to vacate the household.
Not only was her beloved father’s time limited, but so was Cassandra’s. According to Lady Jane, Miss Collins would arrive the following week. Cassandra had a mere seven days to convince Lord Tyndall he loved only her.
She dressed carefully for dinner, strategically planning out her wardrobe choices for the next few days with an eye to allurement. She examined her gowns and wondered if she might be able to ask one of the maids to perform a few repairs. Limited funds had forced Cassandra to give up her personal maid. Fortunately, no one questioned her story when she explained her maid had been called away on a family emergency. There was no shortage of staff at Hadley Hall, though how she would explain why her dresses needed repair when she only just arrived might be a bit tricky. She could hardly tell them she had been so busy caring for her ill father and directing the management of his meager estate she had neither the time nor funds for proper clothing.
Of course, they were servants, so why did she feel a need to explain anything to them at all?
At dinner time she left her room intent on securing Owen's affections. A footman at the end of the hall caught her attention. “You there,” she called out. “I need your assistance.”
The man turned in response to her directive, but did not move with sufficient speed to suit her. By the time he arrived at her door, he appeared insolent indeed. “Yes?” he asked, his eyes scanning her up and down in a most inappropriate way.
She added his immediate termination to the list of changes she would make as soon as she became Lady Tyndall. For now, she did not wish to tip her hand too readily, so she simply gave him a withering glare before turning back into her room and returning with one of her shoes which she handed to him saying
“There is a small hole in the sole of this shoe. Please see to its repair.”
The man, who she noticed had penetrating dark eyes and possibly a haughty smirk which she did her best to ignore, glanced down at the shoe in his hand, appeared to wish to say something, thought better of it, bowed and said “As you wish, my lady,” then turned and walked away.
Cassandra watched his retreat and hated herself for noting the way his jacket hugged the broad expanse of his shoulders. She gave herself a mental shake. She was on a mission to land a lord, not ogle the hired help.
She straightened her skirt, gave one last glance to the mirror, then made her way to the drawing room for pre-dinner socializing.
It pleased her when the object of her visit, Lord Owen Tyndall, glanced in her direction as she entered the room. She would never be so forward as to approach him, but she did make her way to a conversation area where Lady Jane sat which also happened to be very near Lord Tyndall’s location. As expected, he joined them and enquired after their well-being and asked how they had spent the afternoon.
“We had the most enjoyable time visiting in the drawing room and working on our embroidery,” Lady Jane said, with as much enthusiasm as a placid girl could. Presumably in hopes of aiding her friend’s cause, she added, “Miss Sheridan stitches beautifully.”
Lord Tyndall looked suitably impressed. “The fine handiwork ladies perform always amazes me. How can you stitch so delicately?”
Cassandra smiled demurely and peeped up at Lord Tyndall through her lashes. “You flatter me, my lord,” she said in her most humble voice. ‘Amazes’ was a strong word to use for the act of pushing a needle through a piece of cloth, but she assumed Lord Tyndall intended to express the ardor of his feelings for her in all things.
“Miss Eliza Collins is an exemplary stitcher,” Lord Tyndall said, a faraway look in his eye. Cassandra’s demure countenance disappeared and she snapped her gaze up to look at him before she realized the suddenness of her movements.
“I have heard she is quite accomplished,” Lady Jane said and Cassandra wondered how on earth a woman miles away and not expected for days, had invaded the drawing room. This was her night, not some stupid woman with money and extraordinary needle skills.
From behind her, Cassandra heard a cough which might have been a stifled laugh. She tilted her head and unobtrusively scanned the room.
The impudent footman stood near the mantle. Had he overheard their conversation? Had he snickered at her expense?
A footman making fun of her, Miss Cassandra Sheridan, a woman who would soon be mistress of this household? The cheek.
She gave him her most imperious stare from the top of his thick dark hair to the tips of his well shined boots. She pretended most intensely she had not noticed his piercing eyes or broad chest.
To her satisfaction, the servant turned and left the room.
Clearly she would make a most excellent lady of the manor.
***
Dinner was a cozy affair with the three members of the Tyndall family and Cassandra. She paused for a moment to take in the experience and hoped her future held many more such meals.
She sipped her wine and examined the elaborate display of food before her. Although her father was a gentleman with a modest estate, their table had never been particularly bountiful. On occasion, when times had been especially difficult, Cassandra had even done some of the cooking, an activity which she knew would be met by horror if a member of the Tyndall, or any proper family, found out.
She had been most careful and did up her hands with buttermilk and rags to prevent them from looking like the hands of a scullery maid. A lady could not have rough, red hands.
Glancing down at the variety of foods on her plate, Cassandra felt a stab of guilt. No doubt her sisters and father were not eating nearly so well. The dining table contained enough food to sustain her family for several days and still enough for a hearty stew.
She doubted if her dinner companions had ever known real hunger or wondered whether there would be enough food to feed the family. Had Lady Tyndall ever gone without a meal so her children would not feel the gnawing ache of deprivation?
Cassandra nearly snorted with derision at the idea.
Of course the Tyndall family of Hadley Hall had never done without.
Once she became one of them, neither would she. And neither would her sisters and, dare she hope, neither would her father.
Relief and anxiety warred within her. Relief at the prospect that she would soon be betrothed to Lord Tyndall and all her money worries, and those of her sisters, would be forgotten. Anxiety at whether or not she could accomplish the feat.
Lady Tyndall, like a well-bred gentlewoman ought, kept the conversation flowing at the dinner table. “My dear,” she said, leaning toward her son, “I understand you were shooting this afternoon. I trust it went well.” She smiled at her first born as though the sun shone out his ears and the stars gathered in his backside.
Lord Tyndall, the man in whose company Cassandra wished to pass her remaining years, dabbed at a bit of gravy dribbled on his shirt, and so focused on the task at hand, he did not hear his mother’s address.
After an awkward pause during which the three women at the table watched him create a large gravy smear on his white shirt, his mother finally yanked the napkin from his hand and when he looked up at her in surprise she said, “I am sure the laundry maid will be able to get that stain out. It is not necessary for you to attempt such tasks. Remember, you are Lord Tyndall.”
Owen, Lord Tyndall, glanced down at the brown spot on his shirt and back up at his mother. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said, his eyes suddenly cast downward.
Lady Tyndall gave her son an indulgent smile and pursued another conversational course. “Miss Sheridan, I do not believe I know much about your family. In fact, I cannot recall ever meeting any Sheridans before.”
Cassandra took her time chewing and swallowing the food in her mouth. Not only did it show good manners, but it gave her an opportunity to formulate a response.
“Perhaps you might know some members of my mother’s family. She was Miss Sarah Bennington before she married my father.” Cassandra held her head high and met Lady Tyndall’s gaze. Her statement was completely true.
Lady Tyndall perked up at the name. “Why yes, I do know several members of that family and I believe I might have met your mother long ago at a house party in Derbyshire.”
Cassandra cursed herself for her hypocrisy. Cassandra's mother had been abandoned by her family when she married Cassandra’s father and it galled Cassandra to use their name or pretend an acquaintance with complete strangers. However, given that they never provided a bit of comfort or support for her mother, Cassandra believed the least the Bennington family could do was to afford Cassandra a bit of social cachet when needed. If she was going to ensnare Owen Tyndall, she would need all the help she could get, honest or slightly dishonest.
Cassandra smiled at Lady Tyndall and said, “My mother’s family is from Derbyshire, so it is likely you met her.”
“Yes,” Lady Tyndall said,pleased with herself, “I do remember now. In fact, as I recall, there was some scandal in that family years ago.”
Cassandra did her best to keep her face composed. “Does not every family have its share of scandals if one looks closely enough?”
Lady Tyndall gasped and pressed her hand over her heart. “Heavens! The Tyndall family has never had a scandal associated with its name and I pray it never does.” Lady Tyndall took a hearty gulp of wine and continued to espouse her thoughts. “As I recall, the Bennington family scandal involved a daughter marrying a man who was well-beneath her. Marrying below oneself is always a bad idea. It brings shame to a family.”
Cassandra, not wishing Lady Tyndall to opine any further lest she stumble closer to the truth, struggled for a response.
“But what of love?” Lady Jane ventured in a soft voice.
Cassandra had been so focused on diverting Lady
Tyndall’s attention she forgot about the presence of others at the dinner table. Cassandra was grateful, and surprised, when Lady Jane entered the conversation.
However, based on Lady Tyndall’s response, she suspected Lady Jane wished she had kept quiet. “Love? What pish-posh! Have you been reading novels again? I told you what I think of such drivel.” Lady Tyndall wiped her mouth with her napkin and stood up, signaling the end of the meal.
Lady Tyndall's thoughts on love continued as they moved to the drawing room for coffee. “It is every person’s obligation to make a good marriage for the sake of their family and their future children. Love, or more likely infatuation, only clouds the judgment. It is precisely the sort of muddled thinking that causes people to run off and marry the wrong type of person simply because they are guided by their emotions. And then what happens? They find that love, or what they call love, is not enough to keep food on the table and they come crawling back to their families bringing with them their shame and poor relations.”
Cassandra clamped her upper lip between her teeth to keep from contradicting Lady Tyndall. Breathing deeply, she took some small comfort in thinking about the fine lady’s response when she learned her son had married a girl whose parents had done exactly that, though they never demeaned themselves by going back to her mother’s family in search of support.
If they had, Cassandra might not have found herself clutching at the possibility—no certainty—of marrying Lord Owen Tyndall, who sat across from her in the drawing room with a large gravy stain over the expanse of his belly.
Chapter Two
Although the after dinner entertainment did not afford Cassandra the opportunity to spend much time conversing alone with Owen, she did go to bed optimistic because they had made plans to go for a ride before breakfast.
Propriety dictated Owen and Cassandra not go off into the woods on horseback alone, so Lady Jane volunteered to chaperone, though what the timid girl would do if Cassandra and Owen misbehaved was hard to imagine.
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