Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master

by Vanessa Brooks

  “Now what is the matter?” he asked. “Look, as much as I would like to put you over my knee and spank you soundly—which, incidentally, you do very much deserve—I think we must concentrate on getting you warm, if not dry, before you catch your death from cold. Just look how wet you are!” He took hold of the blanket and pulled it away from her. “Come now, there’s a good girl, let’s get you as dry as we can,” he coaxed.

  He’d intended to rub her briskly with the blanket, but when he stretched out his hand, she whipped forward and sank her teeth deep into his wrist, drawing blood. “Yee-ouch! Why, you spiteful baggage! I have a good mind to— You have been asking for this, you little brat. That’s it, I’m going to warm you properly!”

  Provoked beyond endurance and recalling her vicious attack upon him earlier in the evening, not to mention her ill-mannered behaviour over the past few days, he hauled Linnet across his knee, determined to teach her a much-needed lesson in manners. Raising his arm, he proceeded to spank her with emphasis. Her head was smothered in the wet wool rug, which hampered her struggles and muffled her cries. She managed to sink her teeth into John’s thigh. Although the blanket took the worst of the bite, he jumped and gritted his teeth, compelled to teach the English harridan a lesson she’d not soon forget.

  He flung up her wet gown and petticoats, baring her peachy behind. She stilled for a moment, and he surmised that she was in shock. He took his time admiring the pair of alabaster orbs lying face up across his lap and stroked her silken skin before raising his hand. He landed a satisfying slap on her exposed bottom, more than pleased by the pink hand-mark now blooming on her pale skin. She shrieked, no longer still. John continued to spank her, catching her hand as she tried to protect her pink posterior.

  “Oh no you don’t,” he scolded, his voice dark with warning.

  He continued slapping her rear end, his arm swinging in a repetitive arc, delivering the chastisement with immense pleasure. “You have been spoiled, a privileged brat all your life. Your father should have taken you in hand years ago but never fear, you are about to take a husband. I shall see to all your needs. After we are wed, I will address the subject of your neglected discipline.”

  She howled, she kicked, but to no avail. It was obvious to John that no one had ever dared to treat her thus before. “You earned this spanking. Once we are wed you will find I have a low tolerance for sassy, brattish behaviour.” Her flesh felt heated under his chastising hand. She began to weep in earnest.

  Finally, her writhing behind well and truly punished, he released her.

  “Don’t you d-dare laugh at me!” she cried. “As soon as my father hears about this, he’ll k-kill you, you brute!”

  Her mouth wobbled precariously. He grinned, for with her narrowed green eyes, she resembled a spitting kitten.

  Once the coach had finally arrived at the house, Davis jumped down and opened the carriage door. He leapt back in surprise as his mistress tumbled down from the coach and streaked headlong across the gravel and into the house. John leaned forward to watch as she disappeared, shaking his head pensively. Slowly he clambered down from the coach himself and followed her path into the entrance.

  Once inside, he went straight to the library, where he knew Sir Edward Wainwright kept his brandy. He poured himself a generous tot then wrote a brief note to Sir Edward, handing it to a footman before settling himself into a comfortable fireside chair to await his host’s return. He knew that he should be the one to tell Linnet’s father what had occurred that night, and wondered how the elderly gentleman would react to John spanking his darling girl.

  Linnet, meanwhile, ran straight up to her bedroom. She was sorry now that she had told Lottie not to wait up for her. Trying to remove her soaking wet satin ball gown by herself was no easy task, particularly when her fingers were stiff with cold and she was shivering violently. Eventually, she managed to free herself of the cumbersome gown. Using an old soft blanket, she rubbed her hair and body vigorously dry. After throwing some coal onto the dying fire, she gave it a rattle with the poker that brought it back to life. She hurried to the bed, snuggling into the soft inviting depths.

  As she lay waiting restlessly for sleep, she reflected miserably upon her disastrous evening. First, she pondered that extraordinary kiss. She wondered at her reaction to the American. That intoxicating male smell, overlaid by the scent bay rum which so aroused her senses. Her awareness of his body warmth as his heat had seeped through the flimsy material of her gown, warming her flesh, lulling her into a false sense of security. She remembered the steady beat of his heart as he held her close. The slow, sensuous pressure of his lips pressed to hers, which caused such languor as her lips responded to his.

  She had been suddenly and acutely aware of her own body, of her breasts and hardening nipples pressed up against the hard planes of his chest. Her heart had pounded, the blood racing through her veins as desire held her enthralled. It was as if time had ceased, and all that remained was his kiss. Her lips had moved involuntarily, responding to the hypnotic, sensuous rhythm he’d set, with the impudent flicking of his tongue. Compliantly, she’d parted her mouth, allowing his tongue entrance. Even now she felt intensely excited by the thought of his unexpected invasion of her virginal ingress, her first ever kiss. Then the hurtful rejection as he’d shoved her away, heaping scorn upon her, confusing her, playing with her fragile emotions.

  Tears of self-pity filled her eyes. Oh, how she loathed the odious man! How dare he treat her in such a barbaric way! She’d never been so humiliated in all her life and then to top it all he’d spanked her! She tossed in the bed, trembling with ire and indignation. No one, but no one, had ever subjected her to such treatment before. Oh, how she hated this arrogant fellow, this American interloper, John Foster! She’d never marry him, no, not even if he were the last man on this earth. Her father would be utterly livid with John Foster; he would probably hang him for what he’d done to his precious daughter. She enjoyed a satisfying vision of John Foster hanging from their huge oak tree in the garden. At the very least, Sir Edward would cut business ties with the man.

  Her father would see that she had been right all along and stop this foolish plan to marry her off to the colonial lout. She knew Sir Edward would be absolutely horrified by tonight’s events, there was no doubt in her mind that when she arose in the morning, John—bloody, yes that’s the word for him, bloody—John Foster would be exiled from the house for good! She smiled drowsily to herself, content at the thought as she drifted away into a deep sleep.

  The next morning dawned chill but bright. Linnet awoke and, refreshed, she lay listening to the bird song outside for a moment then stretched and threw off the covers. Lottie tapped at the door and walked straight in as she was wont to do every morning. She carried a pail of steaming hot water.

  “I thought after your escapade last night, you might like to soak in the tub. Hattie and Jane are following me with more hot water. I’ll leave this here and fetch the tub. Mr. Foster had a bath this morning, so—”

  Linnet interrupted her. “What? That man is still here?”

  “Why yes, miss, an' there are secrets afoot if you ask me,” Lottie said, tapping the side of her nose, nodding sagely.

  “Whatever do you mean, Lottie, secrets?” But before Lottie had time to answer, the upstairs maid arrived with more hot water. Lottie slipped out of the door to fetch the copper tub used by the family for bathing.

  Later that day, Linnet sat alone on the pinnacle of a hill some way from Lavenstock. It was a favourite spot of hers. The fragrant meadow afforded a lovely view that swept as far as the sea. She was reeling from shock at the interview she’d had with her father. Fully expecting outrage on her behalf, after the previous night’s spanking incident, she had been unprepared for his hostile reaction toward her.

  He’d summoned her to his study after she’d breakfasted, and castigated her. Seating herself confidently in the chair opposite his desk, it had taken her a few moments to understand that it
was she he was berating and not the odious Foster! Sir Edward had not even let her interrupt him to explain the true version of the previous night’s events. She realised that she’d never before seen her father so angry with her. He’d left her no choice but had outlined a course for her, demanding in no uncertain terms that she marry John Foster. Without the marriage, he insisted, she would be ruined by her behaviour the previous evening. He would brook no disobedience from her. He berated himself for sparing the rod and spoiling her.

  It was at this point that Linnet had indignantly raised a protest but, holding a hand up to silence her, Sir Edward had bellowed at her, his face purple with rage. Linnet had found herself nervous of her father for the first time in her life, and had subsided quietly into her chair, listening without further interruption until he’d finished.

  The essence of the scolding was that she would marry John Foster. Her dowry would ensure that John would become sole heir to the business. As the dry financial details were explained to her, Linnet realised that John Foster would, in effect, own her. She was informed that they were to marry a fortnight hence and leave for Boston America from Plymouth on the following day. They would travel on one of the company’s ships, The Tempest, which her father had given to Foster as a wedding gift. It would be carrying a cargo of tea and cloth back to Boston. When Sir Edward finished his litany, Linnet had fled to her room, hastily donned her riding habit, and left the house. She’d galloped away at speed a short while later, riding her beloved horse, Pango.

  She now sat upon the ground, wondering what on earth she should do about the whole tangled situation. Desolately, she plucked at the soft spring grass. She’d always assumed that she would be allowed to choose her own husband. Her father had always indulged her; it had not even occurred to her that he might select a husband for her, let alone a man she did not like!

  Oh, she knew well enough that it was common practice for parents to make matches for their daughters. But having grown up without a mother, she’d become accustomed to thinking for herself. After all, her father had encouraged her to do just that.

  She found her thoughts drifting to this man, Foster. She grudgingly admitted he was handsome, if you liked dark brooding men, which she most certainly did not. There was something dangerous about him—there had to be, for her to feel so unsettled around him—especially after the humiliating way he’d treated her the previous night. The situation was so unfair. She wanted to marry someone easy-going like Charles, someone who would not interfere overmuch with her perfect life, someone who would leave her to plan their social calendar, giving her free rein to do pretty much as she liked. Not some overbearing tyrant like this Foster, a man who resorted to violence when he was disagreed with. She sniffed disdainfully. What was it her father had said? Ah, yes. “John tells me that you are a wilful and heedless young woman who is in need of a strong man for your husband, one who will know how to quell and modify your behaviour.” Linnet squirmed, absolutely mortified. She was furious. Imagine the nerve of the man, his insufferable cheek unbelievable!

  “Oooh, he is a detestable, bullying oaf!” she squealed aloud, startling Pango, who swung his head up from where he was quietly cropping the lush spring grass. His dark intelligent eyes watched his beloved mistress, apparently waiting to see if she was about to call him to her but since Linnet continued to sit, quietly frowning into the distance, he dropped his head back down to tear at the turf once more.

  She decided that if things did not change within two weeks and she did end up married to that insufferable bastard, she’d run him a merry dance. If she could make his life difficult enough, perhaps she’d be able to come to some agreement with him. She’d suggest that he return to Boston alone, leaving her behind with her father. After all, plenty of marriages continued in just such a manner. The more she thought about her plan, the more sensible it appeared to be. Fairly soon, she felt much better about her situation, so much so that she decided that when she saw John next, she’d suggest her proposal immediately. She intended to use her father’s age and frailty as a lever to her remaining in England while he returned, with good riddance, to the New World. Having solved things to her own satisfaction, she re-mounted and turned in the direction of home.

  On her return to Lavenstock, Linnet was dismayed to find that John had left the house. She was told that he would not be returning until the day of their proposed wedding. The reason given was that he had business to attend to in Plymouth.

  In actual fact, although he did have some tasks to attend to, the real reason was that he suspected Linnet would attempt some sort of hare-brained scheme to scupper their wedding. He had no wish to antagonise or irritate her with his constant presence and so he concluded the sensible solution was for him to remove himself as far from her wrath as possible.

  Sir Edward Wainwright was adamant that the wedding would take place; he was extremely pleased that his plans had come to fruition. He was most reassuring and jovial whilst seeing John into his coach after luncheon.

  Linnet was at first dismayed by John’s absence but then relieved to find him gone. Embarrassed by the treatment he’d meted out to her in the coach the previous evening, she was pleased not to have to face him again so soon, reasoning that with him out of the way, she could persuade her father to let her remain behind in England while John returned to the Americas.

  Now that she felt calmer, Linnet began to face the fact that in the society in which they lived, where the slightest hint of scandal ruined a young girl’s reputation, she really had no other option but to accept John’s proposal of marriage. Of the marriage bed, well, whenever her thoughts drifted to that terrifying, rather embarrassing subject, she remembered their kiss upon the balcony at the ball and her confusion grew, so she decided not to dwell any further on the matter.

  The days passed quickly in a whirl of activity. Linnet settled down, she began to enjoy the fuss and attention afforded her as a bride. Her mother’s wedding gown was brought down from the attic; it had been carefully wrapped and preserved in camphor and linen. The heavy garment had once been pale yellow but was now aged to a deep golden cream. The high, rounded neckline had a border ruff, edged with tiny seed pearls. The sleeves hung below the elbow. The bodice was silk with a layer of lace, sewn with more seed pearls. The front was a stiff panel with an attached skirt of flounced edges, each flounce decorated with a cream embroidered rose which was embellished with seed pearls. A train of the same material hung from the shoulders of the gown. The style was not of today’s fashion, but for once, Linnet did not care. This was her beloved mother’s wedding gown, and she was thrilled with it. After all, it was still a strikingly beautiful dress of quality and richness, and she loved it.

  Linnet had put forward her post-marriage plan to her father, and he had rather surprisingly listened to her. Sir Edward even appeared to agree with her plan. He told her that, contrary to her opinion, John was a very reasonable and kindly young man, one who would no doubt consider what she had suggested most seriously. Since this conversation, Linnet had convinced herself that the problem was as good as solved. Her troublesome husband would soon be gone from whence he came, while she would remain behind at Lavenstock Hall. Free to continue the life that she loved.

  Chapter 5

  The day of Linnet’s wedding dawned cloudy and dull. So much for good omens, she brooded as she gazed out of her bedroom window at the depressingly dull weather. She’d breakfasted in bed then bathed in the linen-lined copper tub. Lottie put up her hair, parted at the back with a profusion of burnished ringlets and leaving a few wispy tendrils that framed Linnet’s face. She planned to wear her mother’s pearl drop earrings but no other jewellery.

  Linnet turned away from the window and slipped her feet into her soft satin slippers. Standing quietly in her shift, she waited for Lottie to place her wedding dress over her head. Amazingly, she felt calm and rather dreamy. Lottie needed Hattie’s help to lift the layers of foamy petticoats over Linnet’s head and smooth them down. Then,
carefully, gently, they put the precious wedding gown on their mistress while she stood patiently. Lottie fastened the many laces at the back of the gown. “There! All done, miss. Ah, mistress Linnet, you look like a princess from a fairytale, you do,” Lottie cooed as she turned Linnet to see herself in the looking glass.

  Linnet gazed at her reflection; she did indeed look like a regal princess. She swished to and fro in front of the mirror, the voluminous dress and petticoats rustling pleasingly as she moved.

  “My roses please, Lottie.”

  Handing Linnet her bouquet of the palest pink and cream roses, bound up in a creamy satin ribbon to match her dress, Lottie’s eyes misted over. “Miss Linnet, might I wish you every happiness?”

  “Why, thank you, Lottie dear.”

  Linnet kissed her little maid’s warm, flushed cheek. The maid took out her handkerchief and blew hard. Linnet patted her shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked out of the door, head held high, accepting of her fate.

  Sir Edward Wainwright was pacing downstairs. Wandering from his study into the hall then back again, luckily, he happened to be in the hall as Linnet descended the staircase. Hearing a faint rustling of skirts, he glanced up and his breath caught in his throat as he watched his beautiful, beloved daughter slowly make her way down the curved stairway. She looked for a moment just as his dear Arabella had on their wedding day so many, many years ago.

  He wiped a tear from his rheumy eye and blew his nose loudly. How could he bear to part with his enchanting, green-eyed puss? The last link, it seemed, with his darling Arabella. He had put forward Linnet’s suggestion that she remain here at Lavenstock with him while John returned to the Colonies but John had kindly and firmly refused to consider the idea. Truth be told, Sir Edward would not have respected the man had he agreed to Linnet’s plan. A man should have his wife beside him, why else take a wife? He knew he would miss his daughter’s presence dreadfully but at least he felt assured that she would be well cared for when his own end came about.