Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  “I can understand your reticence at our new situation, Lady Franklin, but I must insist that you comply. If our lack of knowledge about one another troubles you so, then it is my duty to increase our breadth of understanding on the subject.” His eyes flicker at the suggestion, and for some reason I notice my heart beginning to race beneath my gown. I flush, unsure if his words have produced irritation or worse, some other deep-seated emotional response. “We need not remain strangers if this is what you prefer.”

  For the first time I find that I have no words. I drop my gaze, unable to fathom my body’s odd reaction to this man. Thus far he has been little more than rude and provocative, deliberately berating me and then forbidding my desire for a small glass of wine with supper. Now I find that he insists on my remaining at Markham, and even more peculiar, that he desires us to get to know one another. My instinct is to rebel. I do not want to be his responsibility, no matter what he says. So why then, do I feel an odd yearning to acquiesce?

  “You will find I run an efficient and fair household, My Lady.” His voice has softened a little again, and washes over me in the most curious way. “You will be made to feel most welcome here, and if for any reason you find that this is not the case, I urge you to come to me at once with this information. My household know the consequences for ill behaviour.”

  A memory of the way Gregory had rebuked Lucy in the hallway fills my mind at his words. Had the butler not also spoken of ‘consequences’? I shift in my seat awkwardly as I try to push the thought away.

  “Thank you,” I say. My throat has unexpectedly dried, leaving my voice little more than a whisper. I reach for my glass, again taking a large drink of the cooling water, before turning back to face him. His eyes are adamant, and fixed upon me as though he is taking in my entire demeanour as well as my words and responses. It is as though he has morphed from the cold, aloof gentleman who met my entrance in this room, into this intently dedicated individual, passionate in ensuring my happiness in his home—my home.

  “I made a promise to your father many years ago, that—if the worst should happen—I would be able to support you and promote your best advantage in his absence. It is what he wanted, My Lady, and I pray that you at least try to satisfy his demands.”

  I listen to his appeal, watching his body as he speaks. Bizarrely, I am drawn to his physicality. Once more I notice the line of his strong jaw, and my eyes are compelled to witness the fullness of his lips. It is not until he has ceased speaking for several moments that I realise he is now looking to me for a response. Those green eyes are alive, twinkling with the passion of his plea.

  I recall my mind-set in the carriage over here. I had been resolute that my return to London would be imminent. Yet now I find, despite my feathers initially having been ruffled, that I am inclining toward agreement with Lord Markham. I scoff at myself inwardly. It is not like me to be so torn on such a straightforward matter. Glancing back to Lord Markham’s dazzling gaze, I resolve to sleep on the issue. “I will try, My Lord,” I tell him.

  “Thank you, My Lady.” He is smiling again as he continues. “If you find you are malcontent then I will give your proposal further consideration.”

  I nod, apparently in agreement with this latest plan, although my entire attention is fixed wholly on the intensity in his gaze.

  “Do you happen to have the letter from your aunt, pertaining to our new arrangement?” he asks, his eyes still fixed on me.

  For a second I wonder to what document he refers, and then I remember the letter I brought from London—the one still folded in my rooms upstairs. I flush a little as I answer him. “Erm, yes, I do, but I’m afraid that it is currently in my rooms, with my other belongings.”

  The smile that greets me widens, almost as though he understands a little of how much he has gotten under my skin in the last half an hour.

  “Of course,” he says, nodding as if to reassure me. “It is not of immediate concern, but I should like to read it in due course, and take care of any outstanding matters. Breakfast will be an ideal time to do so. Do you think you can deliver it to me then, My Lady?”

  His voice has taken on rather a condescending air and I mean to protest that I am more than capable of delivering the letter then! Yet in spite of this, the idea that he is going to take care of matters is peculiarly comforting, and it pushes down my initial petulance at his response. In the end, I chose to concede, and reply in the affirmative. He pats my gloved hand gently, before drawing away and gesturing to Gregory, still waiting obediently against the wood-panelled wall.

  “Now, let us eat! I think we are done with the veal, Gregory. Please bring us the game course now.”

  A small troop of servants moves in around us, collecting our first courses, clearing away unwanted cutlery, and refilling glasses. I say nothing further the whole time, feeling unexpectedly cold without the warmth of my guardian’s undivided attention.

  Chapter Five: Night Walking

  The rest of supper passes in a blur. With the final course cleared away, I excuse myself, and am escorted back to my rooms to rest after an exceptionally weary day. Sleep comes fast, but is irritatingly fleeting. My dreams are punctuated by thoughts of my guardian, his powerful green eyes commanding and rebuking me as I await his verdict on some unknown matter. The images rouse me, and I find myself awake once more. Rolling onto my right side toward the window, I pull the wealth of covers with me. Moonlight floods my room, creating an eerie, ethereal look, and from outside I can hear the strength of the wind still battling with the branches of ancient trees. My first night at Markham Hall is proving to be anything but restful.

  Rising from my covers, I take small steps toward the window. The moon lights the canopies of old, established trees, but other than that, there is little to see in the black of the night. I pull on the long luxury drapes, drawing them together to conceal the silver strands of moonlight. Turning, I mean to make my way back to my bed, but find I am instead heading for the door to the hallway. I pause, grappling in the dark to find the handle, before opening the door back toward me. My room is filled with the much cooler air of the corridor, and I reach instinctively for my silken robe hanging behind the door. Unhooking it, I draw the material over my body and fasten it tight at my waist.

  The dark hallway beckons, and I travel down it as if still in a dream. The silence around me is deafening, pressing down upon me as I make my way onward. There is only the sound of my soft tread over the aged floorboards, and the steady drumming of my heart, purring with excitement at my latest adventure.

  I come to the head of the galleried staircase, and it is then that movement from downstairs captures my attention. From the corner of my eye a tall, dark shape passes through the hallway below. With only the moonlight from various windows around the property as guidance, it is impossible to know who I have seen, but there’s no denying the height of the individual I witnessed, and my thoughts are drawn at once to Lord Markham, who had towered over me easily at supper.

  The person below moves swiftly, leaving a room on the right and striding past the large front door to an entrance on my left side. The door opens, allowing dim light to flood the area, before the unknown individual passes into the room ahead. My body stills as I observe the scene, my heart pounding with trepidation. How will I explain my whereabouts if I am discovered wandering the halls at this time of the night? I should return to my room right now, and I know it. So why are my feet not moving back in that direction? Why am I still standing here at the edge of the staircase, and in fact now moving onward as I approach the top step?

  My right hand grabs the spiralling wood of the bannister as I make my way from the first step, descending the soft pile beneath my toes in almost perfect silence. My eyes remain fixed on the doorway in which the person just disappeared, as though I expect them to burst out again at any moment. Reaching the bottom step, I hesitate once again, wondering if I should instead just return the distance to my room. It is futile, howe
ver; my feet—seemingly blessed with independent thought—already move onto the carpeted floor which separates the stairway from the large front door, taking me toward the unknown room ahead.

  As I approach I recognise Lord Markham’s deep baritone voice. For some absurd reason my heart rate increases at the thought that he is just beyond the door, and I shake my head at my own foolish response. Taking another step forward, I can make out the voice of another man. It is older than His Lordship’s, but the words are impossible to decipher through the deep-set wood between us. I reach the entrance, desperate to know more of what transpires in the next room. I move closer still, for some ridiculous reason compelled to press myself against the hard wood of the door, which separates me from the room beyond.

  It is then that I notice the door is slightly ajar. The low level light within the room barely registers from out here in the hallway, but the sounds now have a much greater clarity. Instead of just making out the resonance of voices, I can now discern parts of the conversations they are having. I move inch by inch until I am leaning against the closed part of the door frame, trying to slow my ragged breathing as I listen.

  “Tell me more about today’s transgressions.” His voice is steady, yet enquiring.

  “Well, My Lord, it has generally been a good day. Carson and the other footmen have worked hard, and I think you’ll agree that supper was more than favourable?”

  I hold my breath, realising that the other voice belongs to Gregory, the domineering butler.

  “Yes,” agrees Lord Markham. “It was most enjoyable. I assume however that not all has been so pleasing, or why else would you have brought Lucy here before me?”

  I gasp quietly at his words. So, Lucy is also there with His Lordship and Mr. Gregory?

  “I am afraid that Lucy was remiss earlier when Lady Franklin arrived at Markham Hall.” There is a pause, and some unknown sounds from inside the room. “She was not there to meet Her Ladyship, as was your expectation in your absence.”

  “Tell me, Lucy,” His Lordship’s voice has taken on a steelier quality. “Is what Mr. Gregory tells me true?”

  “Yes, My Lord.” Lucy’s reply is quiet, and little more than a whisper.

  “Why were you not in position? Was the importance of Lady Franklin’s arrival not explicitly expressed to you?”

  “Yes,” she whimpers in response.

  His Lordship sighs. It is a long, low sound, which reflexively makes me shiver. I pull the edges of my robe around my body.

  “Was this matter dealt with, Mr. Gregory?” Lord Markham sounds terse with frustration.

  “Yes, My Lord,” comes the answer. “Lucy was spoken to briefly before our evening duties, but, given the severity of the offence, I was compelled to advise Your Lordship.”

  “You were right to, Mr. Gregory,” replies His Lordship. “Whilst I do not appreciate being drawn from my chambers at this late hour, this incident is serious. Lucy, you were not there to represent my home as Her Ladyship arrived. What type of a first impression do you think that made on our guest?”

  “Not a favourable one, My Lord, but please—I beg you—I have done everything I can to make Lady Franklin welcome since that time!” Lucy sounds desperate, and close to tears.

  “I am certain this is true, Lucy. You are an exceptional maid, and an asset to my home.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” comes the unseen reply.

  “Yet I cannot allow such a transgression to go without punishment, do you understand?”

  “Y-yes, My Lord.” I tense at the sound of Lucy’s voice. She clearly knows what is coming next, and I shift my weight awkwardly, anticipating Lord Markham’s verdict.

  “Good. I will administer the rest of your penalty with a short spanking over my knee. Mr. Gregory can stay and ensure I am fair in its delivery.”

  I inhale sharply, pulling the air between my lips as his words wash over me. A spanking over his knee—can this really be how justice is meted out at Markham Hall? Beneath the silk my skin begins to pimple as goose bumps break out over my chest and arms at the prospect. As an only daughter of a military-serving earl, I have led a sheltered and privileged life. I had rarely been chastised as a child, let alone physically punished as an adult! The notion is truly mind-blowing, creating a sense of injustice in me for Lucy. She had been remiss in her duties, yet surely she did not deserve this reprimand? The sound of Mr. Gregory’s voice draws me back to the here and now.

  “As you wish, My Lord.”

  “Do you have anything to say, Lucy?”

  It is Lord Markham’s voice which interjects, and I hold my breath, awaiting her reply.

  “Only that I am truly sorry, My Lord. I promise I shall never let it happen again.”

  I press my back against the wooden frame behind me, wishing all at once that I could see into the room beyond the timber barrier. In spite of my disgust at Lucy’s sentence, and the unlikely need I feel to protect her, I can feel my body reacting to the mere idea of her spanking. I notice that my breathing has increased, and I gaze at my chest, watching it rise and fall beneath the length of my nightgown. Why, I wonder, should I feel this way in light of the spanking of a maid I barely know? The whole thing is utterly ridiculous.

  “May I suggest we begin at once, Lucy? I am sure we would all like to get some rest before the night becomes morning.”

  There is a small whimper from Lucy, and then the sounds of movement inside the room. I shift my weight forward, compelled yet again to actually witness the punishment. I push myself toward the other end of the frame, to where the crack of dim light permeates the hallway. I know I cannot be found here, like this—spying on His Lordship during my very first night in the household! And yet, there is no denying it; my need to witness Lucy’s chastisement is strong and peculiar. I have no explanation, and yet here I am, on tiptoes, pressing my palms into the wood in front of me. I peer into the small space between the door frame and whatever room lies ahead.

  Straining my neck to the left, I am just able to see a pair of upturned female legs in the centre of what looks like a library. I lean an inch further, willing myself forward, and yet all the time I am tuned into the words beyond me.

  “Lucy, I am going to spank you now… Gregory, please keep count for me.”

  I freeze at His Lordship’s words, eyeing the scene as best I can. From this new viewpoint I can make out most of Lucy, stretched over His Lordship’s lap. He is seated on a high-backed timber chair, and fortunately has his back to the door. Lucy’s black skirt has been unceremoniously hoisted up over her back, and to my horror I can see she is exposed from the waist down. The sheer humiliation of this act rankles me. She may just be a servant, but how dare she be treated this way! A sound behind the doorway gains my attention, and I realise that Mr. Gregory must be standing just beyond it. I hold my breath instinctively, appreciating just how close I am to detection.

  As I watch, shocked and yet bizarrely fascinated, Lord Markham raises his right hand and sends it racing back down against Lucy’s bare backside. The sound of the impact is deep and echoes around the room. More than that though, it resonates within me in the most profound way. A small gasp leaves my lips, and instinctively I clutch my left palm to my mouth, now balancing only my right hand against the wood. And something else is transpiring as well; there’s a heat growing from within me, spreading all over my body, and pooling curiously between my legs.

  I notice that Lucy, still draped over Lord Markham’s lap, has barely even flinched at the impact, and I wonder at just how ‘routine’ these punishments are in the household.

  “One, My Lord.” The sound of Mr. Gregory’s voice startles me, making the whole experience even more surreal.

  His Lordship raises his hand again, sending it crashing back against the pale skin of Lucy. I flinch inwardly at the impact, noticing her skin redden as his hand moves away. For her part, Lucy lets only a small whimper escape her lips, and yet again I am in awe of her quiet demeanour
given what is taking place in front of my eyes. The sound of Mr. Gregory numbering the strike signals to Lord Markham to continue with the third impact.

  The spanking goes on this way for what feels like an hour, although in reality only five further strikes are given. I count them in my head long before Gregory announces the number, listening to Lucy cry out at the last few, and transfixed by what I am witnessing. My initial revulsion at the injustice and degradation of the act remains steadfast. I am shocked that a gentleman like my guardian would even entertain such a punishment! Of more concern though is the way my own body seems to react to Lucy’s spanking. My heart, which has been racing in my chest since I first noticed His Lordship from the staircase, is now absolutely pounding. It threatens to jump into my throat at any moment, which has dried of its own accord. Energy rushes through my senses; an odd combination of fear at being caught, shock at what I bear witness to, and something else… That burgeoning heat between my thighs.

  Waves of nausea wash over me, as well as surges of excitement. There is little point in denying it to myself; I am excited by what I see. As the strong palm connects once again to the young woman’s behind, I consider why it is that I am so compelled by the scene. Perhaps it is the way Lucy has yielded so entirely to the spanking? Even now there is only a moderate mewl from her mouth, although her bared bottom must be stinging with the pain and the humiliation of the act. Then there is my guardian… His back is to me, so it is impossible to tell how he feels on the subject. Is this a chore he feels obliged to carry out, or does he secretly relish the opportunity to tan the backside of his disobedient servants? Maybe it is not a secret at all and the staff here know that any misdemeanours will land them over His Lordship’s knee? I shake my head, as though the emotion and confusion will fall away if I do so. Why should it be so exciting to see him behaving in such a masterful way? What is it about seeing Lucy sprawled over him in such a submissive manner which stirs these peculiar feelings in me? Surely it is lunacy, but it is almost as though I too wish to feel the sting of his palm.