Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  Reseating myself, I catch my breath, but my thoughts are irrevocably drawn to the scene playing out in front of the house. Who is it that His Lordship greets there, and what will it mean for me, his new ward? I take a deep breath, uncertain about what I have seen, but I feel sure that the identity of this lady will be discovered soon enough. Seizing the quill once more, I scribble the address of my old residence and my aunt’s full name, before rising from the desk with the papers in my hands. I will find one of the staff and arrange for the letter to be sent immediately. Making my way to the door, I find it opening of its own accord and it is Mr. Gregory who greets me. His round face forms into an insincere smile as I approach. “Excuse the interruption, My Lady. Lord Markham has asked me to invite you to the library.”

  I still in an instant, my thoughts automatically returning to what I had witnessed transpire in the library the day before last. “Of course,” I reply, “and Mr. Gregory, do you think you can arrange for this correspondence to be sent to my aunt in London? I have included her address here…” I wave the top sheet of paper at him theatrically, indicating my intention.

  His expression doesn’t change one iota. “It will be my pleasure, My Lady,” he answers, bowing low as he opens the door and allows me to pass into the hallway.

  We walk the distance to the library together in silence. Two days at Markham Hall have not been sufficient for me to have grown used to the sheer size and finery of the place, and as we pass, the sight leaves me breathless. We approach the library, and Gregory knocks on the wooden door, waiting for His Lordship’s response. I recall how I had stood in that very position myself during Lucy’s spanking, and then that it had been Gregory himself who had seen me, and passed the information to Lord Markham. I flush a little at the notion that he could have any idea of the likely consequences Lord Markham handed out to me. Finally, after several long moments, my guardian’s voice calls out for us to enter, and Gregory falls back, gesturing for me to do so alone.

  Irritated by the effect the butler has had on me, I move forward without so much as a sideways glance at Gregory, pushing back the door and entering, for the first time, the library at Markham Hall. I arrive to find a much lighter and airier room than I had recalled in the candlelit darkness of the night. A huge window sits proudly to my right, taking up most of the space where a wall should have been, and allowing the space within to be filled with sunlight. As I look around I notice that every other wall is lined ceiling to floor with books. The numbers here must be vast, and I make a mental note to ask permission to indulge myself in this room another time. The only wall not completely dominated by books is the one opposite the window, where a magnificent fireplace sits. Above this is a large mirror, which helps the light to bounce around the room.

  Standing by the side of the hearth is my guardian, his long right arm supporting his weight against it. He smiles as I enter, his eyes gesturing quickly to the woman I had seen earlier, who is seated in one of the several oversized chairs placed by the fire. I meet her eyes briefly, finding a cold, steely grey stare my reward.

  “Lady Franklin,” begins His Lordship, taking a small step away from the hearth. “Thank you for coming to join us.”

  “You’re welcome, Lord Markham,” I reply, sensing the need to imitate his formality.

  “I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to my mother, the Countess of Markham.” He waves a hand in the direction of the seated woman, who forces her pursed lips into a small smile. “Mama, please let me introduce my ward, Lady Lydia Franklin.”

  There is an awkward pause as the countess scrutinises every inch of my presence. Disconcerted, but not outdone, I move forward slightly as I speak. “It is an honour to meet you, Countess.”

  I feel the weight of Lord Markham’s gaze upon me, and I have the strongest desire to turn and look at him. However, given the context and the current company, I dare not, instead forcing my eyes upon the lady seated before me.

  “So, this is the young Lady Franklin, is it?”

  The countess’ enquiry sounds almost sardonic, and is loaded with an unspoken resentment at my presence here, with her son.

  “Yes, Mama,” interjects His Lordship as though he too senses the friction of the moment. “Lady Lydia is Earl Franklin’s only child. As you know he sadly passed away, and she is, therefore, now my responsibility.”

  His comments are met with a loud laugh from the countess. “You know my feelings on this subject, Thomas!” She looks to him as she continues. “We spoke of them only the day before last—you are far too young for this burden. You should be looking for a wife of your own, not a ward!”

  Her tone is unexpectedly cutting, and I recoil a little from her harsh analysis.

  “That is enough, Mama!” Lord Markham’s voice is low, but firm, reminding me of how he had spoken to me just yesterday. “This has been discussed and I have made my decision.”

  The countess looks visibly stung by his words. “Mark my words, Thomas. You will come to regret this decision of yours!”

  Within two strides His Lordship is standing right between the two of us. “I said enough, Mother! Lady Franklin is part of our family, and will reside here at Markham for as long as I deem fit. If you cannot be civil then I shall ask Gregory to call the carriage back for you.”

  I turn to the left and see his face, superficially calm, and yet simmering with silent rage beneath the surface.

  The countess says nothing further on the subject, pressing her mouth into a hard line as though she is biting back her response. After a moment, she finally replies. “You would not dare to have spoken to me this way if Count Markham had been alive.”

  “I would have never had the need,” comes his retort. “I am the Lord of Markham now, and my word is law in this house.”

  I clench in an almost reflexive way at his tone, my tanned bottom understanding his meaning all too well.

  Tears have formed in the countess’ eyes, and I notice her son’s face soften a little as he regards her. “Come now,” he says, coaxing her from her seat. “I will arrange for tea to be served in the drawing room. You must be worn out from your journey?”

  She nods, and takes his arm as she rises from her chair. They move past me, her eyes never once acknowledging my presence. His Lordship however, stills and looks to me.

  “Wait here, please, My Lady,” he commands softly. “We have much to discuss.” There is a twinkle in his eye as he speaks and all at once I remember our conversation at breakfast, and how I had alluded to my dream last night.

  “Yes, My Lord,” I answer respectfully.

  I watch them leave from the same door I had entered; the tall lord of the house escorting his much smaller mother.

  Chapter Thirteen: A Frank Discussion

  Time is so easily occupied in a library. I have barely assessed the books on the first shelf before His Lordship is back in the doorway. Once more I feel the intensity of his eyes on me, and I stop and look toward him.

  “Is the countess quite well?” I ask him as he moves inside the room and closes the door behind him. My instinct tells me that this woman could prove to be poisonous in the burgeoning relationship between my guardian and me, and yet, as his mother she does deserve respect.

  He sighs as he approaches me. “She is quite well—and full of vigour as you have seen.”

  I cannot decide if his tone is meant to be sardonic, and so I choose to ignore it. “She does not approve of my presence here?”

  It is more of a statement than a question in light of recent events, and yet I feel compelled to understand the reasoning for it. Why would His Lordship’s mother be so averse to me? I come from a good, respectable family; part of her own by distant marriage. Is the prospect of me at Markham Hall truly so terrible? He comes toward me, standing by the window. His face is now lit by the late morning light, illustrating the contrast of his dark hair and those striking green eyes.

  “Her approval is not required.”
His tone is clipped, and I wonder if I have somehow offended him again. The thought makes my heart pound a little faster.

  “Of course not,” I reply, feeling flustered. “I meant only to say that I did not mean to offend the countess.”

  His features soften as he smiles. “You have not, My Lady. She is very set in her ways, and has specific ideas about what her only son should be attending to. Apparently I manage only to disappoint her…”

  His jaw tightens as he speaks, the tension remaining there as he muses on his own consideration. I feel it permeate through the air around us, all of a sudden unable to find the words for this moment. He lets out a long sigh, and I see him visibly relax as he turns his attention back to me. “So, My Lady. We need to have a discussion, as I recall?”

  The soft, smooth tone is back again, sending the strangest sensations rushing from my mind to my core. “Yes, My Lord, I…”

  I cannot say why I pause. Perhaps it is the look in his eye, the sheer intensity of the gaze. Certainly I feel the now all-too familiar flush spread over me as the reason for our discussion floods back to me. Can I really confess the true contents of my dream? Why has the whole idea of him spanking me filled my mind with such interest and excitement anyway?

  He straightens in front of me, expectant. “Lady Lydia?”

  The sound of my name on his lips makes me feel lightheaded, the heat of my body building into an intolerable burning. “My Lord, I am sorry, but… I think I need to be seated.”

  There is immediate concern on his face as he assesses me. “You do seem pale, My Lady, perhaps you should sit…”

  I hear his voice and am aware of the light streaming in from the glass beside us, but beyond that everything else begins to fade. The heat within me seems to peak, and all at once it is hard to breathe.

  “My Lady?” His Lordship’s voice is alarmed, yet demanding. “My Lady, you must sit!”

  My legs seem to give way underneath me, but in a heartbeat he is beside me, collecting me into his arms and carrying me with apparent ease to one of the larger chairs by the fireplace. He places me gently into the seat and crouches down in front of me. My eyes want to focus on him; on the strong and increasingly handsome face that hovers in my eye-line, but there is a compelling need to close them. Despite all of my best efforts, my heavy lids win the battle and he slides from my view. I hear his voice though, coaxing over me.

  “My Lady, just relax.” There is anxiety laced into his voice, and yet I am frustratingly unable to abate it.

  * * *

  My eyes flick open, the crackling sounds coming from the fire easing me back into reality. All at once the events which have previously unfolded come flooding back to me, and I rise from the chair, certain that I must find Lord Markham and explain myself.

  “Stay seated, My Lady, please…”

  The voice comes from behind me, and gripping the arm of the chair, I turn to see him by the window. He moves toward me, those long legs cutting the distance in a few seconds. Deciding that now is not the time to protest, I do as he instructs, and slide back into the warm chair. By the time I am settled, Lord Markham has pulled one of the smaller seats from its place against the wall and come to rest before me. I swallow hard as I recall it was a seat just like this that he had been sat on when I had witnessed Lucy’s punishment the first night.

  “You gave me quite a fright!” His tone admonishes me, although one look at his face tells me that only concern has caused it.

  “I apologise, My Lord,” I reply. “I do not know what came over me.”

  “Nor I,” he says, smiling. “You seemed well until I pressed the point about your dream?”

  He gazes at me for a moment, pondering in silence. I feel my face flushing and I know he will have noticed. “Yes, I…” I pause, the correct words for this situation completely lost to me.

  He takes a deep breath and straightens his body on the seat. “May I share a confession with you?”

  I blink at him, certain that I could not possibly have heard him correctly. “A confession, Lord Markham?”

  His eyes dance at my response, and I notice that he moves his left leg toward me just a fraction. “Yes, My Lady. In truth I ought not to share it, but if we are to be friends, as well as guardian and ward—which I very much hope we are—then I feel I would like to do so.”

  I swallow hard, surprised and now intrigued by this strange turn in the conversation. “Please share it, My Lord.”

  He stills, as though readying himself. “When I heard of the sad passing of the earl, I recalled at once the commitment I had made to him. Although I never expected his loss so soon, I knew that it would mean a request to take you as my ward.” He looks to me, those green eyes intense and serious. “I am not a young man, Lydia, but I have no dependents, and I was used to enjoying a certain lifestyle in the absence of any. I cannot expect you to understand, and I do not want to trouble you with details, but my point is this—becoming your guardian has changed me. It has changed everything. For the first time in my life I have more to think about then where to go hunting, or which ball to attend. My Lady, you have given me purpose!”

  I watch him closely, seeing his responses as he speaks, and I am relieved to see a broad smile on his face as he concludes.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I respond. “I am truly grateful that you have taken this responsibility upon you.”

  He nods, leaning in toward me and gently collecting my right hand into his large left palm. “I know, and I believe that we can make this work—you and I. I will have lots to learn about governing such an intelligent and beautiful young woman as yourself, and you, My Lady, you will need to learn to live by my rules.”

  My breath catches reflexively at his last comment, and I find myself shifting in my chair. “I will try…” I promise, lowering my eyes to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

  “As will I,” he assures me, squeezing my hand a little. “The truth is I did not know if I was ready for this task. I once considered that Mama’s opinion on your presence here may be correct. I wondered if I was too selfish, and if perhaps I should focus my attention on finding a suitable wife.” He waves his right hand dismissively as he recalls whatever conversations were had on the subject. “But now—now I know I have made the right choice.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, a little overawed by his admission. “I do not think that anyone has wanted to take such good care of me before, My Lord.”

  He looks at me knowingly, and fleetingly I long to know what he is thinking. “For our relationship to thrive, My Lady, there must be ground rules. We touched upon a few yesterday, I think?” He pauses, his eyes scanning my face as it colours an even deeper hue.

  “Yes, My Lord,” I say, feeling ridiculously heated as I remember my correction the day before.

  “Can you recall one of my expectations?” he asks, one dark brow raising just slightly.

  I suppress the panic which fills me at the unexpected question, and allow myself to be transported back to his study, to the things he had told me before I had gone unsteadily over his lap. The memories make me feel giddy, and I find my left hand once again gripping the arm of the chair.

  “You expect respect, My Lord?” I say, presenting it as a question, although I know it to be truth.

  “Yes, very good,” he remarks, as he pulls away from me slightly. “And what else?”

  I am sure I tremble as the next word rolls from my lips. “Obedience?”

  Even as I say it, the notion sounds ridiculous to me. Obedience implies I am no better than a spaniel, and I want to despise its negative connotations, and yet for some absurd reason the thought also sends a wave of excitement slamming through me. His face breaks into an unexpected smile at my quandary. “Yes, Lydia, obedience! You will obey me to ensure your development and safety. I will expect your obedience in all things… And I think there was one more thing we discussed?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to calm my near-laboured
gasps. “You asked for honesty,” I say.

  He nods. “You are quite correct, My Lady, and thank you for listening to the things I told you yesterday. Honesty is essential, and that is why I feel so compelled to admit my initial concerns about our new arrangement.”

  I think I am beginning to understand. Lord Markham wants to be honest with me; to share personal thoughts and feelings about the decisions he has taken, and in return, he expects me to do the same.

  “I understand, My Lord,” I say, wishing to reaffirm my intention to at least try to behave as he wishes me to.

  “Good,” he answers. “And do you agree that honesty between us is to be encouraged?”

  I nod my consent, already fearing where this may be leading. “I do, Lord Markham.”

  “Then we are of the same opinion on this, which pleases me, My Lady. Now, with all of this in mind, I implore you to tell me what troubles you, Lydia. Of what did you dream last night?”

  I have all of his attention now. Every sinew of the gentleman is highly attuned to my responses. I draw in a deep breath, trying to imagine how this conversation will go. “It is somewhat delicate, My Lord,” I begin.

  “Delicate?” he repeats, his interest clearly piqued. “How so?”

  “I fear it is not a subject that a young lady should be dreaming about; even less so one of which she should speak about.” I know I am blushing again. I feel the warmth as it spreads across my neck and face. “And yet you have asked for honesty, Lord Markham, and so I am compelled to manage this rather inappropriate subject.”