Taming Lady Lydia

by Felicity Brandon

  If I had hope that my warning would rescind his invitation to share the contents of my dream, then I can see by his face that it is dashed. He sits, now on the very edge of the chair, visibly hanging on my every word. “Whilst I do not advance the idea that you speak of such things in company, Lydia, I do ask that all things be appropriate between us in private.”

  So that is it then. I am undone. I must give up the secret longing portrayed in my dream. “I dreamt of your punishment, My Lord.” I force the words out in one long rush of breath, not daring to meet his eye.

  “My punishment?” he says, yet again repeating my words back to me. “Do you mean, you dreamt of the spanking which I gave you yesterday?”

  Hearing His Lordship say the words out loud sends a shiver through me. “No, My Lord,” I reply, my voice low. “I dreamt an entirely new scene, although I am sure that your actions yesterday were the cause.” I flush furiously, ashamed at my admission. “I swear I have never had such uninhibited dreams before now!”

  He reaches forward and takes both of my hands into his large palms as he replies. “There is no need to be embarrassed, Lydia. It seems my taking you in hand has inspired new feelings in you? A sign perhaps that you did not altogether abhor being punished after all?”

  I look to him, seeing the warmth in his eyes, and yet I can offer none of my own. What is he suggesting? That I actually enjoyed being treated that way? Like a naughty servant, caught stealing copper from the fireplace? Seeing the emotion in my eyes, he continues. “We discussed yesterday some reasons why one may desire such a punishment. Do you recall?”

  Trying to catch my breath, I feel my heart threatening to burst with shame and indignation. I nod to confirm that I do indeed recall this, before a wave of tears fills my eyes. Seeing my upset, he places my hands between his own, gently caressing them with his top digits. His expression is warm, softening the hard lines of his handsome face.

  “This is not easy for you, My Lady,” he says soothingly. “I have no wish to cause you distress. I desire only for you to understand your own responses.”

  I compose myself as best I can without the use of my hands, drawing in a deep breath as I sit up straight in my seat. “I am sorry,” I whisper. “I did not expect to feel this way. I have never felt so before this.”

  He nods his understanding. “I appreciate this, so please, let me continue. Yesterday you asked about release, and I tried to explain how receiving such a punishment can elicit certain release in some people.” He halts, and looks to me, as though he is trying to see if I understand.

  Under the heady weight of his gaze I can barely catch my breath. Indeed, I do remember the conversation—in some detail actually. After the humiliation and shame of my punishment, it is this which has stayed with me the most. The idea that there could be some type of release after the spanking had intrigued me in the most unexpected way. For whatever reason, it seems I can understand the concept far better than I would have liked.

  I risk a glance at his face, waiting for me patiently. “I do recollect such an explanation, My Lord,” I manage to say.

  His lips curl into a small smile at my reply. “Perhaps it is this which you seek in your dreams, Lydia?”

  The question hangs in the air, perfectly encapsulating my wonder on the subject, and articulating it in a way which sounds downright improper.

  “My Lord!” There is shock in my voice, although in truth I feel none. The words are neither a question nor a demand—more an expression of the feelings I am hopelessly unable to express.

  He presses his lips together as he watches me, biding his time. “Yes, My Lady?”

  “I… I do not know how to respond,” I admit cautiously.

  “Yes, you do,” he answers, flashing me a ravishing smile. “You are well aware of my expectations, having just discussed them with me yourself. We both agree that honesty is essential, and so, I ask for nothing more than this, Lydia.”

  I hear his words and yet can barely process them. Surely he pushes me too far? He expects too much from me? How can I confess such a desire to anyone, least of all the gentleman to whom I am now a ward?

  “Tell me, My Lady!” I can hear in his voice that his patience is beginning to run thin. “To the best of your knowledge, is this what you seek? There is no shame in admitting such things to me.”

  I mean to reply, and yet a small sob escapes my lips instead. Shocked and appalled with myself for my own scandalous reactions to his treatment, I do not know what else to do. I must tell him the truth. “Yes, I fear so, My Lord.”

  All of a sudden the emotion consumes me, and my tears fall hard and fast. Lord Markham pulls me toward him into a standing embrace. He holds me against his chest as I sob, lost to everything but the weight of the fear and shame I feel about my confession. I feel his fingers against my hairline as I cry, comforting me with his wordless caresses. Just when I think they may never stop, the tears finally dry, but still we stand together, his arms around me protectively.

  Eventually I draw away, just enough to take in a long breath. I know I must look a terrible state, and regret that he must see me this way, yet more than that I deeply regret my decision to confess my secret longing.

  “What must you think of me, Lord Markham?” I ask, hearing my voice racked with emotion.

  Towering over me, he smiles, sweeping some rogue strands of hair away from my face as he answers. “I think that you are learning about yourself, My Lady—almost as much as I am. I know that I respect your honesty, and will cherish the trust you have placed in me this day. Know that no one else at Markham Hall will need ever know of this; it is but between you and me.”

  I nod my approval, pressing myself against his shirt. “Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely. “But, My Lord—are you not ashamed to have such a wanton ward?”

  To my surprise, he chuckles gently at my enquiry. “No, My Lady Lydia. I do not feel any shame on the subject. On the contrary, what I feel is good fortune.”

  Chapter Fourteen: A Walk in the Rain

  The words of my guardian ring in my ears long after the conversation has concluded. Stunned by his answer, I did not dare query him further, but remained comforted by his presence for some time further before His Lordship departed the library. Shortly afterward Lucy arrived, with instructions to provide me with tea and draw me a hot bath. I must admit that both served to put me in a much brighter state of mind by early afternoon, and yet—even now—I am astounded by what has transpired between us.

  “No, My Lady Lydia. I do not feel any shame on the subject. On the contrary, what I feel is good fortune.”

  What could this mean? How can he feel fortunate to have responsibility for a woman like me? I can barely process my own admission, let alone be prepared for his. Sitting at my dressing table whilst Lucy tidies my hair, I feel nauseous with shame. How can I have been such a fool? However I may feel, I should never have expressed it to my guardian. How can we move forward from this? Clearly the countess had been right all along, I am too much of a burden for His Lordship.

  “I thought I might explore some more of the grounds this afternoon, Lucy?” I say, primarily in order to distract my reeling mind.

  “Very good, My Lady,” says Lucy. “They are most beautiful here at Markham Hall.” I watch her in the tall mirror as she twists a curl of my golden hair and pins it against my head. “Shall I see if His Lordship is able to escort you?”

  I flinch at the suggestion, wanting to delay the inevitable awkwardness I will feel when I do again face Lord Markham. “No, thank you!” I reply, perhaps a little too abruptly. “I do not wish to trouble His Lordship. Might there be anyone else who could accompany me?”

  She hesitates, halting her pin-work momentarily. “Perhaps Mr. Gregory will consent that I do so? Most of my early duties are complete.”

  I watch her reflection in the mirror with interest. She is a slim, pretty thing, and it is easy to see how she catches the eye of the gentlemen around her.
That said, she is good at her work, appearing to be a loyal and efficient maid. With everything which has transpired in the last few days here, I must admit that I have grown fond of Lucy since our initial meeting on the steps of Markham Hall.

  “My Lady?”

  I realise that Lucy is peering at me, watching my blank expression, waiting for me to respond. “I would like that very much, Lucy. I shall speak to Mr. Gregory myself and see that you are given leave to join me.”

  She smiles, and her fingers resume with the pins in my hair. I can see that she is pleased, but she resists the urge to say so. “Very good, My Lady,” she answers, concluding the final curl, before finding my bonnet and securing it in place.

  Less than an hour later, having located and spoken to Gregory, Lucy and I find ourselves crossing the main lawns outside the entrance at Markham Hall. Mr. Gregory had initially been unimpressed with my suggestion, but eventually concurred that it would be inappropriate for me to go exploring beyond the lawns on my own.

  We walk slowly, heading past the rows of ornate-looking flowerbeds and toward the trees. Overhead the sky has turned downcast, a wave of heavy cloud threatening an autumnal shower. For this reason, I close my parasol, holding it in my left hand as we move on. I glance right to see Lucy beside me, happily taking in the fresh air around us. The thought occurs that this may be quite a treat for a maid, who is after all, usually bound within the realms of the great house.

  “Thank you for accompanying me, Lucy,” I say, garnering her attention. “It would certainly have been tiresome walking on my own again.”

  She smiles, excited blue eyes meeting me. “You are welcome, Lady Franklin,” she answers. “It is an honour and a privilege to be able to escort you.”

  I smile, exchanging pleasantries for a few moments. I have rarely spoken to staff at any length, and find myself genuinely interested in the replies of this young woman, who is not so different from me in age.

  “Are you happy in service, Lucy?” I ask her.

  She turns, my question clearly having caught her off guard. “Yes, My Lady,” she says, peering at me with wide eyes. “It is hard work, but I enjoy it.”

  “And Lord Markham? Do you enjoy working for him?”

  The question is rather more direct than I had intended it to be, but she doesn’t hesitate. “Yes, My Lady. It is an absolute honour to work here at Markham Hall.”

  I smile, observing how well she dodged the original query. We walk on, stopping to examine some dying summer blooms. I listen as Lucy imparts some basic botanical knowledge she has acquired, nodding to encourage her to continue. All the while though, my mind is set on returning to my question. What is Lucy’s view of Lord Markham? Of course, she will know better than to voice an opinion of her master, but perhaps she will give more away in her intonation than her words.

  We turn left, skirting the edge of the wooded area.

  “Should we return to the house, My Lady?” Lucy enquires. “The weather looks set to shower and you have only your shawl for protection.”

  I sigh, agreeing in principle with her statement, yet still wanting to gather more from our outing. “Perhaps we should,” I answer. “But I would like to complete a circuit of the house and see the back lawns.”

  “Of course, My Lady,” she says, leading us back toward the bay window which I had been seated at earlier in the day.

  “Lucy, you are aware of my circumstance. I am new to Markham Hall, and know little of His Lordship.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” she answers warily.

  “Perhaps you can enlighten me with some information about him? As staff, you will have witnessed many more of his moods than I. Tell me, is Lord Markham a fair gentleman?”

  From the corner of my eye I notice her head rise at the query. “Yes, My Lady. I have found him to be fair.”

  I swallow hard, wondering how to broach the next question. “That is good to hear,” I say. “I understand though that he is a strict master. Would you agree?”

  We pass around the side of the house, suddenly dwarfed by its massive scale.

  “He can be strict,” she concurs. “But I have never had reason to complain, My Lady… Not that I would!”

  She pauses, unexpectedly turning to look at me. “It is not my place to say such things, but I rather think that His Lordship enjoys your company, My Lady.”

  I glance at her small frame, watching how the growing wind collects the strands of hair aside her bonnet. “What makes you say so?” I ask.

  She blanches, a small coy smile at her lips. “I have seen him looking happier in the last couple of days than I have in the last couple of years, My Lady…”

  At this moment, the heavens seem to open and the clouds above us empty their cold October rain everywhere. We stand, shocked for a moment, before she grabs my arm and pulls me back toward the main entrance behind us. “Come, My Lady!” she calls, as we pick up the pace to a run. “You will catch your death of cold out here!”

  We mount the steps of the grand entrance in record time, out of breath, and yet still thoroughly drenched though. Despite the wet and the cold, I feel exhilarated and cannot help but laugh as one of the footmen opens the doors for us.

  “Lady Franklin? Lucy?” he cries, clearly not expecting to see the sight which now befalls him.

  Making our way inside, we are met by a gentleman I had been introduced to as Lord Markham’s valet, Buckton. He takes the wet shawl and parasol from me, shaking his head as he takes the items away.

  “Let me fetch you a dry shawl, My Lady,” says Lucy, looking full of guilt at having allowed us to stay out with the shower approaching. “Perhaps I should draw you another bath, as well?”

  I nod in agreement, still smiling at our predicament as I watch her wet feet skip away up the staircase, leaving me standing in a puddle of my own. “Fetch me it soon, Lucy!” I call out after her. “I shall die of cold here!”

  “That would be most unfortunate…”

  The voice comes from behind me, and I know instinctively that it is His Lordship. I turn at once to find him standing in the study doorway, watching me with a solemn look on his face. I notice how dashing he is standing there, one hand on his hip, and I am instantly regretful of how I must look.

  “I am sorry, My Lord,” I begin, trying to explain my current attire. “Lucy and I went exploring your wonderful grounds, and we were unfortunately caught in a shower.”

  “That I can see,” he says, leaving the doorway and walking toward me.

  As he approaches I become all too aware of my body, cold and tight under my wet gown.

  “You cannot stay in those wet clothes, My Lady,” he says seriously.

  I pause, catching my breath as his eyes take me in. They wander from my sodden bonnet, and seem absorbed in my exposed neckline and the tight buds of my breasts.

  I force the air out and then back into my lungs before I reply. “I agree, My Lord. Lucy has gone to fetch a shawl and draw me a hot bath.”

  “Ahh,” declares Lord Markham as his inquisitive brow rises once again. “As I recall, that was the last instruction I gave her this morning, after our… conversation?”

  My throat dries of its own accord. I am unsure if it’s the cold, or the sudden sensual edge to my guardian’s voice. “Yes, I…” I hesitate, uncertain what to say to placate him. “You are correct.”

  He steps toward me. “Let me remove this at least,” he says matter-of-factly, as he reaches for the ribbons of my bonnet. I do not move, feeling him tug the fabric, before stripping it from my hair.

  “Thank you, My Lord,” I whisper, aware suddenly of his close proximity.

  “Come and wait by the fire,” he commands softly, taking my right arm and turning me back toward the library. “At least you will be warmer there.”

  “But, My Lord,” I begin, turning back toward the grand stairwell. “Lucy will be expecting me…”

  “She will find you,” he counters, my feet already well
on route to where he leads.

  He opens the door to the library, his other hand still linked into the wet fabric covering my right arm. Moving inside, I am met by the smell and heat of the fire, and am instantly grateful for the offer. I walk toward the dancing flames, followed closely by His Lordship, who seats himself in the chair behind me. I turn, watching his strong jaw half lit by the firelight.

  “Thank you,” I say again. “This is much nicer.”

  He nods, gesturing for me to take a seat. “Of course, Lydia. Did I not tell you that it was my role to take care of you now?”

  I smile, but as I turn to find a seat I pause. My gown is soaked through—the seat of wherever I sit now will likely be ruined by the garment. “I do not wish to spoil your furniture, Lord Markham,” I say, catching his eye briefly. “Perhaps it is better that I stand?”

  “As you wish, Lydia,” he replies.

  I swallow again, hearing that deep, rich quality in his voice.

  “What an unexpected pleasure it is to spend time with you once more. There I was, working through many a boring paper which requires my attention, when all of a sudden the sounds of two laughing girls quite caught my attention!”

  I flush, unsure if he is flattering me or admonishing my behaviour. “I did not intend to disturb your work, My Lord,” I answer quickly.

  “Of that I am certain,” he laughs, “but a welcome relief it is nonetheless!”

  I exhale, relieved that he does not appear upset, although there is an edge to his voice as he continues. “Perhaps though, you can tell me why you were wandering the grounds in this weather?”

  I still, aware of how treacherous the route of this discussion has now become. “It was not raining when we left, My Lord.” I explain.

  “No,” he agrees from his seat by the fire. “But it was overcast, no? It seemed a shower was likely? Did Lucy not advise you to cut your walk short when the clouds grew heavy?”