“Why are you about to be punished, Lydia?” Lord Markham’s voice is steady and unmoving.
“I was disrespectful, My Lord,” I whimper from over his knee.
He lands the first strike at once, the short, hard slap making me rise up against his legs with a small, mortifying yelp. “I think I have made my feelings on your disrespectful behaviour clear, Lydia,” he says, spanking my bare cheeks again. “But if I have failed in this endeavour, let this spanking make it clear for you. You will, in all things, treat me with the highest respect and regard.”
His palm lands against me again. I manage to control myself this time by squeezing my eyes shut at the impact. “Yes, Thomas,” I cry, keeping my voice as low as I can.
“I was going to spank you ten times for your disrespect, Lydia,” he says, applying strikes four and five in fast succession. “But in light of your delay, I shall now make it fifteen. You will count each of the remaining strikes, please, and then thank me at the end.”
I buck against his words, disdain rising in me at this additional and unnecessary humiliation. Having to acknowledge each individual swat is going to make the whole ordeal even worse, and of course Lord Markham knows this all too well.
“Did you hear me, Lydia?” he asks, his voice severe.
“Yes, My Lord,” I answer quickly, just as the next strike reaches its target.
The carriage rolls on as my spanking continues. I brace for each strike, numbering the blow, my body filled with intensity at the pain and the risk of my exposure. By the tenth swat I am utterly humbled by the experience. It is one thing to be taken in hand by my guardian, but being folded over his knee with my bottom bared in this very public way is all too much. Having to count each strike just exacerbates the ordeal, my voice catching as I name each number. As I call out the number fifteen, the disgrace feels intense, and I wonder if my face is not as coloured as my backside.
I gather myself, still over his knee, as I contemplate how I can resume my seated position with any dignity intact. As I go to move however, Thomas lands another, much harder swat to my bottom.
“Ouch, Thomas!” I yelp, angered to have received yet more punishment.
“What did I ask you to do once we reached fifteen?” he demands from the seat above me.
I swallow, straining my mind to recall his words. It is then that I realise I have forgotten to thank him for my spanking—the idea filling me with yet more derision. “Thank you, My Lord,” I spit out the words, not really meaning them at all. I can tell by his tone that he is unimpressed with my performance.
“Do you wish to receive another five swats, Lydia?” he asks coldly.
“No!” I say quickly, wishing he would just allow me up. “I am sorry, My Lord. Thank you for punishing me!” I cannot believe the words have left my lips, but left them they have.
“Mmmm…” He sounds unconvinced, but after a moment I feel him slide my stays and petticoat back over my punished bottom, followed soon after by the weight of my skirt. “Very well. This is done—for the time being.” He applies pressure with his left hand, moving my body backward. I find my feet again, but given the height of the carriage, I am unable to stand. “Sit with me a moment,” he instructs, shifting his weight left and patting the space next to him with the palm which has just punished me.
Still smarting from the spanking, I obey tentatively. My bottom feels instantly tender against the hard wooden seat.
He looks at me, his face burning with intent. “Know this, Lydia,” he says in an even tone. “I have grown immensely fond of you these last days. I will care for you, look after your needs, and be here for you, but whenever you choose to overstep the line, I will punish you.”
I turn to face him, almost unable to process his words. He has grown fond of me? “You mean that you will spank me, My Lord?” I ask, trying to conceal my burning face.
“Yes, I will spank you,” he replies solemnly. “And if need be, I will take you over my knee in a public place. Not just in our carriage, Lydia, but in company too. A lady should learn her place, but a lady who belongs to me will certainly learn to.”
I gasp at him, my eyes widening.
“Do you understand?” he asks me.
I nod, feeling my eyes watering again at his hard tone. Just half an hour before he had seemed so content with me, and now he has found cause to be upset. Seeing my face crumple, his voice softens. “Do not cry,” he soothes, caressing my heated face with his palm. “I am not such an ogre.”
I nod again, still unable to speak. He reaches for my left hand, and taking it in his large palms, he allows me time to settle before he goes on. “We shall be staying with my cousin, Lord Pembroke. He lives close to town, and will host us this evening.”
My mind reels at this new information. I have heard the name Pembroke before. Rumours of his wild parties are legendary, and word had reached London about his debauched lifestyle the summer before last. I had no idea that Lord Markham and he were acquainted—let alone related.
“Do you mean, Lord William Pembroke?” I ask hesitantly.
He laughs at my response. “So you have heard of William?” he says, feigning surprise.
I nod, encouraging him to continue. “Yes,” I reply. “I have heard tales of his dinner parties.”
Thomas’ laugh deepens. “Of course,” he agrees. “I am hardly shocked that this news has spread as far as the city.”
“Are the rumours true?” I ask, unwilling to risk upsetting him again.
He smiles and nods, winking at me. “Let’s just say, he and I share a similar view of ladies, and of how to find… release.”
My breath catches at his final remark, his words hanging in the air as we travel onward. He and Lord Pembroke share a view on release—could he possibly mean what he seems to imply from that statement? His eyes are on me, watching me closely as I absorb the information but neither of us say anything further on the matter.
We journey on, side by side. My thoughts are preoccupied with everything that has transpired, and I look right out of the window, lost in them. First there is the revelation that Thomas is fond of me, and did not wish for us to be apart. The idea is warming, and I welcome it with too glad a heart. Yet, can it be right for a young lady to feel such affection for her guardian? Worse still are the recollections of our recent intimacies. He himself has confessed to meaning the things he has said and done, and yet, once more I am torn on the matter. Finally, there is the issue of punishment between us. Lord Markham, it seems, is more than eager to administer a spanking whenever he deems it necessary, plus he has also admitted to relishing the act. I, for my part, have found a disturbing tendency to find enjoyment in the spanking as well, although the recent declaration that the punishment may be carried out in public has served only to increase my anxiety on the subject.
Two taps from above us capture our attention, and we hear the footman’s voice from overhead. “We will soon be arriving in Ripley, Lord Markham!”
Thomas acknowledges the message with two taps of his own on the ceiling above us. “Good,” he says out loud, checking his timepiece. “We shall soon arrive. I have an eleven o’clock appointment, but shall see that you and Lucy are settled with the dressmaker first.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” I answer, resisting the temptation to revisit the source of my earlier ire.
Soon after the sights and sounds of the town come into view from the windows. I see buildings from my eye-line, and as we slow, more people become evident. Beside me, Thomas lets go of my hand and collects his hat and cloak, which have been rather unceremoniously pushed to the far end of the seat by my recent spanking. Settling them onto his lap, he turns to face me. “Are you well now, My Lady?” he asks.
I am genuinely taken aback by the question, having settled at his hand some time ago. However, the thought that he felt reason to ask is welcome. “I think so, My Lord,” I reply.
He reaches for my face, stroking my left cheek as he se
ems to like to do. Reflexively I close my eyes at the contact, not opening them again until the caress has ceased. There is a moment of silence as we acknowledge the passion that is developing between us.
“I want you to know that you can always talk to me, Lydia.” He shifts his weight closer to me as he speaks. “If there is something that you want or need, then please do not be afraid to say so.”
“Thank you,” I reply, astonished at his words.
He smiles, breaking some of the tension in the carriage. “It is after all my job to look after you, now,” he says.
I nod. “I know, and I am glad, My Lord,” I answer. “It is not always acceptable for a lady to ask for what she may want or need…” I pause, considering the right words. “So I am grateful that you should say so.”
He tilts his face toward me, and for one heart-stopping moment I think that our lips may brush. Instead he leans in so close to me that I fear his eyes might just swallow me up. “It may be true that a lady should not ask,” he whispers into my ear, “but you are not just any lady, are you, Lydia Franklin?” He pauses, meeting my eye.
I shake my head, unable to drag my gaze from him. “No, Lord Markham.”
He smiles again, and I swear that I can feel the energy between us. “Whose lady are you, Lydia?” he demands sensually.
“Yours, Thomas,” I reply unthinkingly. “I am your lady.”
Chapter Nineteen: Ripley and Onward
The time spent in Ripley seems very dull by comparison to my carriage journey. Having disembarked, I am met by Lucy and Buckton, who accompany His Lordship and me to his tailor. Our luggage it seems is to be taken directly to the Pembroke property nearby. After I have been introduced first to Skipton, Lord Markham’s tailor, and then Mrs. Pemberley, the dressmaker, His Lordship and Buckton depart for the meeting which had brought cause for us to come here, leaving Lucy and I to discuss requirements for my new gown. We promise to come to him directly after our own meeting is completed.
I suspect early on that Mrs. Pemberley may have been privy to more information about the special event than I, since she needs little guidance on what I might require. That said, she takes my measurements, and we discuss details such as the colour and cut of the dress, with me ultimately opting for a gold hue and the popular empire silhouette style. The matter takes little time to conclude, and soon after Lucy and I are free to depart the shop, finding ourselves on the high street, heading for the offices in which Lord Markham’s solicitor is situated.
The building it seems is eminently easier to identify than I had feared, sitting proudly at the far end of the street. I, never having actually visited a solicitor’s office before (the earl’s having come to me direct soon after my father’s death), feel quite absurdly intrigued to have reached our destination. Entering the main doorway, I am met by some type of a clerk, who eyes Lucy and me with a mixture of suspicion and trepidation as I approach his desk.
“May I help you?” he enquires over the edge of his steel-rimmed spectacles.
Something about his tone irritates me, and I respond more curtly than I had intended. “I am Lady Franklin, ward of Lord Markham. I believe he is here for a meeting?”
His face changes at my explanation. “Of course, My Lady. Please take a seat, whilst I check on the status of His Lordship’s meeting.” He nods his head deferentially and gestures right to a line of small, uncomfortable-looking seats.
I blanch, recalling how tender my behind now is. “Thank you,” I reply as he scurries away, “but I will stand.”
Lucy and I remain waiting, in near silence, for several long moments. The atmosphere inside the office feels heavy, and I wonder if we might have waited in the fresh air for a while if Thomas was still not ready for us.
Moving close to me, Lucy smiles, her eyes excited. “Your new gown will look wonderful, My Lady,” she says breathlessly.
I return her smile, realising that this must be quite the adventure for my new lady’s maid. I know that most household staff rarely leave the house, and that to travel is considered to be quite an opportunity. I myself have rarely ventured across the country, choosing to remain mainly in the city as a young girl. I peer out of the window onto the sunlit street, wondering of life in the small town of Ripley.
“Your meeting was fast, Lady Franklin?”
It is my guardian’s voice which cuts through my thoughts, sending my daydreams reeling. I turn to behold him, as he approaches from the offices beyond, the clerk and Buckton in tow.
“Yes, My Lord,” I reply.
“It was cordial, I hope?” he asks, that left brow twitching.
I clench reflexively at the sight of it. “Of course, Lord Markham,” I answer. “And fruitful too. Mrs. Pemberley will arrange for the garment to be send to Markham Hall accordingly.”
He smiles at my words. “Good, then our business here is concluded,” he says, turning to speak to the clerk as much as to me.
We make our way from the offices onto the busy street. The people of Ripley move seamlessly up and down the small roads, reminding me of the way the current of a stream moves of its own accord.
“This way, My Lady,” says Lord Markham, guiding me right, toward our waiting carriage.
We embark, amidst the hustle and bustle of the day, and are soon away again, this time on the road to Lord Pembroke’s residence. On route, Lord Markham is quiet, seemingly preoccupied with his own thoughts. I study his face, wondering what it is which causes him such pensiveness. I want to ask him, but do not want to risk unsettling the balance between us once again.
“My Lord?” I ask, my own voice the first to break the silence of the carriage since we left the streets of Ripley.
His face turns from the window, drinking in the look of me, before he answers. “Lydia?”
I want to smile at the warmth in his eyes, but still, I am aware of the steely edge in his voice. It reminds me just who is in charge. “May I ask, how was your meeting?” I remark, trying to keep the question as casual as I can.
“It was convivial,” he answers, looking rather solemn. “Matters are being dealt with, but alas, not as fast as I would have liked.”
I eye him, musing on what a gentleman in his position could have sought from a meeting with a legal man. “I am sorry to hear of your frustration,” I reply.
Smiling, he laughs at my comment. My feathers ruffle immediately, but the warm sting in my bottom prevents me from adding a glib comment on the subject. “Thank you, Lydia,” he says eventually. “I appreciate your concern, but a frustration is all this will be—I will have my own way soon enough.”
I watch his green eyes as they turn back toward the window, wondering if there is ever a time that Lord Markham does not get his own way. But then, it was not so long ago that some in London may have said the same about me.
“So, tell me what you know about Pembroke?” His question comes somewhat out of the blue, and I startle, recalling the many rumours I have heard about the young, eccentric lord.
“I have heard only of his parties, My Lord,” I reply.
“What of them?” probes Lord Markham, watching me thoughtfully.
I flush a little at the question, remembering some of the tales which had been spread between ladies in London. “Only that they could become quite raucous,” I tell him.
He snorts at my description, his expression reminding me briefly of his mother. “That is certainly one way of describing them!” he laughs. Seeing my face, he stills, once again capturing my hands in his large palms. “Do you have any questions about him that you would like to ask me?”
I shake my head at his question, but marvel at the feeling of his fingers against my gloved hand. I watch them as they grasp the edges of my thumbs, before slowly trailing a gentle line toward my fingertips. Our eyes meet as I eventually raise my head, and I find that he is still waiting for my response. “I do not think so, My Lord,” I say. “I do not know much about His Lordship.”
“Would you like for me to tell you about him?” he asks. “Since we will be his guests for this evening at least.”
I consider his words, pleased at least that the conversation seems to have drawn him away from his frustrations in town. “Yes, please,” I answer.
He nods. “Come and sit with me,” he says, patting the space to his right where I had sat earlier. “I prefer not to have to shout such discussions over the noise of the carriage.”
I comply, rising again and joining him on the opposite bench. Once I am seated as comfortably as I can be given the state of my tender behind, I still, shifting my body left to look at my guardian.
“Will and I have been friends for years,” he begins, beaming as he begins to recollect. “Cousins on my mother’s side, we were briefly educated at the same boarding school, and have remained close ever since.”
“Does His Lordship have a large residence, like Markham Hall?” I ask, genuinely interested to find out about the place we are now travelling to.
“Indeed,” comes the reply. “Many would say it is far grander than Markham, the grounds alone covering several more acres.”
I bristle at the news, hardly able to conceive a place grander than Markham Hall. “Surely it cannot be more lovely?” I say, a trace of disbelief laced into my tone.
He smiles at it, squeezing my left hand. “You like your new home, then, Lydia?” he laughs.
My face flushes at the exchange, but I nod in agreement, seeing little point in denying it. “I do, My Lord,” I reply.
He pauses, moving just a fraction closer to me. “I am glad of it,” he says in little more than a whisper.
The unexpected energy that passes between us takes me quite by surprise, and I look away coyly, causing him to chuckle once more. “Your bashful behaviour does you proud, My Lady,” he says almost jovially.
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