Enrolling Little Etta (10 page)

"I expect you to cuddle the children, read them bedtime stories, and pay them the proper attention they need to grow into young ladies. The governess will be providing them with an education, and the nanny will be tending to the children's daily needs."

Her responsibilities did not sound terrible, though what did she know of helping raise children? She had none of her own and the time she had spent looking after her dying father, did not seem like it would have provided her with enough useful knowledge.

"Rest," Thomas said. "There will be plenty to do upon our arrival."

Etta shut her eyes but could not relax on the ride to Thomas's home. Her stomach ached with regret, already missing Philip far more than she should have. He'd got to her, made her feel something for him in a way she had never imagined possible. Etta refused to cry, biting down on her tongue, forcing herself to concentrate on the small sharp stab of pain instead of the raw tugging at her heart. Bitterness and anger itched in her hands, forcing her fists to ball at her sides. Philip had been nowhere to be found, selling her to the nearest buyer so that he wouldn't have to look upon her ever again. She found it difficult to sleep, and tossed between a restless slumber and sadness plaguing her dreams.

Philip had not tucked Etta into bed, though he had wanted to. He had more trivial matters to attend to, and disciplining Mae was at the top of his agenda. After careful consideration, he had decided that removing her from the littles' wing had not been enough. She needed a healthy reminder to keep her in line at his school.

"I am displeased, Mae." He did not bother to address her by her previous title of nanny. She had been stripped of that responsibility, and would have to earn respect from him once again.

"I am sorry, Headmaster Philip," Mae said, apologetically. "I do not know what came over me."

"I do." His jaw remained tight, his fists at his sides. "You decided to take advantage of my little Etta." He walked toward the desk and opened the top drawer, revealing several disciplinary elements that were used on the girls at the chateau.

"She is a grown woman who consented to what happened," Mae said, excusing her behavior and her actions.

"In our care, she did not have the ability to consent. She is to be treated as a little at all times, and you took advantage of that with
my
Etta." He'd grown so fond of her in such a short time. "You are to lower your drawers and bare your bottom."

"Excuse me?" Mae's voice trembled.

"You heard me." Philip was not going to let this go without ample punishment. He'd do the same to a little who took advantage of a nanny or papa. No one was above the rules of Ashby.

Mae turned around, her back to him as she lowered her drawers to her ankles. She reached for the hem of her dress, lifting it to reveal her porcelain freckled bottom. The skin appeared smooth to the touch, without any marks or traces of recent spankings as far as Philip could tell.

"Lean forward onto the desk and push your bottom out and up."

"Mr. Hartley," she said, her voice quivering as she shook.

"It is Headmaster Hartley," he corrected her. Grabbing the nearby ruler, he smacked her nether cheeks. "Hurry up. I do not have all day!" He was not pleased with how long it seemed to be taking her to follow his instructions.

Mae stood with her legs a couple of inches apart. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the table.

"Legs further apart," Philip ordered. He landed another blow with the ruler to both buttocks, making her jump. Did she enjoy his attention? He had not done it to pleasure her, but he was getting quite an eyeful of her glistening quim as she spread her legs.

The pink pucker on her bottom was a gorgeous sight, and if she'd been his or one of the littles, he'd have plugged it after her discipline.

"A little further." He nudged her thighs with the ruler and she spread them apart, her hands finding the edge of the desk, gripping it. "Good." He traded the ruler for the cane, wanting to ensure each blow landed exactly as he directed it. "You will receive fifteen strokes for your behavior."

Mae gasped. "I would never do that many on a little."

"Complain and I shall make it twenty," Philip said. He whipped the cane through the air, smacking her bottom, leaving a red welt that matched her hair. "Count for me."

"One."

Her hips bucked and body jumped as he swatted her rear. "Push your bottom out and up," he said, reminding her of the position he wanted her in. It gave him the perfect glimpse of her slick pussy and her growing welts as he landed the cane on her again.

"Two."

Philip would have felt bad for caning Mae fifteen times, but she'd been a nanny since he opened Ashby. This may have been her first offense, but he was going to see to it that it would be her last. She would have her job with the finishing school and a sore bottom to remind her not to make the same mistake ever again.

The cane came down again and Mae no longer held her tongue. "I am sorry," she whimpered as tears puddled before her. Shaking, her bottom swelled with each welt.

"What number?" Philip asked. "Or shall I have you start from the beginning?"

"Three!" she cried out. "Please, no more."

"I have only given you three strokes. I assure you that your bottom can handle plenty more."

Her fingers clenched the edge of the wooden table and her toes pushed her feet up, giving him the perfect view as he released the cane again and again.

"Four. Five." She winced, a hiss slipping past her lips. "Please, no more!"

Philip ignored her pleas and continued whipping his wrist, landing blow after blow with the cane to her rear.

"Six. Seven." Her body squirmed with each stroke, her hips shifting and her toes lifting her higher.

Welts covered her cheeks and Philip landed several additional blows lower down, knowing the effect they would have on her.

Her whimpers turned to cries of pain.

"Count!" he ordered.

"That was ten."

He forgave her for not speaking the numbers eight and nine aloud. She had been preoccupied with the cane to her bottom. "Should I continue?"

"Please, no," Mae sobbed, her body shaking as he let the cane land on her bottom.

"Eleven," Philip said, counting for her. "I find no pleasure in caning you for your behavior." He wanted it clear that she may have been disciplined, but he sought no enjoyment from it. Unlike putting Etta over his lap and spanking her, which aroused him greatly, his affection for Mae was strictly platonic. His lesson here was to keep her from making the same mistake again, as well as to ensure that she understood that there would be consequences for such actions.

Mae let go of the table and reached behind her, trying to shield her bottom from any further lashings. "Please. I shall take the rest of my allotment tomorrow."

"That is not how it works," Philip said. Her bottom matched the color of burgundy and though he knew she would find it impossible to sit comfortably for presumably a week, it was much deserved. Another swat landed on her rear, this one slightly higher on her bottom. "Twelve."

He continued counting with each blow, ignoring the sounds of her whimpers and tears. Her bottom swelled and he'd covered every ounce of her perfectly freckled skin with welts from the cane, finally reaching fifteen.

As he put the cane away, Mae did not move from her position against the table.

"Get up. Your punishment is complete. Unless you want to embrace the paddle tonight, as well?" he asked.

Mae released her hold on the table, pushing herself to stand, the hem of her dress falling down around her legs. She did not lift the bloomers, stepping out of them instead. "I am sorry for taking advantage of little Etta. It will not happen again. Thank you for my punishment," she said.

Philip nodded his acceptance. She had answered exactly as he'd expect any one of his littles to respond after a session of discipline.

"You are forgiven." Though he was not pleased with what she had done, Etta was no worse for wear. He placed the ruler back into the drawer, with the paddle and cane at its side.

"Thank you."

"I expect you to work with the girls at our finishing school, remind them that they do not want a red bottom like the one you are wearing right now. If you were a little, I would have you stand in the playroom with your dress up, letting all the others see the evidence of your discipline." He had no reason to further embarrass her. The discipline and lesson had been completed.

Philip stepped out from her office and headed through the halls of the finishing school toward the door that led to his littles' establishment. Retrieving the key attached to his pocket watch, he flipped it open to see the hour. It was long past Etta's bedtime. He hoped Nanny Beth had been able to put Etta into bed without too much trouble. Tomorrow he'd get a report of her behavior and hopefully would not have to instill too much additional discipline.

"We have arrived," Thomas said, his voice stirring Etta from her slumber.

Unlike Philip, who had carried Etta inside and put her to bed, Thomas showed no indication of offering any help or gentlemanly behavior. Why was he pursuing her hand in marriage? Was it solely her dowry he was after? She would have to find out, but tonight she needed rest.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she stumbled from the carriage, tripping over her feet. Thomas grabbed her arm, catching her before she had time to land face-first in the dirt.

"Careful. There is not much light out here during a new moon," Thomas said. The coachman lit a candle and offered it to Thomas. "Come," he directed, taking her hand as he led her up the dark steps and inside his home.

Etta had not got a good look at the house in the dark but it appeared large in scale, much like the chateau, or how she saw it upon leaving. She had not been awake when she had arrived and had been made to stay within specific quarters, but based on the limited knowledge, she assumed it to be much larger in size.

Thomas dropped her hand and used the candle to light the lantern, casting a warm glow to the foyer, basking it in shadows. There wasn't much to see with all the doors closed for the night, as the two stood in the hall, likely to keep the chill down and the rooms upstairs warm. Etta wrapped her arms around herself, still feeling quite cool inside. The floorboards were wooden and as she stepped further inside, her heels clicked against them. She attempted to tread more lightly and softly, not wanting to wake his sleeping children. The lamplight stretched only as far as the stairs, and the banister had been carved most delicately, with a beautiful design of swirls and unusual patterns in the wood that she found mesmerizing. The house smelled pleasant, like the embers of a nearby fire burning, but she did not see any hearth or feel its much needed heat. Perhaps it was keeping the nanny or maid's quarters warm.

"You have a lovely home," Etta said, trying to be both polite and quiet.

"Thank you. It will be your home soon, too," Thomas said. "Come. I shall show you to your room."

Etta breathed a sigh of relief, grateful he had not mentioned 'their' room. She'd have a place of her own to sleep, which was much needed.

"I shall have Nanny Joan fetch you my late wife's gowns from the attic tomorrow. Perhaps you will find something more appropriate to wear in the armoire for tonight." He glanced Etta over, obviously not impressed by the dress.

She had not been pleased with the bright pink dress that seemed appropriate for a six-year-old, either. "Thank you." She tried to be as polite as possible, unsure about her place or how long she'd be staying with Thomas Maddock. Would he grow tired of her just as Philip had? Or perhaps he would decide that she would stay with him indefinitely, they would marry, and she would raise his children and have even more of their own.

Etta had not spent any time thinking about a family much beyond a husband. She had been so focused on pleasing Philip recently, and looking after her father before that, she had forgotten about the world's expectations of her as a woman. For the briefest of moments, she had felt wonderful with Philip; loved, cherished, and innocent like a child. Those days were over. Etta felt as if they'd abandoned her, the precious and easy life slipping away, disappearing into a vat of nothingness.

He led her to a bedroom at the top of the stairwell. Paintings of the children hung in the hall. What other displays of art were hidden behind the doors downstairs? Perhaps there was something about Thomas she could find endearing. Tomorrow, when the mood struck, she would ask him about his favorite painters and artists. Was it possible that he had a painting of her father's hanging in his study or dining room? What she would give to glimpse a work of his art every day, to feel right at home in this new place.

"My maids should have left you a few nightgowns in the armoire," Thomas said.

Etta stepped inside the bedroom, taking it all in. The bedroom was quaint. The oversized mattress was dressed in a dark gray quilt, and in the corner of the room nestled a cherry armoire for her things, not that she had anything but the dress she wore. Perhaps she should have been grateful the room hadn't been decorated as a nursery like Ashby. However, the walls were covered with white and gray stripes, a decadent wallpaper that had been freshly applied, with an odd sheen and texture that Etta wanted to run her fingers against, certain she could feel it as well as see the design. She had never seen anything quite like it.

Stalking across the room, Thomas opened the doors of the armoire to reveal half a dozen dresses, some night attire, and other day gowns to wear.

At least she had an array of clothes to choose from that weren't immature and appropriate only for a young child. Had her uncle saved the gowns for the day she was to wed? Perhaps he would bring the dresses to her soon. Wearing a dead woman's clothes felt highly inappropriate.

"Thank you. You have been exceptionally kind." Etta wanted Thomas to know she appreciated the gesture. If this was to be her life, she would do her best to make the most of it.

"Of course. They were just gathering dust anyway." He left the armoire open. "Change for bed and then meet me across the hall in my room."

"Your room?" she asked, her stomach a bundle of nerves. What was he expecting of her? She cast her eyes briefly to the windowsill. It was much too high for her to make an escape. Besides, where would she go? Thomas hadn't done anything to offend her. She needed to calm down.

"I shall have the cook bring up a tray of desserts for us to nibble on while we get better acquainted with one another. I assume the nap you had on our way to the estate did tide you over?" Thomas asked.

Etta did not want to lie. She was still tired, but he was probably right. She would not sleep even if she lay in bed. When her head hit the pillow, she would be awake as day. "The rest was helpful. Thank you," she said.

"Good. Come as soon as you get out of that dreadful attire," he said, gesturing toward the pink dress. "It is horrific. Whoever put you in that should be hanged."

She clamped her mouth shut, deciding not to confess that she had dressed herself. Yes, it was bright and blinding, but it had been far better than the other clothes in the wardrobe that had been provided for Etta to wear.

Thomas headed for the door. "I shall leave my room open so you will be able to find me." He stepped out of her room and shut the door behind him.

Etta fumbled through the half dozen dresses that had been previously worn by Thomas's deceased wife. Would it not be odd for him to see Etta in the same clothes? Was he perhaps trying to replace his late wife with her? She had no money, the estate and finances were all tied up with her Uncle Jack. He was supposed to be saving her gowns for when she married. Had he kept his word, or would she be forced to beg a few shillings from Thomas for dresses of her own?

She settled on a white cotton gown that seemed thick enough not to reveal her nipples. What would Thomas think if he saw her naked? Her bottom still held a hint of blush from her spankings and her quim was free of any and all hair, thanks to the people at the chateau insisting she be raised and cared for as a little.

Would Thomas understand what she had gone through or think them all mad? If Philip had a hand in this arrangement of marriage, then certainly Thomas must have an inkling of what the chateau was all about. Except his look of disgust upon seeing her in that pink dress made her question everything she had learned since she arrived at Ashby.

Etta removed the gown from the hanger and disrobed as quickly as possible, not wanting to leave Thomas unattended for too long. She would have to discuss his expectations and desires. Did he wish a wife, or solely a mother to his two girls? He had shown no hint of affection toward her, which was fine with Etta. Perhaps if he was expecting a mother and nothing more, then she could get something that she desired in return. An exchange of services or goods, but what did she want?

Thomas seemed nice enough, offering Etta her own room and a small but simple wardrobe. She would insist that Uncle Jack bring her gowns. Even if she did not have the power to make such a request, Thomas could do it for her. Surely he'd be thrilled with the dresses from her time with her father, and prefer them to the gowns of his late wife.

She slipped the dress on over her head and fastened the laces at the sides, which made the gown easier to put on herself. Had his wife preferred not to be doted on? Etta headed out from the bedroom and down the hall. A lantern hung along the way, making it easy to see as she wandered toward the open bedroom.

"May I come in?" Etta asked, trying to be as polite as possible. It felt strange to be not only in this man's home, but in his bedroom. Not even at Ashby had she set foot in her papa's bedroom. Had he even had a room to stay in at night? It seemed he was always there, since he was the headmaster.

"Please, do." Thomas gestured toward the small sitting space set up in his room with a couch and table. "Have a seat."

The walls of his bedroom matched hers with the same decorative wallpaper. The biggest difference, aside from his room being twice as large, were the two paintings that hung on the walls. Etta desired to stare at them every night before falling asleep, both were tranquil and serene scenes that had been obviously painted by two different artists. Just above the incredibly large mattress sat the painting of an afternoon landscape of a prairie of wildflowers. Opposite the window, a second painting, much more abstract and grander in size, was affixed to the wall. Both paintings were quite marvelous. Were the wildflowers painted from a real place? She had never seen such beauty, and yet she wanted to go and visit it at once.

Thomas had not changed out of his clothes and Etta felt underdressed in her nightgown. "This is highly inappropriate," she stammered. "We may be betrothed, but we are not married."

A smile softened his features. "I assure you, Henrietta, that your virginity will remain intact until our wedding night."

Her cheeks blushed. "I prefer to be called Etta," she said, correcting him.

"Of course you do. Your Uncle Jack mentioned you had a bit of a temper and a mouth on you."

"You know my uncle?" Etta ignored the comment referring to her behavior. Her Uncle Jack barely knew her, and the few minutes he had spent with her were not enough for him to be able to fairly make any judgments about her as a person.

"Not personally. I knew your father. He suggested the arrangement after my wife passed."

Perhaps that explained the art and paintings affixed to his walls. His having known her father put her more at ease with Thomas. "Oh." Etta had no idea her father had found her a suitable husband. "When was this?" she asked.

"You were sixteen at the time. I suggested we meet, but he insisted to wait until after a year of mourning. My wife had just passed and he had been right, I needed a year to reflect and adjust."

Etta knew what had happened then. Her father's sickness had taken more of him away from her. He had probably forgotten he'd even promised her hand to anyone. "Why wasn't the lawyer notified?" Surely he'd have held the paperwork that divulged her father's wishes.

"A very good question indeed." Thomas reached for the tea and poured them each a cup. "How do you take your tea?"

"Without sugar," she said, and lifted the fine porcelain to her lips. The steam swirled around her chin before she opened her mouth, taking a brief taste of the piping hot liquid. It burned on its way down. Her chest felt hot and uncomfortable. Placing the cup back down on the table, the roof of her mouth burned and she knew it would feel unpleasant for the next few days. She'd have to be more careful. Philip would have certainly scolded her.

"Hot isn't it?" Thomas asked, holding his own cup in his hands, but waiting for the liquid to cool. "I know you have been dragged away from your education, but I do not believe a finishing school will teach you anything you need to know as my wife." He blew on the tea, the steam wafting to the side momentarily as he took a sip. Thomas did not so much as flinch. How did he do that? Drink such a hot liquid and not burn his mouth or throat?

"I see," Etta said, though she did not quite see what it was that Thomas wanted. "Are you desiring solely a mother for your children, or a wife as well?" She needed to know what his expectations were.

"That is quite a loaded question," Thomas said, his dark gaze locked on her. "Your father asked me to look after you, marry you, and bestow upon you the Maddock name. You will be my wife, Etta."

At least he respected her enough to call her by the name she desired. "How did you know where to find me?" Etta asked.

"I may not have known your uncle personally, but I did come upon him after I spoke with your father's estate attorney. It turns out he had sole custody of you and your dowry. He has released you into my care and once we are wed, the dowry and half the estate is mine."

"Half the estate?" Etta asked, not understanding. "What about the other half?"

"Your Uncle Jack was not so quick to part with you or your money. Surprising, since I hear he sent you away on the first night on which you arrived at his home. The past does not matter, Etta. I am your future. You will be my wife, the mother of my children, and make me happy."

Etta did not feel quite pleased with the arrangement but there were far worse situations to be in. Thomas seemed nice, his home pleasant, and it felt as though he wanted her there with him. She reached for her tea, taking another sip. The liquid had not had enough time to cool and again burned her lips. "Christ," she muttered under her breath, putting the cup on the table.