Lydia's Penance, page 29
As she talked, Isaac stood over her at first. Then he started to pace. His steps became faster and faster, as did her explanation, the words coming so quickly she was practically tripping over them. When she finally reached the end, she was panting for breath and her mouth was dry.
Isaac poured a glass of water, kept in the pitcher by her washstand, and brought it over. She took it gratefully, still too afraid to actually look up at him.
“Your stepfather is secured in the basement,” Isaac said, his deep voice distant. His body was turned slightly away from hers, and Lydia dared to peek up at him, only to see his face in profile, his eyes gazing towards her windows. The tightness in his jaw spoke of his anger and her eyes dropped again. “Rigby informed me that Tilding and Amy left for Gretna Green immediately, so she will now be safe. We’ll make their excuses this evening. You will rest before dressing for dinner. Tonight, we’ll make your introduction to local society, tomorrow we’ll deal with everything else.”
“Yes, Sir,” Lydia said, raising her eyes up to him again, hoping by calling him Sir, he’d understand... she wanted to be punished.
Isaac’s head turned. His gaze dropped to hers. Something in his eyes softened. “It will be alright, Lydia.”
Then he turned and left.
Feeling both slightly better than she had before and yet still bereft, Lydia took a deep breath and followed his orders. Stretching out on the bed, she stared up at the ceiling, resting the way he’d told her to, and also thinking. Silently, she made her vow... from now on her loyalty was entirely to her husband. Her stepfather had no further hold over her. It didn’t matter if it took her years to gain her husband’s trust and affection back, years of penances and punishments, she would do whatever was necessary. She would be his perfect duchess, his perfect wife, and she would spend her entire life devoted to him.
Because, despite how their marriage had come about, she’d gone and fallen in love with the man.
Chapter 18
Isaac knew his wife had wanted a punishment that afternoon, but he hadn’t been able to oblige her. He hadn’t had the necessary control over his rage to even make an attempt, especially as his fury had barely been directed at her. There was some anger towards her, of course. He was angry she hadn’t trusted him with the truth. Angry she hadn’t sought his assistance, his help. But, despite his emotions, intellectually he understood why. She’d been backed into a proverbial corner and had no assurance that a man she’d trapped into marriage would be willing to help her. What had been growing between them since their wedding... well that trust had been fragile. Immature. Too new for her to put her faith in.
His own was feeling rather battered at the moment as he realized she’d used that intimacy to gain knowledge her stepfather wanted to use. Granted, it wasn’t her fault she’d known; he’d told her willingly enough. And he’d heard her hesitation in the rose garden about giving it to her stepfather. He believed her when she said she was going to tell him all, as soon as Amy was safe. But emotions didn’t always listen to intellect.
So he had to wait to give her what she needed. What they both needed.
Instead, he’d gone to Wesley’s room. Listened for a moment. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked on the door. His supposition had been correct, Wesley had been... entertaining... his wife, going by the man’s disheveled appearance, but they’d finished. At least, Isaac assumed they had, since Wesley had only asked for a few minutes before meeting Isaac in his study, with the item Isaac had requested he bring, and arrived there only five minutes after Isaac, looking considerably neater and with an expression like a cat who’d gotten the cream. Lucky bastard.
While Isaac didn’t explain everything to him, he did assuage Wesley’s curiosity and then asked for his assistance. Which Wesley was quite happy to give. He suggested using a cushion first, if Isaac wanted to try some truly brutal blows. Which, given his current state of mind, Isaac absolutely did.
Strangely, venting his fury on several cushions and utterly destroying them made him feel quite a bit calmer. And quite a bit more worried about using the savage instrument on his wife. When he expressed that concern, Wesley just laughed.
“Well, for starters, never raise it over your head like that when you use it on Lydia. Now that you’ve got your emotion out, you can learn how to really use it.”
The long, rigid length of the cane was highly polished. It wasn’t very thick, but neither was it very thin, which Wesley said made it ideal for punishment as it would welt but not deeply bruise and should not cut.
“You want it fairly rigid,” he explained, showing Isaac how to flick his wrist against another - so far intact - cushion. “Too whippy means the end might curl around and strike her hip, which isn’t dangerous, but it’s painful in a manner which you can’t control and is far more likely to break skin.”
“Which I absolutely do not want,” Isaac muttered, focusing as he flicked his wrist in the manner Wesley had just shown him. The cane smacked against the cushion with a satisfying THUMP, leaving a line in its soft surface. He frowned. “I don’t want to go too easy on her, either.”
“You won’t,” Wesley said, amusement coloring his voice. “The cane is not an instrument meant for that. Here, try it on yourself, just the same amount of force you did on the cushion.” Wesley helped him roll up the leg of his breeches, baring his calf. Stretching it out in front of him, turning it the way Wesley recommended to avoid catching bone, Isaac flicked his wrist.
WHAP!
“DAMN!”
Wesley burst out laughing as Isaac cursed and hissed. The fairly innocuous red line on his leg didn’t even come close to being a physical representation of how much that hurt. “And her bottom has quite a bit more cushion than your leg. It will hurt, badly, but it won’t damage her. And the cane’s effects will linger. I would also suggest you practice on your thigh. There’s more meat there.”
“Do you do this often?” Isaac asked, deciding he would practice on his thigh with his breeches on for now. They were thin enough not to provide much protection, and he didn’t really feel up to disrobing in front of Wesley to practice.
“Every time I buy a new implement,” Wesley said, leaning against Isaac’s desk and sipping the snifter of brandy Isaac had provided. “If you want to ensure you know how to use an instrument, it’s best to know firsthand exactly what the effects consist of.”
Well Isaac couldn’t argue with that. Especially seeing as how his sister had so thoroughly fooled him over the years into thinking she was at the utter limits of her suffering during her spankings, where he now knew she could actually have taken much harsher punishments if he hadn’t been so careful with her. While he’d always thought an erotic element made pain easier to take, and he was quite sure he was correct in that, it didn’t mean the lack of eroticism made the pain unbearable. It occurred to Isaac that he’d tested both the whip and the crop he used on himself. Not on his legs, but on his palm. It had been more out of curiosity than anything else, but it probably had helped him be a better-informed wielder of both implements.
“Thank you, Wesley,” he said, turning the cane over in his hands, wincing. There were now three burning lines on his thigh, beneath his breeches, and one on his calf. Burning... painful... but not harmful. “I’ll return this to you tomorrow evening.”
Wesley waved his hand. “Keep it. I have more at home. I like to try different materials. Consider this... a wedding gift.” He grinned. “I do enjoy giving my friends useful wedding gifts.”
“Thank you again, then,” Isaac said, somewhat bemused. Part of him wanted to buy Lydia her own... but then again, this was a very nice cane. He was sure there were plenty of other things he could buy her, before getting her a new cane.
Feeling much more like himself, Isaac put the cane down on his desk and joined Wesley in his drink, chatting amiably with him until it was time to go change for dinner.
The dinner and ball went by in a blur of activity.
Lydia could hardly believe how easily the contretemps of the afternoon had been swept under the rug. The elder Mr. Hoods, Arabella, and the Brookes had kept the rest of the guests suitably distracted until Benedict had joined them. Apparently, he’d satisfied them with the story that Amy was feeling ill, and the rest of the party had returned to the Manor, ready to rest before dinner.
Her stepfather’s absence from dinner was barely noted; she supposed everyone assumed he was looking after Amy. What they all thought of Mr. Tilding’s absence she had no idea, although as he wasn’t a relation of hers and there were so many extra guests at the table - literally the entire neighborhood had been packed into the formal dining room, with the long table which had been extended out to fit eighty seats, along with the rest of the house party guests - perhaps they hadn’t even noticed his absence.
After all, it was a large, vibrant throng of guests. Everyone from the neighborhood was wearing their best to greet the new duchess and the focus was much more on Lydia and Isaac than anyone else. A focus which strained Lydia nearly as much as the very correct, very proper, very civil way her husband was treating her.
She was sure that not one person there guessed there was something wrong between Duke and Duchess. As guests arrived for dinner, she and Isaac had greeted them side by side, Isaac introducing her to all the neighboring nobles and gentry. During dinner they both exerted themselves to be charming hosts on opposite ends of the table. Afterwards, he led her into the ballroom, and they opened up the dancing for everyone to a fast paced waltz, which had him whirling her around the dance floor and left her breathless. The few words they did exchange were the very correct, very proper compliments he gave her appearance, her thanks for the family jewelry which he’d had delivered to her room while she was getting ready - and the grey pearls set with diamonds were now decorating her throat, ears, wrist, and hair - and his compliments on the decorations, the meal, and the overall success of her first ball.
Neither of them mentioned the house party or whether or not it could be considered successful.
As soon as the dance ended, they were fairly mobbed by their neighbors and well-wishers. Lydia found she couldn’t sit out a single dance, and neither could Isaac; there were so many guests she found herself with a new partner for every single dance. It didn’t take long for her to realize the gentlemen assumed she would be a sympathetic ear - a direct line from their lips to Isaac’s ear. She quickly received the impression there were any multitudes of small items they were too intimidated to approach Isaac with but thought his wife might be more sympathetic... Lydia didn’t have the heart to tell them she was likely the last person able to influence her husband. Instead she just smiled and pretended the night away.
During a short break for the musicians, Lydia managed to slip away to the retiring room. Not because she needed its facilities as much as she needed a break from the social whirl. To her relief, Cordelia was the only one there, besides the maids who looked up at her and then immediately returned to their soft chatting when she didn’t gesture to them. Cordelia looked elegantly stunning in a garnet dress trimmed with bronze. Garnets and gold lace decorated her hair, a simple bright pendant hung on her chest, and she wore several gold bangles over her cream gloves, which covered her arms nearly to her puffed sleeves. A congratulatory smile spread over Cordelia’s lips when she saw Lydia enter.
“Everything is going wonderfully,” she said. “Your neighbors are quite impressed with you; they’re all lauding Isaac’s choice of duchess.”
“That’s a relief,” Lydia said, and it truly was. She sat down on one of the chaises arranged around the room. “And there’s been no word of... of...” Words failed her as she tried to think of how to describe this afternoon in a discreet manner. The maids showed no sign of interrupting their own quiet conversation to listen, but it was still better to be discreet.
Cordelia shook her head, the garnets in her dark hair glittering. “Not a one. The gentlemen will ensure it remains that way.” She tilted her head at Lydia. “You know... my marriage was not a love match, although everyone thought it was at the time.”
“Oh?” The word, heavy with curiosity and a kind of need, was blurted out before Lydia could think. Cordelia smiled and moved across the room, her skirts shushing as they swayed, and sat down next to Lydia. Unless they moved closer, the maids wouldn’t be able to hear them now as long as they spoke softly.
“I married Philip for stability and protection, because I needed a husband and a household, but it didn’t take me long to fall in love with him.” Cordelia smiled, her eyes turning almost misty as her gaze unfocused, obviously caught up in the memory. “Unfortunately, because of my previous experience with marriage and because Gabrielle and I didn’t get along, I found it quite hard to trust him, and I found it even harder to actually lean on him. But marriage is a partnership, and when I finally chose to let Philip in, to put my trust in him and his feelings for me, that was when everything really changed. There are always bumps in the road, hurdles that must be overcome, but the important thing is to keep your goal in sight and to work for it together.”
Lydia’s mouth felt dry. That was what she wanted, so, so badly. But... “What if I’ve already broken his trust? Irreparably?”
“Perhaps you should let him decide whether or not it’s irreparable,” Cordelia murmured, reaching out and patting Lydia’s hand comfortingly. “Men like ours, like Philip and Isaac, Felix and Wesley, they are protectors first and foremost. They become quite put out when we don’t allow them to protect us, but they come around just as quickly when we reach for them. I’m not sure they can help themselves.”
“I don’t really need protection anymore,” Lydia said, wilting. “I didn’t give him the chance when I did need it.”
“And yet, if you reach out, I would wager on him answering the call.” With an enigmatic smile, Cordelia rose and Lydia, although she almost didn’t want to because it would hurt so much if it were crushed, began to feel the faint stirrings of hope. She thought about her and Isaac’s relationship; then she thought about how their relationship had changed, the day she’d asked him to punish her.
Perhaps Cordelia was correct.
Standing in his room, running the length of his cravat through his hands, Isaac found himself curiously at a loss. Part of him wanted to go into his wife’s room, the way he did every night. Part of him wanted to stay away, shut her out the way she’d shut him out. Instead of doing either, he’d been standing in one spot for the past quarter of an hour, playing with his damned cravat and not making a decision at all. Every so often his eye would fall on the polished cane, resting on his bed next to a small bowl with a carved finger of ginger. The lines on his thigh and calf still ached and burned. Isaac found himself longing to apply it to his wife’s bottom... but could he really trust himself to hold back his own emotions while he punished her?
She’d been rather magnificent tonight. Especially considering the events of the day. The surrounding citizens were duly impressed. Isaac had been impressed as well. He ran the length of the cravat through his hands again. Thankfully, no one had gotten a whiff of gossip. He’d put his trust in his friends and they’d repaid him. Lydia hadn’t put her trust in him until she’d had no other real choice. Well, he supposed she could have continued to deny him, but it would have been far more difficult than before, with everything already falling down around her. Then again, she’d still looked to him at the final moment, her last hope to help her sister... and he’d succeeded. There was that, at least.
A knock on the door had his head jerking around, because the sound was coming from the wrong door. The soft rap came again. Not from the hall, but from the door adjoining his room with his duchess’.
“Come in,” he said, his voice harsher than he’d intended. The door creaked and slowly crept open. That side of the room was cast in shadows, thanks to the candelabra beside his bed. The light caught the pale oval of Lydia’s face, her lower lip pouting as she worried it with her teeth.
“Sir?” Her high-pitched, nervous tone tugged at him. “I was... I was wondering if you were going to come over... come to me tonight...?”
Isaac stared as the door fully opened, revealing that she was wearing a robe, gaping open as it had been left untied, showing nothing but skin beneath. It was incredibly alluring, all the more because he knew with Lydia, she hadn’t meant it to be tempting. If she had, she’d be wearing one of those scanty nightgowns that always made her blush. No, she was naked beneath her robe because that was how Isaac punished her... completely nude.
Instead of answering her question, he reached out his hand. “Come here, Lydia.”
Her steps were quick but small, almost shy, as if she was moving with speed to his command, but still trying to take as much time as possible to reach him. Downcast eyes and hunched shoulders screamed her discomfort with the situation. They were no longer in her space, they were in his. Everything about his room was larger than hers, made for his comfort and his alone. The way she drew herself in made her appear even smaller next to his heavy furniture, even more vulnerable.
Delicate fingers reached for his, but she still held back. Isaac firmly gripped her trembling hand and yanked. With a gasp, she fell into him, her head tipping back to stare up at him. Wearing only his shirt and breeches, Isaac could feel the heat of her softness against him, cradling his harder planes. Her back arched against his palm as he secured it against her lower back, keeping her trapped against him. Looking down at her, this close to her, he couldn’t miss a single nuance of her expression.
