Disciplining the Duchess

The cane came whistling again, a whipping smack of a stroke that hurt so much more than seemed humanly possible to endure. “If you dis

like this—” Whack! “Then perhaps next time you will choose to behave as a duchess—” Whack! “And not an impulsive girl.”

Her bottom was burning up, on fire. Her whole body trembled but he held her down, preventing any movement or escape. He delivered another stroke, and then a final one that burned across the others like a crowning lash of fire. Her knuckles were white with the effort to remain in position. She prayed he was done. But oh, what had he told her? I expect to hear a very handsome apology.

She would not be able to talk with the tears choking her. He lifted her from the desk and she faced him as her skirts brushed over her sore cheeks and fell to her ankles. She couldn’t stop sobbing. It wasn’t just the pain of being struck with a cane ten...no...eleven times at her husband’s hand. It was that she would never be completely at ease in his company again, not now that she understood the cold and effective discipline he was capable of. His over-the-knee spankings, mild paddlings and lectures seemed like child’s play now. All of it, of no consequence. This study, this desk had opened her eyes.

“I am so sorry,” she choked out in misery. “I must be such a bitter disappointment to you.”

He watched her, unmoved. “Try again, without the self-pitying melodrama. I suggest a simple ‘I’m sorry’ with a promise to do better next time.”

Harmony took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. I promise next time I shall come to dinner when I’m expected and not...not run off doing other things.”

She wished he would hug her and tell her she was forgiven but he launched into another lecture.

“I will accept your apology, Harmony. But only if you mean it. I think you believed you would only be required to submit to discipline that agreed with you. It is a common misconception in relationships like ours, but going forward you will be held accountable like for like. Mild behavior will bring mild consequences. Severe behavior will result in severe consequences, as you have just experienced. Do you understand this?”

Four simple words, and yet for Harmony they illuminated the two parts of their marriage. The part before she had understood, and the part to begin now as she stared into his hard gaze. “Yes, sir. I understand.”

Her own four words, and no need to say more. How couldn’t she understand with the sore pain of her bottom cheeks? How couldn’t she understand when the cane still dangled from his fingers? When the rack across the room held at least a dozen more of the wretched instruments of torture?

Finally he moved away, walked over to the rack to return the cane to its place. He put his waistcoat and coat back on, taking care to fasten every one of the numerous buttons, adjust his cuffs, and straighten any wrinkles in the pristine garment. That finished, he crossed back to her, standing with his arms behind his back. He put her in mind of that dark, haughty aristocrat she’d first seen in the Darlington’s drawing room, but it didn’t excite her this time.

He held out a hand to her from four or five feet away. “Come here.”

She approached him and took his outstretched hand. He drew her into his arms and settled her against him, but she felt no comfort. He seemed a stranger to her, which frightened her to more tears. With a flick of his wrist he produced a handkerchief and used it to wipe her face. There weren’t only tears, but undignified rivulets of snot dripping from her nose. She let him wipe it all away, beyond humiliation.

“You understand I don’t enjoy punishing you so severely,” he said as he worked. “It’s difficult to hurt the ones we love. I do love you, Harmony.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t have returned the words to him anyway, not when she knew them for a lie. Perhaps because she held herself so stiffly, he released her, pocketing his handkerchief. He tilted her head up and looked into her eyes. She saw a little of the old Court there, but the other Court too, who was still not well-pleased with her.

“I would say you are forgiven, but you have injured others who may not yet feel inclined to forgive. I expect you to apologize to my mother and do what you can to assist her as she heals. I also expect you to call on the Wembleys, the Tremaynes, and the Runnenbarths and apologize for your reckless behavior.”

“Yes, sir,” she said wearily.

“But for tonight, I’ll leave you alone to rest and reflect. Come.”

He escorted her up to her rooms. Dear Mrs. Redcliff was there to meet her at the door. Without words, she drew Harmony’s second bath of the day, filling the tub high with water that was not too hot, but warm enough to soothe her. She frowned when Harmony asked for privacy, but obeyed her mistress and waited outside the door.

Harmony dried herself afterward and crossed to the mirror. She stared at the red stripes emblazoned across her backside, marking her as a very bad girl, then reached for the soft silk nightgown Mrs. Redcliff had laid out for her. She pulled it quickly over her head, wanting to hide them from her sight, but she could still feel them.

She was so tired, so drained she could barely make it to her bed. She cried once more, just a little bit as Mrs. Redcliff patted her shoulder and murmured, “There, there. There, there.” But even Mrs. Redcliff couldn’t soothe the hurtful memories of the evening.

She was not yet forgiven. What if she was never forgiven?

He had told her once on the banks of the Darlingtons’ lake that she wasn’t beyond help, but Harmony feared he didn’t believe that anymore.

Chapter Sixteen: Chill

Court relaxed in his chair, watching Harmony with a half-lidded gaze. His wife was at work with the dandy Mr. Lightmore, stepping through country dance formations and attempting to improve the gracefulness of her steps. He was pleased to see that she applied herself to the task. If she was aware of his presence at the lesson, she gave no sign. A week had passed since her punishment, a week during which she avoided him as much as the bounds of courtesy allowed. At night, rather than lie with her, he kissed her on the forehead and let her retire alone.

It chafed to forego his marital rights, but he knew he must permit her the necessary time to sulk and shrink away from him. It had been a severe correction. He felt guilt over it, yes, but he had examined his motives and found them pure. That night, he had purposely waited until the worst of his anger dissipated, lest he flail away at her without the necessary control. He had not broken his wife’s skin, nor injured her or drawn blood. It was perfectly legal and respectable for a husband to discipline his wife using civil methods.

In truth, the current chill between them provided a needed opportunity for reflection. He had to find some distance from her, reconnect with his true persona, that of a gentleman and a duke. From the moment he’d found her crouching beneath the desk at Danbury House, something in him had changed. He’d become softer and weaker, more easily manipulated. He loved his wife but he could not allow her to run roughshod over him and his social circle. There must be a way to love her and yet preserve his own stringent standards, both for her and himself.

Lightmore paused in the middle of a step, asking the pianist to repeat a section. The dancing master conducted their lessons in the south parlor rather than the grand ballroom, so Lightmore’s accompanist could be heard. The grand ballroom did tend to swallow the sound of anything less than a full orchestra. Lightmore had pretty manners and a pretty face. A little too pretty, especially when he smiled at Harmony. His female pianist might qualify as a chaperone, but Court still made a point of being there every time.

Not that he didn’t trust his wife. He just didn’t believe her impulsive nature would ever be curbed, and he wasn’t sure Lightmore wouldn’t try to take advantage and turn her head. He observed them as the lesson came to an end, but there were no overfamiliar or inappropriate exchanges.

She crossed to greet him once Lightmore took his leave, looking slightly pink-faced in her sage and blue floral silk. Was she blushing from exertion or from the assessing look on his face?

He’d promised her an outing to a local historical site in an attempt to warm the chill between them. He hoped it worked, since he intended

to reassert his rights in her bed tonight. Her allotted time for sulking was over. There was still no heir, and this cooling could not go on forever.

“A very pretty lesson, my dear,” he said, taking her hand and brushing a kiss across the backs of her knuckles. “I cannot wait to dance with you in the grandest ballrooms of London.”

She made a soft, equivocal sound. As a polite gentleman, he ought to ask her next if she was too drained from exercise to accompany him on their outing, but he wasn’t going to give her a choice. Instead he tucked her hand over his arm and walked her toward the foyer and then out to the coach. “I asked Mrs. Melton to arrange some refreshments for our trip to St. Alphage’s.”

“Thank you. How kind you are.”

A polite response that nonetheless left him chilled. He tried again to engage her. “I think you will enjoy the site. There are church ruins and a park, and natural areas. It is rich in Roman history.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it since you mentioned it yesterday. It’s so kind of you to take me. It reminds me in some way of…well…” She ducked her face away from him. “It reminds me of our journey to the Roman wall.”

He seized on her reminiscence and her amiable mood. “I hope it will be like that other trip, in a sense that we might feel a new closeness with one another.”

Goodness, he would be spouting poetry next. But Harmony rewarded him with a faint smile, the closest she’d come to true smile in quite some time. He bit his lip against further babblings and handed her up into the coach. He sat next to her on the velvet cushions and they set off on their adventure. It had been a stroke of genius, planning this outing for her. For them. Fresh air, friendly conversation, and a chance to show her he still cared about her very much, even if he must discipline her strictly when her behavior went so terribly out of bounds.

They rode awhile in companionable silence, and Court thought that she really had been quieter of late, not that she’d ever been a chatterbox. The dowager approved of her new, more muted personality, and seemed to have softened toward her in the days since the incident. Perhaps it was because Harmony went out of her way to offer aid to the older woman in her convalescence. The Tremaynes and Runnenbarths reacted favorably to Harmony’s apologies, and Gwen even came to call on his wife one day last week. Gwen could only be a good influence, although Court was still haunted by Harmony’s words that night. I want to be like her. I know you would be happy then. You wish I was her!