A Lesson in Manners

"But that is not right," I retorted. "You are wrong!"

"That is enough," Lord Taylor hissed at me. His eyes shot daggers across the table at me and I realized that I opened my mouth again, one too many times. It is difficult for me, however. I am an educated American woman and was very much used to speaking my mind and being accepted as an equal. I now find myself in the company though of an entirely different mindset.

If only papa had not died, I thought angrily. I had been used to living with men. But papa, I know, had been different. He appreciated me and even encouraged my independence. Although the ladies of Boston thought I was a heathen for wearing britches and walking barefoot through the mud, papa had only laughed and called me his "mudguppy." I still had enough manners not to be entirely without grace and fashion, and after papa died of sickness, the ladies of the church hastily wrote away for a distant relation in London to take me in before I could fall prey to any more bad habits without proper supervision.

So here I am, glowering at my "savior" Lord Roderick Taylor, who looks at me as if I hadn't a brain in my head.

Lord Taylor is a beguiling, handsome man of 37 years, 18 years my senior. He is the quintessential British gentleman; he is educated, refined, witty, and absolutely charming. He is boyishly beautiful with dark, wavy hair, a straight jaw and Romanesque nose, and warm brown eyes that either sparkle with humor or flash with fire. Lately, they had done more flashing. His usual patient manner was now being tested by my stubborn disposition and totally unrefined American qualities. Out of the month that I have lived with him, I have spent more time in my room than not, and not by my own will. The only reason in 1887 that I was even allowed to lodge with a single man who was not my father or husband was that Lord Taylor was surrounded by a staff of servants and was usually not in residence at his London estate. He had, however, arrived at the estate before my coming to stay for the summer and my obstinate presence had vexed him considerably. I had accompanied him to a dinner at the Duke's house (the Duke of what I can no longer remember or care to) with strong admonishments against any of my "poor" behavior. I was to sit quietly and be demure and subservient, none of which I have done tonight.

"Pardon sir," Roderick said, rising slowly and folding his napkin. "My lady," he said nodding and slightly bowing to the duke's wife. "A moment, please." And then looking hard at me with an edge to his usually deep, resonating voice-- "Katherine, may I speak with you a moment in the other room." It was not a request, but a demand, and Roderick stood behind my chair to politely pull out my chair and escort me from the room. I stood up and took his arm, his other hand winding around to lock my arm in a grip. He ushered me quickly into the hallway, his eyes locked straight ahead, his jaw working in an angry tick. When we reached the entry foyer, he swirled me around to hold me in a vise-like grip.

"You, young lady, have been rude to our hosts and have been both disrespectful and disobedient. You will go back into the dining room, curtsy, and apologize for your remarks and then you will come back here and sit by this door and wait for me. I intend to finish my dinner and continue my visit with the Duke."

He let go of my arms and continued to speak, his voice low and steady but seething with anger, his eyes moving from burning a hole into my face to moving uncomfortably to the floor, and he continued more slowly, with a sigh. "I have been unwilling to punish you, as you were new to London, new to my household, and evidently new to any kind of authority figure in your life." He lifted his eyes and his fingers delicately lifted my chin, forcing me to stare into his hard, steely gaze. "You will, however, learn to obey my wishes. You may expect a sound spanking on the ride home."

With this, he spun me around and led me back into the dining room dumbfounded. The conversation stopped when we entered the room and all twelve sets of eyes rested on us expectantly. Lord Taylor released my arm suddenly and looked down at me with a frown. Not returning his gaze, I dropped my eyes, curtsied low, and mumbled an apology to whomever was listening, the last part of which choked in my throat and I backed out of the room, found the chair by the door, and crumbled into it.

I spent what seemed like hours waiting, trying to sit in a dignified manner amidst the heaps and layers of tulle and cotton and silks which sucked both my breath and my guts inward in a fashionable state. I ignored the silent stares of the kitchen help as they trudged back and forth between the kitchen carrying empty platters and I kept my head down as I saw Lord Taylor and the other gentlemen duck down the hall into a smoky study for an after-dinner brandy. I tried not to think of Lord Taylor's warning of my impending punishment, however I could do little BUT to think of it. Fear and trepidation settled into me. I had never been spanked before -- not really, and I wondered if Lord Taylor was really more "bark than bite." What did he mean anyway? Did he mean just to swat at my backside (fully clothed, of course) or would he turn me over his knee like a delinquent child? Would he whip me with a leather strap or something else? I found myself breaking into a sweat, my stomach rolling with fear. He had been very angry and I found myself bitterly regretting my careless actions and hoping that if I showed remorse, he would forget his decree. Not only that, but in the weeks that I had lived at his estate, I had found myself starting to like Lord Roderick Evan Taylor, in spite of myself, and had felt a little crush on him. He was no ogre -- just the opposite, and thoughts of what the night might bring washed me with embarrassment.

As I was rolling in self-pity, Roderick Taylor walked down the hallway, accompanied by the Duke. The look of anger on his face had not softened, but had actually worsened with the effects of the brandy and his attempts to be polite in spite of his emotions. I stood up and said nothing. Roderick, with his usual affable politeness, thanked the Duke for the evening and I nodded my head but said nothing. I am sure that the look of dread said it all.

Our carriage rolled up to the front of the mansion and we walked out to meet it. The carriage driver was a young man called "Charlie." He was the same age as I, and was blonde and cute in a rough way. He was usually always smiling and joking. Judging by the serious look on his master's face this night, he skipped the usual pleasantries and quietly opened the carriage door. I went to lift myself up into the carriage when Roderick placed a firm hand on my shoulder, stopping me in my tracks. "Charlie," he said, grimly looking at me with a sternness that I usually associate with school masters and executioners, "I find myself in a situation whereby I must punish Miss Katherine for her behavior tonight and I must take care of this matter before we arrive at home. Therefore I ask that you ignore her cries while you are driving and continue on your way. I also ask for your discretion with this matter with any of the other house servants."

Yes, my lord," Charlie answered dutifully, looking over at me with a questioning look. "Would you like to use my riding crop, my lord?"

Was he being serious, I thought! A smile flitted on Lord Roderick Taylor's face for a brief moment, as he turned slightly to Charlie while keeping his gaze on me. "I don't think so, Charlie, but thank you. I believe my hand will suffice." Charlie began fiddling with the reins, and Roderick turned to me. "Take off your clothes."

I stopped breathing for a minute. Was he serious? "My lord, what do you mean?" I questioned, not wanting to sound argumentative.

"Take off your clothes." And then over his shoulder, "Charlie, would you place Miss Katherine's dress and items into the back trunk."

Once again, by the tone of his voice, this was not a request, but a demand. I looked over quickly at the house; there was still soft candlelight coming from the interior and the full moon cast enough light to illuminate me from head to toe. I blushed hotly and bit my lip.

"My lord," I stammered, "I do not think that I can manage to get out of this dress without some help."

"Turn around," Roderick said, an eerie patience in his voice. I turned around and felt his fingers moving through all the laces and buttons with rapid ease. I turned, raised arms, did this and that, all while my mind raced. So much for just a few swats. In a minute, the cold chill air of the night blew my thin undergarment as my dress was pulled over my head and folded dutifully by Charlie.

"All of it, please, Katherine," Roderick stated firmly, and he turned to look off in the distance, presumable to ease my embarrassment which threatened to strangle me. Finally stockings, shoes and everything lay in a pile near the carriage wheel and I stood, my hands folded in front of me, my arms trying desperately to cover my breasts and my pubic area all at one time. Roderick turned around without any trace of emotion, except the anger that still lay openly in his eyes, and thrust out a hand and arm to help me into the carriage. I scurried in and immediately sat down next to the door wedged tight so as to hide from any eyes that might be watching. Roderick, thanking Charlie, lifted himself into the carriage and I closed my eyes tight. The velvet seat felt comforting and I wanted to flatten myself and disappear into the softness.

When I opened my eyes, the carriage had started rolling and Lord Taylor was taking off his gloves and laying them across the seat next to him on top of his coat. His fingers fiddled with his cuff links and he slowly undid them and methodically placed them on top of his growing stack of accessories. I watched his hands as he finished, rolling his sleeves up. He had lovely hands, with well-manicured long fingers, a gold signet ring with a royal crest adorning his right pinkie finger. His skin was surprisingly tanned for an English gentleman. He was very tall, about 6'1", and his knees stretched all the way across to my seat, his black leather riding boots standing as tall as the seat cushion. He finished rolling his sleeves and leaned back regarding me, his features softening somewhat in the moonlight.

I was trembling, shaking outwardly. He reached for me across the seat. My eyes locked with his and I pleaded with him with my eyes, searching his face for any mercy. He was no longer angry, but was resolute, and he, in one motion, pulled me facedown across his legs, diagonally. He held my arms behind my back with one hand, his elbow and lower arm resting down my back toward my neck. My head lay against his hip, so tight that I could feel his trouser buttons pressed against my cheek and could smell him through his breeches, a combination of leather and spicy bathing oil -- a pleasant smell, for another time maybe. His legs were hard and muscular, and although he was not hurting me, the position was uncomfortable. He held me for what seemed like an eternity. I was embarrassed and was glad that he could not see my face, but I was very aware that he could feel my trembling and I knew that he was looking down at my naked bottom, a thought that sent a mixed flurry of feelings flooding through my stomach. The first blow was a resounding smack right across the center of my backside and I cried out, more from surprise. Lord Taylor tightened his grip on me and proceeded to slowly and methodically spank me, alternating target area, each blow about the same intensity. The first five to six blows passed, and then a slow burning pain began to spread. I began to squirm to try to move away from him, and his hand came down much harder, with a warning -- "Be still Katherine!". The blows continued, slowly. I began to cry, a soft whimper at first and then a pleading when it looked as if the spanking would continue on forever. "Please Lord Taylor, please," I begged. "I am sorry", I repeated over and over. Tears darkened his pants, pools spreading in droplets across the fabric. I was screaming by this time.

The carriage stopped abruptly and with a lurch, I felt Lord Taylor's hand come to rest against my hip. "We are home, Katherine," Lord Taylor said softly, as he proceeded to rub the area he had just abused. I was crying hysterically, and he turned me over and cradled me in his arms. I buried my head into his neck and shoulder and sobbed quietly while he rubbed my head, making soft, shushing sounds. When my crying had subsided to a slow, hiccupping sound, Lord Taylor rapped on the side of the carriage and the door opened. Although it was almost midnight and no one seemed to be awake at the house, I was mortified to be in the position I was and did not want to have to face anyone, let alone have to answer questions (or even worse, have Lord Taylor answer for me!).

I clung to Lord Taylor's neck and began to mumble protests. "Hush, "he said quietly, "I shall carry you." With that, he firmed up his grip on me and carefully teetered out of the carriage and up the steps to the estate, up the stairs, kicking open the door to my bedroom, with Charlie towing behind him with a lit candle. I kept my face pressed into his neck, my eyes squeezed shut, as if to make myself invisible to anyone who might come upon us. I felt myself being lowered into my bed, with the covers being pulled up over me. I opened my eyes to find Lord Roderick Taylor, his face obscured by the shadow of the candle behind him, Charlie having disappeared. He moved closer within inches of my eyes, and I could see his eyes, now warm and soft. He pressed his lips to my forehead, lingering there and then ran his thumb over my eyes to erase the last of my tears. I could only imagine what my face looked like with all of the crying -- my eyes felt puffy and bloated.

"We shall talk about this on the morrow," he whispered and he stood up and walked quietly out, closing the door behind him.