The Virtuous Wife's Tale Ch. 02

Chapter Two

Raised voices from her father's study could be heard all through the house, and flaming hot words licked at her door. Isabella feared that the heated discussion between her father and Simon DeVillier would never end.

Confined to her room Isabella paced back and forth. What are they arguing about? Surely after discovering her with Luke, Simon would call off the engagement, get on his horse and leave. It was a pleasing prospect and yet, after what seemed like an interminable two hours, the two men were still in intense conversation and Isabella wondered what matters were being settled.

Isabella was exhausted after her the ride on Shadow and the dalliance with Luke. She kicked off her boots and threw the crop onto the bed. The stark realisation that she was not going to be summonsed immediately and was to be detained in her room worried her. The smell of Shadow, the stable and the lingering scent of Luke clung to her skin. Isabella rang the bell. Mary would help take her thoughts from her immediate predicament and a session with the maid was always distracting.

When Mary failed to appear, Isabella impatiently rang again and it was not long before she heard a gentle tap at the door.

'Come in Mary,' Isabella called. It wasn't Mary, but Miss Ellis, the housekeeper, who entered Isabella's bedroom

'Do you have need of anything Miss Isabella?'

The old woman, her silver hair scraped back severely, her hands and face crazed and wrinkled, and never dressed in anything but black, was a woman who stood no nonsense. Even her father would not argue with Miss Ellis, a woman who ruled the household with a rod of iron.

'Thank you Miss Ellis,' Isabella eventually said. 'I had been hoping that Mary would come and draw me a bath. After my ride, I feel quite...'

'I am afraid Mary has been assigned other duties,' Miss Ellis said sharply. 'The disruptions in this household have caused me a great deal of extra work, the luxury of a personal maid is one that I cannot countenance for you any longer, Miss Isabella.' The woman pecked around the room, picking up clothes, folding up undergarments, like a black crow picking over carrion. The abandoned riding crop was lifted between two fingers, as if it would contaminate her and placed in back into the mahogany box.

'I shall draw you a bath and lay out some fresh clothes, you should be correctly prepared. The garments you are wearing are only good enough for vagrants and beggars.'

Isabella remained tight lipped, but in her silence she could do nothing but agree, she was in a dishevelled state. It was obvious to Isabella that Miss Ellis was fully aware why her mistress had straw in her hair and smelled of stable manure.

Over the next half an hour a series of footmen traipsed through her room carrying buckets of scalding hot water, tipping each one into her bath. Isabella slipped into the perfumed bath, and lay back, relishing the way the hot water made her skin tingle. Taking hold of the soap, Isabella rubbed it in her hands until they were covered in lather, and began to wash the day from her body. She ran her hands down, cupping her breasts, soaping them until they glistened. The memory of Luke's mouth and hands enjoying her full, firm, breasts, tweaking the nipples until the buds became as tight as cobnuts, had her wanting to feel his eager fingers on her again. Her slippery hands slid lower, over her flat stomach, and over her slim hip. Isabella closed her eyes and moved her hands down gasping as she felt her fingers slip between her legs.

Isabella raised her knees and opened her legs wide, hooking her feet over the edge of the bath and allowing the water to caress between her legs. She could feel it warming her, the gentle movement of the soapy water brushed against her sex lips and lapping against her clitoris. Isabella slipped her head under the water and into glorious silence. No disapproval. Nobody telling her how she should behave. With only her mouth and nose exposed she was cut off from the maelstrom that her life had become.

As the water washed over her, she pulled her hair free from it clips and ribbons and allowed it to float on the water, copper and gold hair drifted around her face and Isabella felt like one of the nymphs in a Pre-Raphaelite painting, her smooth pale skin shimmering with soap and arousal. Isabella took hold of the soap and sliding it between her thighs she found the hard core of her clitoris and with wet slippery fingers began rub hard. Isabella's thoughts were of one thing only, releasing the tension in her body as if bringing herself to the brink, in some way, would give her the freedom she craved.

It only took a few strokes before Isabella yelped as a shock of intense pleasure coursed through her body. All the pent up anger and frustration of the past few days were for that instant swept away as the orgasm sent wave upon wave shuddering through her. Water splashed over the edge of the bath and Isabella slowly sat up.

'Are you alright Miss Isabella?' Miss Ellis shouted from the other side of the bathroom door.

'Yes,' replied Isabella hoarsely, not trusting herself to say more as she recovered from the release from fear and anger at her situation, leaving her devoid of emotion. 'I will be out shortly.'

A Chinese-silk gown clung to her wet skin, her hair dripped and her cheeks were flushed as if powdered with rouge, when she eventually left the bathroom. But Isabella felt blissfully calm. Even when Miss Ellis handed her the dullest dresses in the wardrobe, dark blue serge with a lace collar, Isabella did not complain. She knew the freedom she craved was within her grasp, she only had to be herself, someone who would take pleasure in her own body and delight in the effect she had on men and on some women. Lord Simon DeVillier will never get to know the real Isabella because, at that moment, she determined she would never willingly marry that man.

Isabella entered her father's book-lined study and the silence was so thick that a knife would have difficulty cutting through it. The heat that still remained between her thighs was quickly doused by the coldness of her reception. Simon was sitting in her father's chair, watching her every move, and Isabella's resolve to tell Simon exactly how she felt about him faltered. Her father was standing by the window, staring into the distance and refusing to look at her.

'Sit down, Isabella,' her father said in a voice chillingly cold.

Without a word Isabella sat on a red velvet chaise placed in the centre of the room.

'His Lordship, your fiancée, is been extremely troubled about the nature of your conduct or rather,' her father hesitated, his shoulders drooped and Isabella thought he looked old and tired, 'your lack of decorum and to be blunt, Isabella, your misconduct has humiliates you're mother and disgusts me,' her father continued, turning towards her. 'Lord DeVillier, has kindly consented to continue with our arrangement and consequently your wedding day has been set for two months hence.'

'But father....'

'Isabella, I will not countenance any argument from you. You have shamed you're family with your waywardness. I...his lordship decided that as parents we have been lax in your education and that you have fallen into unseemly ways. Ways that are not suitable for a woman of your position. So it is our decision...'

'Father,' Isabella interrupted unable to suffer any more of her father's lecturing on her behaviour. 'I truly appreciate you and my fiancée have my best interests at heart, but I shall reach my majority soon and will be able to choose to whom I marry.' Isabella paused, waiting for a response from Simon, but he remained silent. 'Lord DeVillier, Simon, I am flattered that you want to make me your wife, but I fear I must decline.' Isabella rose from the chaise and, without looking at either Simon or her father, headed for the door.

'I request that you remain here, madam.' Simon said, rising from the chair and, taking a few quick strides, moved quickly to stand between Isabella and her means of escape.

'No, sir I will not,' Isabella said, trying to sidestep her gaoler. 'I demand that you allow me to pass.'

'Isabella, daughter, please do not continue with this,' her father said. 'As you said yourself you are have not yet reached the age where you can determine your future, and until you do you will obey me.'

Ordinarily Isabella would have taken little heed of her father as she was too used to doing as she wished, but with Simon blocking her way she had no choice but to return to her seat.

'Good,' said her father, sitting down at his desk, on which were two, hand-written documents. 'Your future husband will explain.'

Simon DeVillier smiled at Isabella, and it sent a chill fear down her spine, it was not the smile of a lover to his intended, more one of the grin of a cat playing with a mouse.

'I cannot pretend that your conduct this afternoon had come as a shock to me,' Simon began. 'I had thought the future Lady DeVillier would be a woman with a degree of decorum and virtue.'

Isabella nodded silently not trusting herself to speak civilly to the arrogant man standing before her.

'As I said I insist that the woman who will be my wife to be virtuous. In this respect you father and I have come to an agreement,' he paused as if waiting for a response but Isabella remained resolutely silent. 'You will be sent to a finishing school to learn how to act with modesty and decorum, you will learn how to become a good housekeeper and...' he hesitated and looked at Isabella's father.

'What his Lordship is trying to say is that you will be taught everything his Lordship wants and needs from a good wife.'

'And where is this school to which I am to be banished?' Isabella said through gritted teeth, this was not how she imagined her admonishment to be, maybe confined to her room or some other punishment, but to be sent away came to her as a shock.

'The school,' Simon continued. 'Is situated in Cornwall, an isolated establishment on the coast, and I believe the strict regime and the clear Cornish air will do you good, my dearest.'

'And for how long will I have to endure this education of yours?' snapped Isabella.

'You will be there for as long as is necessary, the headmistress is a very experienced woman, Miss Frobisher, has been educating women to fulfil their potential as wives and companions for many years and I have received many good reports of her successes.'

Isabella began to warm to the idea. Perhaps a time away from here and from Simon might not be too bad, Isabella mused, after all a few months at a genteel finishing school would be preferable to having to endure more of Simon's cold attention.

'When do I leave, I have to prepare my...'

'You depart immediately,' her father said, picking up the documents from his desk. 'I have assigned your care to the school, and your maid has packed all that is necessary. A coach will arrive shortly, and you will be accompanied by one of Miss Frobisher's students.'

There was nothing more Isabella the future loomed as a long void, filled with no fun and little pleasure.