Sir Thomas’s Bride_Masterful Husbands_Book One, page 9
The first the women knew of their husbands' return was when each was yanked upward from the ground and landed unceremoniously over their husband's shoulders, iron palms smacked hard against their rumps on the way back into the carriage. Normally punishment would be a private affair between husband and wife, not alluded to or spoken of in polite society. However, on this occasion of extreme misbehaviour that went well beyond the pale, the two gentlemen entered the very same coach and deposited their unruly wives across their knees simultaneously, so that each woman faced the other.
Margaret unwisely hissed vindictively, "This is your entire fault, you simpering colonial bitch!" This outburst caused a large hand to descend with a thundering thwack upon her pale and vulnerable derriere.
However, Rose's screeched reply, "You vinegar faced strumpet," meant that the first slap on her naked posterior was as hard as her incensed husband could make it. Fairly soon, a rhythmic smacking, echoed loudly beyond the confines of the carriage, so that Eloise and Williams grinned and nodded to one another at the justice of it. Inside the coach, the four cheeks of two squirming bottoms, were becoming very hot and somewhat pink.
There was no lecture from the ladies' husbands; there was no need, for each lady knew her punishment was fully justified. Each lady also determined not to show any weakness to her enemy and neither intended to be the first to cry. They reckoned without their husbands, who fully intended both women should not only cry, but sob, extremely loudly.
Thomas increased his punishing thwacks and grinned at Benedict who winked right back. The whimpers and gasps from their respective wives, swelled gradually into wails and cries for mercy. Apologies followed and then sobbing began. Their husbands spanked on until two very limp and sorry wives lay across their husbands' laps. Each possessed scalded nates and tear drenched faces.
The spanking ceased and Margaret looked at Rose's wet, flushed face. Her nose was running and her hair was a complete haystack, bedecked with twigs, grass and a number of leaves. She supposed she fared no better and she was right.
"Are you... all right?" she whispered across Thomas's black booted feet.
Rose gazed back at her before taking a shuddering breath. "I'll live, I guess," her American drawl pronounced by her distress. There was no time for further discussion because each woman found herself suddenly upright and sat upon her husband's knee, face to face with judge and jury.
Benedict knocked on the roof of the carriage with his cane and the coach lurched slowly forward.
As they passed the other coach, Margaret noticed Eloise usher the dogs inside the carriage and climb in behind them. She had the dogs safe just in time, for the heavens opened and a slash of white lightning preceded a loud explosion of thunder that rolled noisily on for some while.
"Good thing we got the horses inside the stables before the storm broke," Benedict observed.
"Shame we did not do the same for our two alley cats," Thomas retorted bitterly.
Margaret opened her mouth to speak but one quelling look from Thomas's narrowed eyes and she snapped her mouth shut again. Rose had no such qualms and clutched her husband's chest as she bemoaned her fear of storms. Benedict pressed her head to his chest.
"Rose, the storm ought to be the very least of your worries. If I were you, I should be more concerned about arriving home and the consequences that will surely follow!"
Rose's eyes widened and met Margaret's shocked glance across the carriage.
Chapter 17
They arrived finally at Merriton Hall. Thomas and Margaret were led upstairs to a grand chamber containing a huge four poster canopied bed. A dressing room provided for Thomas and a separate one for Margaret stood at opposing ends of the room. Lavender scented steam, wafted out from the doorway of Margaret's dressing room, enticing her in to investigate.
A large copper tub stood full of hot water into which she suspected aromatic oils had been added. It smelled wonderful and she wanted to strip and enter the bath at once. Pulling off a mud stained and damaged glove she hesitated; perhaps before she undressed she should ask Thomas's permission. After all, he was not in the best of moods. Turning to walk back into the main bedchamber she stumbled into his chest. His arms came out and immediately steadied her.
"Oh! I was just coming back to ask if you would mind me taking a bath, Thomas?"
"Actually, Bee, it was I who requested a bath to be waiting on our arrival. I thought you would be weary and travel stained and would welcome one. I shall help you to strip, I want to look at that bite mark that Rose gave you, it looked particularly nasty. Turnabout so I might unlace your ruined gown." Margaret did as he requested, lifting her filthy mud encrusted hair up and out of the way.
"I am sorry about today, Thomas, it will not happen again."
"No, be assured it most certainly will not. There now, step out of the frock and allow me to remove your shoes, again ruined, the mud and water will never come out of that slub silk."
Margaret was silent. She had apologised, how many more times did he wish her to repeat herself? As far as she was concerned, the subject was now closed and the event over and done with, after all he had spanked her, so Thomas should simply let the subject drop.
She sighed as she sunk deep into the caressing heat of the scented water, Thomas gently placed his hands on her shoulder either side of the bite inflicted by Rose and studied it.
"This is not as bad as I first thought, I am going to find some alcohol to clean the wound and some salve to soothe it. Is there anything you need before I leave?"
Margaret closed her eyes and sunk to her chin, her knees bent. "Hmm, no, I am fine here, although you might request some hot chocolate, oh and some cake."
Thomas quirked a brow, which Margaret did not witness since her eyes were shut. "I shall be back shortly," was his terse response.
Margaret dosed happily in her bath and only roused when Thomas returned and set to cleaning and doctoring her shoulder.
"Tip your head forward I am going to wash the filth from your hair." Margaret did as she was bid, thoroughly enjoying this pampering from her husband.
"I am sure the Mortimers will supply a ladies' maid for me, Thomas, so truly you need not wash my hair."
"They did supply a maid but I turned her away and told her you would have no need of her until the morrow."
Margaret stiffened. Did this mean that perhaps Thomas had not finished punishing her? But he had been so kind, gentle and considerate. Ah, but then he always was, even whilst wielding a cane or strap, he still checked upon her welfare! Margaret pursed her lips; this was worrying.
"Relax and keep your head downward or soap will get into your eyes, Bee, my dear." Thomas clucked his tongue and eased Margaret's head back down. His hands massaged her scalp and despite her concerns, Margaret groaned with delight. A warm cascade of water then flowed over her, as Thomas tipped a large pitcher of warm water over her head and rinsed the soap away. He put a wash cloth into her hand.
"Clean yourself, I will fetch a towel from the fire screen where I set it to warm."
Margaret washed and stood, her skin a pretty flushed pink. Thomas returned with the warm enveloping towel and wrapped her up into it before lifting her into his arms and walking with her to their bed. He dried her briskly and rubbed the worst of the wet from her hair before he tugged a nightgown over her head.
"Oh, I thought to dress but I suppose it is sensible wear to sit before the fire and dry my hair."
"You will not be dining tonight. You are staying in your room to reflect upon the day's events and most especially your part within them."
Margaret was surprised to find that she did not actually mind remaining in the cosy, warm bed chamber. She agreed sombrely and asked about her cake and hot chocolate. She would ring the bell pull later and ask for a super tray, she decided.
"You are having hot bread and milk no more than that," Thomas told her.
Margaret was about to argue but reasoned it was better to acquiesce now and ask for a tray to be brought up while he was away at his dinner.
"I have spoken with the staff and they will not fetch you anything else to eat tonight should you decide to ask."
"But I hate hot milk, you know I do!" Margaret stamped her bare foot.
Really Thomas was being tiresome and taking this whole thing much too far.
Thomas gave her his rakish pirate grin and pushed the nightgown from her shoulder. He picked up the jar of salve he had set aside, along with other paraphernalia that he had brought back with him from the kitchens and began to apply it gently to her shoulder. Once that was done, Thomas replaced the lid and turned Margaret by her shoulders to face him.
"The fight I witnessed today between you and Rose Mortimer shocked and sickened me to my core. That two such gently bred ladies of high standing should behave in such a barbaric manner is a matter of serious concern. Rose is not my problem to solve but you are and, as my wife, it is my bounden duty to correct your wayward behaviour and I intend that nothing of that sort should ever occur again. Am I making myself quite plain?"
Margaret stared at her husband, nervously chewing her lower lip. "Um, yes, Thomas."
"Good. Now then, I need you to raise your nightgown and lay across my lap." Margaret hesitated, dear lord, please, not more punishment.
"It is all right, I am not going to spank you," he reassured her.
Margaret breathed a sigh of relief and leant over his knee as requested. Thomas positioned her as he wanted, shifting her so her bottom was high and her nightgown hiked up about her waist. He ran his hands appreciatively over her flushed buttocks, still toasty warm from her bath and earlier spanking.
Margaret lay head down, hands flat upon the floor and wondered what Thomas was up to. She could here china clinking above her head and then his hands were back upon her bottom flesh. She froze suddenly, for his hands parted her bottom cheeks. She tried to grip them together tightly but she received a resounding slap for her efforts. "Naughty, Bee, I want you to relax and do just as I tell you."
"But... what are you doing?" Margaret asked tentatively.
"I am gingering you up," came the mystifying reply.
"I-I don't understand, Thomas."
"This method is sometimes known as figging and it is a salient punishment for extremely wilful wives. Now hold still for I am about to place a ginger root into your bottom button."
"Noo, no, Thomas, this is too humiliating, stop, please stop!"
"Yes, humiliation is part of the idea behind gingering. It punishes you from within but without harming you in any way. The root emits heat, which stings but does no damage and it is cut too short to harm you deep inside. You will wear it until I return at bedtime, then I shall remove it and spank you before bed. If I find that you have removed your ginger before that time, then you will wear it all night and not sleep a wink, I am sure, due to the discomfort of it. Have you any questions?"
Margaret winced as the root sunk inside her back passage and panicked at the strange uncomfortable fullness in her most private place. "W-what if I need to, this is mortifying, um, well if I need to, you know..." Thomas grinned.
"You pull the bell and summon a maid who will fetch me and I will remove it and then replace it again, afterwards."
"Thomas, you know that this is barbaric and a completely unacceptable way to treat a lady and your wife to boot!" She was every bit as indignant as she sounded.
"Good, then the punishment suits the crime, Bee. I would never have used this method of correction had you not behaved in such a barbaric way. Barbaric, a good descriptive word that for this afternoon's behaviour." He gave her a stinging slap and flipped her upright, Margaret shifted uncomfortably. It was humiliating but not so very dreadful; she could barely feel any stinging at all.
"Mortimer and I are going to dine in the billiard room tonight and enjoy a few frames..." There was a soft knock on their door and Thomas went to answer it. He returned with a tray set with a blue and white bowl full of soft white bread and butter torn up into bite sized pieces and covered in hot milk, the top was sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar. A glass of cold milk sat upon the tray along with a silver spoon and serviette. He handed the tray to Margaret, who decided that she was actually hungry enough to eat it, despite her dislike of hot milk. She had never actually been given a bowl of bread and milk before and was surprised by how good it tasted.
Thomas watched her taste the meal and nod appreciatively. He smiled inwardly for sometimes Margaret was priceless in her naivety. She did not even realise that her bread and milk was the royal version and not the usual stale bread soaked in hot milk with nothing added, which most would recognise as the usual punitive meal. Some men he knew would accuse him of being an overindulgent husband, but he was by nature a kindly man and he saw no reason to starve his cherished wife. After all, he wanted her healthy and well and she needed warmth inside her after her chilly tumbling upon the wet ground today.
"I shall leave you to your supper. Make sure you dry your hair by the fire and remember, do not remove your ginger, understood?"
"Yes, Thomas," Margaret agreed feigning meekness. She held her cheek out for his perfunctory kiss and then he was gone. Margaret enjoyed her simple meal. She found it to be quite adequately filling and surprisingly tasty. She set her tray aside and knelt down by the fire. Hair brush in hand, she brushed her hair in the warmth of the flaming logs and watched entranced as the flames shimmered from red to orange and occasionally jumped to blue. She wriggled uncomfortably, her bottom was getting hot inside her, she wriggled some more but that only made it worse. Finally, she got to her feet and paced the room. That didn't help at all and this burning was becoming almost unbearable within.
Chapter 18
The door to her room suddenly burst inwards, startling Margaret and Lady Rose flew inside, slamming the door shut behind her. She stood panting, her back against the closed door. She was wild eyed, her golden hair hanging in damp waves down her back. She too was dressed only in her nightgown.
"The deuce, Margaret," she cried. "You have to help me!" She rushed over to where Margaret stood staring at her in open mouthed astonishment.
"Whatever is it?" she finally managed to ask.
"I-I, oh, oh, how am I to explain such a dreadful intimate thing to you! I should not have come I know but, dear God, I am going mad with it... there is no help for it—it has to come out! I have to be rid of this thing!"
Understanding dawned on Margaret's face. "Rose, did Benedict 'ginger you up'?" Margaret asked her in disbelief.
"You know about that, but how? Ah, now I see, you too?" Margaret nodded.
"Only a man could think up such a crude expression as 'ginger her up' and whoever invented the act needs to be strung up by his toes!"
"I agree with you wholeheartedly!"
"What shall we do then? I can stand it no longer, it burns me so!" Rose began to jiggle and dance on the spot and as she did so, Margaret found the scalding itch inside just as unbearable, urging her to join in the dance, shortly after she found herself jiggling alongside her.
"We will have to take the horrid things out but I am loath to do so because Thomas said that if I did remove it, he would see to it that I wore the beastly thing all night, and as it is, he is going to spank me before bed!"
"Well Benedict said no such thing to me! So please, Margaret, I know how terribly embarrassing this is for us both but please, I beg of you, just pull the hateful thing out!" Rose launched herself over the end of Margaret's bed and pulled up her nightgown to reveal her pretty heart shaped bottom, marred only by a large bulbous root sticking out between her rosy buttock cheeks. Margaret looked at the root and an idea popped into her head but before she said anything to Rose, she took hold of the root and pulled and pulled.
The horrid thing took some tugging but eventually it came free and Margaret threw it straight into the fire, where it hissed and spat filling the air with gingery spice.
"Well I wish I could say that was better but it still burns but I thank you, now you, over the bed quick and I shall relieve you of your hateful thing." The process was repeated and then the two women hugged. Stepping apart they seemed to realise the enormity of their intimate act.
"I should think after this awful embarrassment, we should remain friends for life because only a friend could do such an intimate thing for another!"
Margaret giggled and the two women stood and smiled shyly at one another. "I am so sorry that I pulled your hair out today," Margaret apologised.
Rose apologised in turn, for biting her. "I have always been a biter," she confessed.
"I am too!" Margaret nodded.
"Listen, I have a plan that might yet save us from our husband's wrath," Margaret told her, "we can use a mild parsnip and shape it in the same way as the ginger. Parsnip and ginger are much the same colour and the gentlemen will surely never notice the difference if we are quick to dispose of the substitute when they remove it from us later tonight."
Rose's eyes danced with glee. "Why, Margaret, that is quite brilliant! I shall ask cook to cut and shape it for us—she adores me and I am certain she will say nothing of this to anyone, especially not Benedict. She thinks he is too strict with me anyway. Would you like something to eat? I can fetch victuals while I am down in the kitchens. All I had for my supper tonight was a meagre bowl of bread and milk!"
Margaret giggled. "That was all I was given for my supper too. Our husbands must have been in cahoots together."
"In that case, we shall stick together and foil their dastardly plan! I shall return momentarily." Rose twirled away and was gone, leaving Margaret behind and chuckling delightedly. Really she had been such a goose, Rose Mortimer was nice and now Margaret actually had a friend. For the very first time in her life, Margaret felt close to somebody of her own sex. The feeling was euphoric and she did a little twirl of excitement.
