Page 17 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
Such a sweet man!
Millicent lit a wisp with a coal from the banked fire, then lit the candle. She blinked in the sudden light.
‘My, my. What exactly were you up to, Daughter?’
Blast!
Patricia sat at the kitchen table in a nightgown of frills and lace. A silk wrapper was tied tightly around her waist. Her lips twisted into a predatory smile. ‘I have you now, Millicent.’
Millie learned much of suffering and humiliation in the two weeks following her evening at Philippa’s. When she lookedat her reflection in the glass, she almost didn’t recognise the woman staring back.
Patricia’s treatment of Millie had shifted from mild bullying to unbridled abuse the moment Millie snuck back into the kitchen. She hadn’t realised her father’s efforts to protect her against Patricia’s punishments until Marquess Whittenburg ceased shielding his daughter from his wife’s retribution. And Patricia took to the task of disciplining Millie with relish.
Stretching carefully, Millie’s broken skin pulled as fresh blood welled in the deep wounds covering her back.
She had never been whipped before, but Patricia made sure to remedy that lack in her education the morning after she caught her sneaking back into the kitchen. For a delicate woman, Patricia wielded the whip with devastating accuracy, not stopping until Millie had passed out from the pain. But even the beckoning blackness would never erase the sensation of warm blood dripping down her side and growing cool or the fiery brand of the whip as it cracked through the air.
What was worse than the lightning strikes on her back was knowing she couldn’t fight back. For now, Patricia held all the cards. Her threat of exposing Millie and Philippa to the censure and punishment of the beau monde was a blade pressed against Millie’s throat. Despite her skills, despite knowing she could easily best her stepmother, Millie had to endure Patricia’s wrath or face even greater retribution. It added a unique layer of humiliation to her punishment. So, she rebelled the only way she could. Refusing to cry out. Her stubbornness increased her stepmother’s rage, causing the woman to break a sweat from her exertions. Just the scent of Patricia’s overpowering lily perfume was enough to make Millie gag.
Millie spent several days after the first whipping on her belly as her back scabbed over. Patricia only allowed her water, broth, and a few crusts of bread. She claimed the diet was restorativeand would also aid Millie in attaining a more pleasing figure prior to the wedding.
As soon as Millie was able to stand without her vision spotting, she renewed her training, letting her futile anger fuel her. Obviously, she couldn’t grapple alone in her room, but she could continue with the exercises Philippa assigned to strengthen her already athletic body. She focused on slowing her movements, concentrating on the fighting forms Philippa had taught her, ignoring the burn of her wounds as she shifted and twisted her body.
She set up the grate of her fireplace as a practice throwing range for her knives, using pillows and a few books as her target. Her accuracy improved daily. She could hit a fly from the distance of one side of her room to the other, and the satisfaction she felt dulled the pain of her stepmother’s punishments.
Lack of proper food made it difficult, but Millie refused to stop. Her poor maid tried to sneak Millie a plate from dinner on the fourth day, but one of the servants loyal to Patricia caught her. Patricia threatened to sack the girl with no references if she ever disobeyed her again. And Millie received another whipping for coercing her maid into such devious acts. The second session was even more horrific than the first as barely healed wounds broke open anew. She would likely carry scars.
‘Something you’ll have in common with your new husband.’ Patricia sneered as the whip whistled through the air, cracking against Millie’s back.
What bothered Millie most about the brutal second whipping was the interruption her new lashes caused for her training sessions. Three more days lost while she waited for her wounds to close.
She would survive this ordeal. She would heal. And grow stronger. And destroy her stepmother. She just needed to endure long enough to stand at the altar.
Two weeks passed while Millie spent her days alone in her room training and her nights collapsing into exhausted sleep. Her father didn’t visit her once. She only saw Patricia on the two occasions her stepmother administered her discipline.
Now, the wedding was only five days away, and they were scheduled to depart for Major General Drake’s expansive estate in Bedfordshire directly after breakfast, though Millie was only allowed burnt toast and weak tea.
It would be impossible for Patricia to continue with her diabolical behaviour once they were settled at Alder House. The only benefit Millie could see in marrying Major General Drake was freedom from her stepmother forever. She was also unlikely to see her father. That hurt more than she could describe. Although his love for Millie had been lost, she still missed him fiercely.
Millie bit her lip, refusing to let the tears slip free. She was desperate for comfort and comradery. She had been denied access to Lady Philippa and Ivy over the past two weeks and longed for their support. The only thing keeping her hopes from shrivelling to dust were her daily training sessions.
Patricia swept into her room at half past seven. She glanced around, a smile playing over her lips at the various cases packed and ready to be loaded onto carriages.
‘You best make sure everything is ready before we leave. You are no longer welcome here and won’t be returning to this house ever again, dear Daughter.’
Millie never thought she would be relieved to escape her family home. The house where she learned to walk. Where her father taught her to ride. Where she spun tales with her bestfriend about the fantastic futures they would share. Futures full of adventure, freedom, and maybe love. But her home had turned into a prison. Her father was a stranger to her now, and her stepmother achieved her goal of ousting Millie and claiming her place as ruler of the Whittenburg legacy.
Patricia could fall from the heights of her aspirations and splat onto the dirt for all Millie cared. But she mourned the loss of her father’s affections. If love so easily turned a trusted parent from his beloved daughter, then Millie was grateful she need never concern herself with the emotion. Patricia’s punishments had hollowed out anything soft or weak within Millie. Major General Drake certainly wouldn’t show her anything close to affection. Which was perfectly fine.
She only hoped his hatred of her would ensure a distant marriage where she could live her life free of anyone’s demands but her own – and the Queen’s, of course. She had spent much of her dreadful confinement contemplating how to continue working with Philippa while being married to the Earl of Tetly. If she couldn’t convince him to beg off the marriage, at least a distant union would provide her with much-needed privacy to continue her important work.
Drake would want nothing to do with her, so it would be easy to recommend they live separately. The plan would suit him down to his stupid shiny shoes. Once this wedding was complete, she would live in his London residence and return to her training with Lady Philippa. Millie was determined to hone herself into a weapon of cold steel. Something that couldn’t be broken with a whip. Something that didn’t long for affection. Or kindness. Or affirmation. Because she would find nothing gentle in her new husband. A man who despised her. A man who would forever be a stranger.
A man whose kisses make me melt.
Madness. A moment never to be repeated. Millie had learned her lesson well with Franklin St George. Where her body led, her heart soon followed. And allowing her heart to become involved with the cold, cruel, dangerous Earl of Tetly was foolishness of the highest order. Millie was no man’s fool. Certainly not Major General Beaufort Drake’s.
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