Elizabeth's Education (Forbidden Lust)

ELIZABETH’S EDUCATION

by

MAGGIE CARPENTER

Elizabeth’s Education first published in 2003 by

Chimera Publishing Ltd

PO Box 152

PO8 9FS

www.chimerabooks.co.uk

Digital edition converted and published by

Andrews UK Limited 2010

www.andrewsuk.com

This novel is fiction – in real life practice safe sex

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Maggie Carpenter

The right of Maggie Carpenter to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Chimera - a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy

‘As I said, I am going to sit on that chair, and then lay you across my lap, face down. I’m going to lift your dress above your waist, and your petticoat as well. Then I am going to pull your drawers down, exposing your bare bottom.’

Elizabeth felt her face turn scarlet and her eyes grew wider still.

‘And do you know what I’m going to do then, Elizabeth?’ he asked mildly, and she shook her head from side to side, terrified of what he was about to say. ‘Well, then I’m going to spank you, Elizabeth, with the lovely gardens as a delightful backdrop. And when my hand gets tired, my dear, do you know what I’ll do then?’

Elizabeth gasped through the gag in apprehensive disbelief.

It was late, and tucked up in her four-poster bed, her hair carefully pinned, Elizabeth closed her eyes and replayed the events of the day.

Lord Michael had come to the manor, and despite her feverish attempts to get his attention he paid her no heed whatsoever. Instead he had gone shooting with her annoying older brother, James, and then spent the entire evening smoking cigars and drinking brandy with her father in the drawing room.

‘It is not a place for young ladies,’ her father had told her more often than she cared to remember, and so she was banished from their company after dinner. Exiled. Men and their rules, and their stinky old habits!

She just did not understand it, for her charms were near legendary. All the eligible young men, and even the majority of the older ones, married or no, were eager to spend time with her. At all the balls and events she attended her dance card was always full, and while she thoroughly enjoyed the attention bestowed upon her at these gatherings, she could not help but feel a little frustrated that the enigmatic Lord Michael had never once joined the admiring throngs.

Before the last such event, she had insisted upon travelling into London to buy a brand new gown. She was determined to look ravishing, and though she would not admit it to anyone but herself, she wanted to look ravishingly irresistible for him!

She found a dress that was the newest fashion from Paris. It was a deep blue satin, and in the latest style was tight about her waist and fit snugly over her hips. The bodice was trimmed in fine lace and boasted a high collar, accentuating her slender throat. The seamstress had cleverly sewn sequins here and there, haphazardly, which shimmered in the light.

When Grace, her maid, had finished pinning Elizabeth’s hair on top of her head, a twinkling sapphire comb to one side, she was very pleased with her appearance. She stood in front of her full-length mirror admiring the overall picture. As far as she was concerned, Lord Michael must surely take notice now.

But no, on the contrary, he did not. In fact, he did not even stay at the party very long, and it seemed to her that every time she glanced in his direction he was looking decidedly bored, and even once she caught him surreptitiously shielding a yawn of tedium behind a hand.

So when she heard her father had invited him for the coming weekend she was delighted. Given the close proximity that would now be theirs, she was sure he would fall madly in love with her, as had all the other men that crossed her path.

But even during dinner, when she made sure she was placed next to him, all she saw was the back of his shoulder. He carried on an endless, and what seemed to her to be an incredibly tedious conversation, about the latest developments in the import and export trade, with the older gentleman seated to his left.

Who cared where the silks came from, as long as they were pretty and soft? As long as they ended up encasing her lithesome body in the latest fashions, what did it matter the cost of tariffs and such? Men could be such bores.

Yet she sensed something in his indifference. It seemed to be calculated rather than simple disinterest. Had it been her imagination, or had she seen him glance at her that afternoon, as she sat sipping tea in the garden?

He had been trudging up the rear lawns with her brother, guns slung over their shoulders, the hounds barking and running beside them. She was sitting alone, and when she turned to look at them she could have sworn he was staring right at her. But it was only fleeting; she may have been mistaken.

Then there were his boots! After their shoot they were the muddiest boots she had ever seen. Smithy, the footman, would have fun getting those off his feet, let alone clean again, she had thought.

When she finished her afternoon tea, and was sure no one was looking, she had secretly gone to the back door, opened it quietly, and peered in at those muddy boots of his. They were black and hefty, the kind of boots a true adventurer would own. They were encased in crusty mud, waiting to be cleaned. Then she sighed, glad it would not be her job to do such a thing. A girl of her station getting her dainty hands all dirty? Good heavens, no! That would never do!

The sound of the bedroom door opening startled her, breaking her reverie. It was Grace, though why she was called Grace was beyond Elizabeth. To her eyes grace was a quality the girl most certainly did not possess. If she were any clumsier the girl would have to carry around a mop and bucket twenty-four hours a day.

‘What is it?’ she asked impatiently, wanting to return to her thoughts of the day, and Lord Michael. The
mysterious
Lord Michael.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Miss Elizabeth,’ said the maid. ‘I just wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything before I went to bed.’

‘No, nothing,’ she replied, waving the girl away with a flick of her hand.

Grace curtsied, somewhat red-faced. She knew if she hadn’t checked in with her mistress she would surely have been scolded for it the next day, but now she sensed she was in trouble for disturbing her. She sighed. There was certainly no winning with Miss Elizabeth.

Elizabeth snuggled more deeply under the covers. She wished she’d had a bath before retiring. Bother! Grace should have drawn one for her, irrespective of whether she’d asked her to or not. She would have to counsel her in the morning. Yes, a bath was to be waiting for her and it was for the maid to anticipate when it was to be so, and if she didn’t want one, so be it. At least it would be ready, just in case.

She also had to remind Grace to bring some more oil of jasmine. She was running low, and she certainly wasn’t about to take an unscented bath.

Elizabeth closed her eyes. The sheets were cool and comfortable. She insisted they be changed every three days. She let her head sink into the soft feather pillows, and let her mind revisit the dashing Lord Michael.

Tall, but not too tall, and he stood so straight and handsome, brimming with confidence and surety. Hmmm. She had allowed one or two suitors to kiss her when she felt so inclined, but they were generally such bumblers. She could only imagine what it would feel like to be swept up in the arms of Lord Michael.

She willed herself to sleep, then suddenly realised she had failed to dim the lamp by the door.

‘Bother!’ she cursed again, angrily. ‘Bother, bother, bother! I’m all comfortable and cosy now. I don’t want to get out of bed.’

She reached over, pulling a cord hanging at the side of her bed.

Upstairs, in a room not much bigger than Elizabeth’s bed, a copper bell jangled above Grace’s head. She had just finished saying her nightly prayers, and was in her plain cotton nightdress, but the bell summoning her meant she had to quickly change back into her black dress and white apron, and fix her cap. She would never dare let herself be seen otherwise attired.