The Reformer

The Reformer

By

Breanna Hayse

Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Hayse, Breanna

The Reformer

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Image by The Killion Group

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

Chapter One

Aryanna sobbed silently as she knelt in the corner of the bleak room, hands on her head and her bottom burning in searing pain. The headmistress had been extraordinarily severe with her this time and left marks that would take weeks to heal. No matter how hard she tried, she was not able to easily adopt English as her new language, and in a moment of frustration over a chore, a word of unknown meaning had slipped from her mouth. She had not meant to make Headmistress angry again, but alas, it had happened.

Aryanna shivered, recalling the most recent event in her miserable existence. The appalled headmistress had grabbed her by the ear and pushed her harshly over the large desk in the front of the classroom. Her smock was raised, her knickers dropped, and in the sight of her twenty classmates, the heavy cane fell in repeated, wide arcs to land over the already bruised flesh on her bare backside. She had screamed and begged, but Headmistress was immune to the cries of any of the girls. Headmistress yelled out, “They must learn! This one most of all, these foreigners who dare poison the ears of this respected establishment with such profanity.” Despite Headmistress' demands to cease her screams, Aryanna’s wails were heard through the great halls of the old building. Many looked up, some with concern, others with knowledgeable smiles, all knowing that another student was being punished and who was administering the discipline. None would dare interfere.

Aryanna leaned her forehead against the cold stone, her tears finally coming to an end. She still could not understand how she had arrived at this terrible fate. It had been two years now since her life had been turned around. She had gone from being the beloved daughter of a professor of mathematics to a lonely, frightened orphan in a single day. She missed her mama and papa dreadfully, and she allowed herself to remember the senseless blood bath in St. Petersburg. It had started out as a peaceful demonstration and an attempt to bring the tsar to awareness of the horrid conditions his people were facing that cold Russian winter. For no reason, shots were fired into the crowds, leaving so many dead and injured. Aryanna's heart pounded as she recalled the feeling as her father's life slipped from him while she held him in her arms. Sobbing, she had searched for hours among the bodies, looking for her mother until she was physically dragged away by the tsar's men.

She was only sixteen at the time, and one among many who had been declared “unfortunates” by the government. Within a single week of losing her family, her home, and the only life she had ever known, she had also lost her country. Assistance in the form of suspicious-looking, unkempt men had arrived and taken the brightest and the most beautiful of Russia's “unfortunates” to Britain, with promises to educate them as proper British citizens and give them an opportunity to be placed in employment. The “unfortunates” had not been given a choice and many, including Aryanna, had to be forcefully sedated before they were taken.

The young girl had awoken to discover that she was in an “introductory” compound where she was expected to learn the English language, proper social etiquette, and skills, so she could be sold to the highest bidder for her services. Aryanna spoke openly against the kidnapping and forced slavery, trying desperately to gain support from her fellow “unfortunates”. In dismay, she found them to be broken and fearful, accepting their dismal futures with sad complacence.

It took Aryanna over a year before she found a means to escape from the complex and venture into a strange world that held nothing but fear and oddities for her. She had tried finding work, able to understand the language enough to follow basic instructions, but her inability to communicate effectively left her, once again, alone. Desperate and starving, she had tried to steal some fruit off a stand in an open market. She was caught, jailed, and then placed before the magistrate for final sentencing. He had been a kind man, very old and gentle. He brought her into his chambers with her guard and told her that, instead of prison, he was going to allow her to participate in the new system of reform. She had simply nodded, unable to comprehend her future. One month later, she found herself in an academy for troubled young women, under an even crueler dictatorship than the introductory. At least at the introductory she had not been beaten for every transgression and had been fed well. Not a day passed when she did not mourn the loss of her home, her loving parents, and her freedom.

Aryanna sighed loudly, her face soothed by the cold wall. It had been well over a year since she had been sent here, and she still did not understand the meaning of the word “reform”. Hopelessness threatened to rise within her, but she fought it away. She had seen what the world outside the institutions looked like and knew that she had no other chance but to finish her sentence and be placed somewhere for employment. She choked back a sob, realizing that her only chance of leaving the cruelty of the headmistress in this horrid place was to be farmed out to an individual reformer. And this was an option no one would chose, for these men and women were known to be specifically educated to redirect the incorrigible with particularly strict discipline. It was considered by many of the young women at the academy to be a sentence worse than death.

* * *

“Miss Woods appears to be beating another student again. Rather harshly, by the sound of it,” Lord Ryan Remington commented, looking up as he heard the girl's screams echoing through the stones hallways of the building. “Does this happen often? It seems to me I hear those screams every time I visit this place, although not quite this ear-shattering,” he asked as he casually placed a card upon the table.

“She is impossible, that one,” his opponent, Headmaster Henry Stewart responded, countering the play. “She had escaped the introductory after being rescued from the Bloody Sunday massacre in St. Petersburg. We have tried everything, yet she stubbornly refuses to learn the language, will not perform her chores properly, and even spits out her meals. Would you believe the ingratitude?”

“Hmm… has she been evaluated for a possibly disability? Perhaps she is not intelligent enough to learn new things,” Ryan asked, attempting to disguise his contempt for the other man's disposition.

“She is very good at mathematics and appears to have some understanding of physics, but no more. It is her stubbornness and refusal to adapt. We are considering sending her out to the country where a reformer can make a final attempt with her. If not, she goes to the workhouse.”

“Really? So, she is that bad off? This hand is mine,” Ryan announced, laying his cards down. He picked up his cup of hot tea and leaned back in the chair to watch the gray, rainless clouds from the window. Rain was late this year, and the crops were going to suffer if it did not come soon. “I feel I am ready to try my hand at reforming apart from my father. Perhaps I’ll take this one on my own, and communication skills are a specialty of mine. Yes, she sounds like a delightful challenge. How old is she?”

“A tad over eighteen, although she looks much younger. She is much too thin and despises our delectable cuisine.”

“I've tasted your delectable cuisine, and even I cannot stomach it. She is accustomed to a different diet. Has that not been taken into consideration?”

“Lord Ryan, we cannot cater to every foreign princess who graces our doors. She eats what the other students and the staff eat.”

“I'm sure you don't indulge in the same delights by the look of that girth, Henry,” Ryan said distastefully. “I seriously would be interested in giving it a go.”

“I am certain Headmistress Woods would be glad to be done with her. She would not wish her to be returned to the academy unreformed, though. She still has two years left of her sentence here. Do you have time?” Henry asked, eager to please the young Lord.

“Of course I have time. However, I wish to make one condition. Should I take her on, no one else will be allowed to administer discipline in the event I decide to allow her to return to the school for further education. That means no more of our lovely headmistress’ canings.”

“Headmistress will not be pleased, but she will comply. I will make certain of that.” Henry smiled, lighting his cigar. “That little Russian is a pretty one, too. You might enjoy her for other things than reforming.”

“I may be many unsavory things, Stewart, but I am still a gentleman. I do not take advantage of young women when they are under my care,” Ryan snapped, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he looked at the other man. “Nor do I allow them to be abused. Father and I are striving to produce a society of civility, not of brutality. You seem to enjoy the use of the cane more than necessary.”

“Not so, Your Lordship. That is Eliza Woods' delight,” Henry grinned.

“You are headmaster, and it is your responsibility to monitor her behaviors, as well as the students’ progress.”

“Dear sir, I assure you that I do what I am able,” Henry said defensively, “I have other responsibilities as well…”

“Yes, like eating…” Ryan sneered, “It is decided. I wish to have her, and I will take her with me when I depart.”

“Yes, of course, Your Lordship. I’ll have the house maids pack her belongings and prepare her for the trip. I will arrange an escort…” Henry tried unsuccessfully to disguise his animosity towards the man. It did not go unnoticed.

“Remember your place, Mr. Stewart. And mine,” Ryan ordered, watching the man's pale face redden. “I require no chaperone. This girl is obviously viewed in the class of a servant, and I have no concern regarding the social gossip that taints the lips of every busybody in sight, including yourself and your staff. And Stewart? Make sure there is an extra cushion for her in the carriage. There is no reason for that child to be more uncomfortable than she will be. Go on with you now. I will leave within the hour.”

Forcing a tilt of his head in acquiescence, Headmaster Stewart scurried from his office to make arrangements, per orders of the Lord Ryan Remington, heir to Earl of Yarlshire.

* * *

Aryanna shivered as she was washed in cold water and dressed in a worn, gray travel dress and woolen stockings. The scratchy fabric against her swollen bottom and thighs made her want to cry out, but she kept silent, not wishing to elicit another beating. She was informed that her incorrigible actions had resulted in the necessity of being sent to serve under the hand of a reformer. She begged and pleaded to stay, tried to promise change, but her words were lost in a language she could not speak. Her friends had whispered their condolences to the quiet foreigner, trying unsuccessfully to reassure her that all would be well and that a reformer was better than being dismissed to the mills or a workhouse. Her classmates and house staff were saddened by her departure, for the girl was gentle and caring. No one spoke aloud the thoughts that ran through their heads, and all silently prayed that she would survive the brutal lessons ahead. Their unspoken words, however, told Aryanna that any hope of freedom was forever shattered.

Aryanna was caught in a daze of fear, confusion, and pain as she was roughly issued into an opulent carriage drawn by two perfectly matched horses. Her heart pounded as she realized that this reformer was not only well to do, but very meticulous in how things were presented to the world around him. He wanted perfection, and from the carefully chosen horses to the immaculate uniform of the driver, he got it. Despair built within her as she pictured her future.

“Papa? Mama? What did I do wrong?” she lifted her tiny voice to the heavens. “Please help me. I am so frightened and so alone.”

Be strong, my little one, she could hear the echo from Papa's voice, “I will always blow away the ghosts of fear.”

She smiled, remembering him taking a deep breath and blowing hard around her, chasing away anything that frightened her. Mama would then catch the “ghosts” and put them into a bag to burn in the fire.

“A smile is always good to see,” a man said gently as he leaned into the carriage, startling her. “I'm assuming it’s from a pleasant memory. Lord Ryan,” he pointed to himself. He reached his hand out for hers. “Your name?”