The Reformer (10 page)

“I, uh…”

“Do you need to use the chamber pot?” he asked, seeing the struggle on her face as she clung to the side of the swaying basket.

“I need to use the water closet, if you please.” Eliza snapped, her bladder uncomfortably full after drinking the two large bottles of water.

Gerard shook his head. “No, my dearest. Little girls either wet their nappies or they use the chamber pot. You are not big enough for the water closet yet. Let me know, and I will assist you.”

“I am
not
going to relieve myself before you! Nor am I going to use a diaper like an infant!”

Gerard tsked, leaning back in the chair and picking up his book. “Very well, Eliza. When you are ready to ask for my help properly, I will be here waiting. I’m a very, very patient man.”

Eliza glared at him, growing more uncomfortable by the minute. She started to shift back and forth in the swaying bed to relieve the pressure building inside of her. “Very well, I will use the chamber pot,” she croaked out, unsure of her ability to hold her water much longer.

Gerard lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think you will. Had you asked me properly, I may have considered it, but you showed the manners of an infant. Once you’ve soiled your diaper, you may ask me to change you. And you shall do so properly.”

“Of all the… I never… where is Martha?”

“Your nanny is downstairs making your dinner. Papa will take care of you, Eliza. You don’t have to let your pride keep making you so uncomfortable.”

Eliza glared at him as she started to leak water into the thick, padded diaper. Tears filled her eyes as shame and embarrassment warmed her as much as the flood of hot liquid she could not control. Gerard glanced at her and raised an eyebrow, watching as she slumped over.

“Did you go?”

Eliza just cried into her hands, the wet cloth on her sore bottom a vivid reminder of her dishonor. Gerard sighed, walking over to her and kneeling next to the bassinet. “Ask Papa to change you, Eliza. There is no need to be ashamed,” he said gently.

“I, I can’t,” she wept.

“Yes, you can. Ask me.”

Eliza felt her world collide upon her. She had nowhere to go, no place to work, no one to be with. She experienced a wave of despair as the words left her mouth,

“Papa, will you please change me?”

“Of course I will, my sweet. Arms around my neck, and I’ll lift you out of there. That’s a good girl,” Gerard said, easily pulled her out and carrying her into the wash room. Eliza continued to cry as she was placed on her back upon the table and waited as Gerard gathered what he needed to change her.

“Why are you crying? I am not hurting you. My, my, this is wet,” he said, unpinning the diaper and sliding it off. Eliza blushed deeply as he lifted her legs to expertly cleanse and power her, taking time to gently massage salve into the dark bruises left on her bottom. Eliza felt so exposed as he viewed her privates and intimately cleansed her with ease. She stared at the wall, unable to deny that his care was nothing more than parental and nurturing. It infuriated her that she found nothing improper in the way he touched her. He cared for her like a father would, and she fought back the foreign feelings she started to experience. Gerard then placed her in another cloth and smoothed her smock over her thighs. “There we go. Does that feel better?”

Eliza could not face him and kept her head turned away. Gerard cupped her chin and re-asked his question. Forced to look him in the eyes, she nodded and whispered, “Yes, Papa.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead, carefully placing her on her feet on the floor. He offered his hand and, silently, Eliza took it. She was amazed by the warmth. No one had ever held her hand before. Together they walked downstairs, Eliza waddling in the uncomfortable bulge of cloth between her legs, coupled with the constant stinging ache in her posterior. He issued her into the sitting room and pointed to the couch.

“Please have a seat. We are going to talk now. Once we are done, you have an assignment to complete for me. Do you remember what it is?”

“I’m to write a paper concerning the reasons for my behavior,” Eliza muttered, her eyes glued to the floor.

“Good. Now, tell me about growing up. What was your childhood like?”

“Sir, I don’t feel it’s appropriate for you to delve into my personal issues…”

“Young lady, I just cleansed your little cunny and your bottom. I’ve seen your personal issues up close. Now talk,” Gerard ordered sternly. “And I want details.”

Eliza closed her eyes to the prickling heat that rose in her neck as he reminded her of recent events. In her mind, things could not be any worse. “Very well. I was the eldest of eight children. All my siblings were boys. My mother was involved in community activities which left me home to care for my brothers. My father… He worked.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a mill owner,” Eliza hung her head shamefully. “He was quite successful and made enough money to support his family and his many mistresses.”

“I gather you did not see very much of him, did you?”

“No. If I crossed him on the road, I would not know who he was. The only thing I have to thank him for was providing me with an education so that I did not end up like the people who slaved for him.”

“Hmm, it sounds as though he was quite the taskmaster.”

“He did what had to be done,” Eliza said with a growl in her voice. “We all do what we have to in order to be successful and gain respect.”

“Ah, but by what means, Eliza? I’m successful, but I’ve never had children labor under me or beaten people to make them work harder. As for respect, it must be earned. Like my son once told me, he feared my displeasure, but he was never afraid of me.”

“A coddled single child belonging to a family of old money knows not what it is like to be afraid,” Eliza snapped.

Gerard stayed calm, expecting her anger to show as she fought her emotions. “Yes, I had money given to me by my father. He earned it honestly by using his skills. When he passed, it was his wish to finance the building of the academy and initiate a reform system. Brigit was my first project.”

“The Lady Remington?” Eliza sounded surprised.

“Yes, it was she. Everything else I earned from hard work, as does my son. Do not judge what you do not know, Eliza. Tell me more.”

With a loud, resigned sigh, Eliza revealed the shameful, unhappy secrets of her life. Gerard watched her carefully as she hid behind a veil of apathy used to control her bubbling emotions. He listened closely, catching the occasional crack in her voice or change in tone which revealed an area of particular hardship. She talked, without stopping, for nearly an hour. By then her voice was hoarse and throat was raw.

“Martha! Bring Eliza some tea, please,” Gerard called. He leaned forward in his chair to look at the young woman sitting stoically across from him. “Eliza, I don’t pretend to be a psychologist, but even I can hear what you long for and have never received. You will be given the chance to have that now, but first you must submit yourself to the training. That means letting go, not fighting, and allowing yourself to feel as you should, even if it’s uncomfortable or foreign to you. Reformation is not a system designed for the properly bred Englishwoman. It is for those who have lacked. And you, my darling, have lacked much.”

“I beg your pardon, but my family was well-to-do…”

“You lacked love, Eliza. And you lack trust, respect, and regard for others. Emulating your father will not make him love you, sweetheart.”

Those gentle words slapped Eliza like a palm across the face. She stared at the handsome man in shock, and then a single tear slowly left her eye. “I don’t deserve love, Lord Remington—”

“Papa,” he corrected, raising his eyebrow. “Everyone deserves love, child. Even the worse debaucher in existence. Many of the things that formed you into the person you are today were not of benefit. You will begin again and learn a child’s love and obedience. And the only papa you will want to please and make proud will be me. Mind me, and things will go well. Disobey, and you will continue to be unhappy. I would much rather you smile than cry. However, I will do whatever I must to bring either about. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Eliza whispered, already feeling something tugging at her heart. Deny it as she may, she was already sensing the primal need to please him. Impossible!

* * *

Ryan leaned with his back against a tree as Aryanna chased butterflies in the field, reminding him of a happy, carefree child who simply enjoyed life. His heart warmed, remembering a joyful childhood and the allowance of freedom from the confines of the social protocol when at home. He looked at the drawing in his hand, pleased that Aryanna was able to see herself objectively and not as damaged goods. He recalled sadly how many girls were left at the academy who were not as fortunate as the one who jubilantly spun in the tall flowers. If anyone can show them love, it will be Mother, he thought fondly. How God smiled upon Father the day the red-headed, green-eyed hellion entered his life. Ryan sighed. His hope was that one day he would be as happy as his parents and bless them with grandchildren to spoil.

After spinning and grabbing a handful of flowers that she stuck in her pinafore, Aryanna returned to her goal of capturing one of the fluttering blue fairies. Giggling, she finally caught one of the evasive creatures and brought it to Ryan, cupped in her small hands.

“B… butterfaerie?” Aryanna asked, carefully releasing the creature on Ryan’s trousers.

“Faerie? Have you been talking with my mother? Oooh, wait until I tell Father about this,” Ryan shook his head. His mother loved to tell anyone who would listen that a butterfly was what faeries turned into during the day so that they could dance unnoticed in the sunlight. “Butterfly, Ary. Butterfly. Can you draw that?”

Aryanna nodded and carefully printed the letter ‘B’ on the paper before she began sketching the colorful insect that contently sat on Ryan’s thigh. She eyed him under her lashes, wishing that she could be that butterfly and sit where it did. She watched, wide-eyed as it flew away.

“No time to draw. Need a butterfly,” Aryanna sighed, preparing to stand. Ryan grabbed her wrist.

“No. Use your imagination… this,” he pointed to his head. “Think of what it looks like or what you want it to look like.”

“Aryanna not understand,” the young woman looked confused.

“Give me some paper and I’ll show you,” Ryan said, reaching for the supplies. “Look, no butterfly, right? But I draw it,” he began to sketch quickly, “from memory and my imagination. See?”

“Butterfly does not have flowers in wings!” Aryanna giggled, looking at his picture.

“No, but it does in my imagination. You try.”

He studied her face as she went to work exploring her artistic expression. Picking up another piece of paper and a stick of charcoal, he began to sketch her profile, lured by the gentle curve of her cheeks and the pert sharpness of her small nose. Her eyes continued to captivate him, and he added highlights to make them appear to shine. Finally, a halo of butterflies flew over her head.

“What is Lord Ryan doing?” she asked, suddenly aware of him watching her.

“Drawing your picture.”

“Like ugly butterfly?” Aryanna asked with a twinkle.

Ryan looked hurt, “Hey, I was just showing you that so you would understand something. I can draw quite well, thank you, Miss.”

“I see?”

“When I’m finished.”

“No, I see now,” Aryanna demanded. Ryan raised an eyebrow and beckoned to her.

“Do you think I’m going to allow you to become bossy without consequences, little girl? I am still your reformer and your teacher,” he said sternly, touching her pouting lower lip. “And save this cuteness for someone who it will work on. Get lippy with me, and you get spanked.”

“You Lord Ryan,” Aryanna said with innocence, once again forcing his lips to a smile. “No spank. Give candy.”

“If that is what you believe, dove, you are sorely mistaken. I will spank if you need it. I promise. And stop with the sad face,” Ryan ordered gruffly, finding himself being more than affected by her attempt to manipulate him.

“Papa and Mama not let you spank,” Aryanna grumbled.

“You think not? Both of my parents would not hesitate to paddle your little rear. Now go back to your picture, my little weasel.”

“Lord Ryan is… is… incorrigible!” Aryanna huffed. Ryan suppressed a laugh and pointed to her drawings, pleased to see her promptly resume. He returned to his sketching, musing about taking her to Paris to see the art museums. How wonderful it would be to witness those huge blue eyes take in the great masterpieces with an artist’s appreciation. Maybe he could set her up with a teacher there. That would make her so happy. But he would not be. He was disturbed by his feelings. The truth was, he did not want to share her. He wanted her to be his.

Ryan struggled with himself as he continued to add detail to his sketch, catching every line, every wisp of stray hair, the glint in her eyes when she contemplated chasing another butterfly… He had courted many women, yet none of them held his interest in the way that this little Russian girl did. She was beautiful, yes, but there was something more. Perhaps because she was unspoiled and lacked the stiffness of his countrywomen. She was very much like his mother who, like Aryanna, had not been raised in an environment demanding perfect etiquette or stressing the import of social standing. It was refreshing, and, for the first time, he understood his father’s immediate attraction to his mother.

With a grin, he handed Aryanna his sketch. Her eyes widened as she looked at the portrait and then up at him in obvious surprise. In her hand was a black and white goddess of natural beauty, glowing in the sunlight.

“Lord Ryan is very good in drawing. Not ugly butterfly. How do you do this?” she asked, pointing to the illusion of light in her hair and eyes.

Ryan winked, “I told you I could draw. Now, if you learn one more letter, I’ll show you. C is for…”

“Castor oil?” Aryanna said unexpectedly, making him laugh.

“Well, yes… but I was thinking candy. You mentioned how much you like that. Open up,” he said, popping a treat into her mouth. He beckoned to her to come next to him, and she scurried over to allow him to pull her under his arm and lean next to him against the tree trunk. Aryanna quickly snuggled against him, inhaling his scent along with that of the meadow. He stroked her hair, feeling her relax against him. He sighed, closing his eyes to the warm sun. It was a shame he wouldn’t be allowed to keep this sweet little pet. He was truly growing fond of her.