The Reformer (3 page)

Ryan studied the girl’s expressions, reading the conflict on her face. He had become quite the expert on body language and had given many speeches to interested colleagues on the subject. Since he was a young man, Ryan had been exposed to the amazing transformations of difficult and misguided young women under his father’s firm, fair hand and his mother’s gentle love. His father, a strong follower of Freudian theory and psychology, had initiated Ryan’s interest by teaching his son to be aware of the moods and expressions of the young ladies within the household. The Lady Brigit, Ryan’s mother, taught him the benefits of gentleness and patience in conjunction with his father’s firm, no-nonsense approach to altering behavior. He deigned himself to follow in their footsteps.

“Since we obviously have an issue with communication, I believe that must be the first thing we approach. Ary? What is my name?”

Aryanna blinked at him. He repeated himself and smiled when she answered him, “Lord Ryan. Reformer?”

“Yes! Good girl. Lord Ryan, and yes, I am a reformer.” Aryanna’s face paled again, and Ryan sighed, assuming that she had heard rumors about the process. Unfortunately, some were true. He patted her hand. “Don’t be afraid. Reformers are good.”

Aryanna shook her head, looking away. Headmistress always referred to herself as Good Mistress Woods. The woman was not good—she was evil. Ryan observed her closely. She was definitely in conflict. Right now, he needed to instill trust. As he would approach a frightened animal, he picked up a sweet biscuit from the basket, dribbled honey over it, and slowly offered it to her with a soft smile.

Deprived of dinner the night before because she did not hang her smock properly, and missing breakfast that morning because her lesson cabinet was not up to Headmistress’ standards (and which resulted in the word that she was beaten for using), Aryanna realized she was starving. Timidly, she accepted the morsel and waited for Ryan’s nod to bite into it.

The soft, still-warm bread sweetened with fresh honey was ambrosia to her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the tiny bite, wanting it to last forever. Ryan gestured for her to eat, confused by her slowness. She clutched the roll and pulled it to her body, making him understand. He opened the basket to show her that it was filled with bread, cheese, and fruit. Her eyes widened. This was more food than she had seen at one sitting in over a year! Ryan slowly placed the basket in front of her and gestured.

“Eat, Ary. Good food.”

His heart sank again as the gaunt young woman began to devour the contents of the basket. Fearful she would sicken, he touched her shoulder, noting she pulled back again. He closed the basket and put it next to her. Her face relaxed considerably, and she tried to sit up, crying out in pain.

Ryan shook his head. “We are almost home. Rest now. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” he said soothingly.
And I will take care of the evil witch who did this to you, mark my words
, was his silent promise.

Chapter Two

“Father! A word!” Ryan shouted, stomping unceremoniously into his parents’ home and tossing his hat and travel gloves on the side desk in the foyer, mindless of the cakes of mud that he left upon the pristinely polished marble floor. He ignored the flurry of servants behind him as they cleaned the mess he had left and ignored the butler as his coat was pulled from his back.

“Ryan? My darling, is there a problem?” Lady Brigit asked, greeting her handsome son with a kiss on either cheek and then grabbing his arm to pull him towards the sitting room.

“Where is Father? I need to speak with him immediately.”

“I thought I heard you storm into the house, young man. Did you leave your manners at the door, along with half the mud from the estate? Greet your mother,” the Earl of Yarlshire said humorously, entering the room with a smile before delivering a crushing hug to his dour-faced son.

Ryan dipped his head with a perfunctory, “Hello, Mother.” He turned to the Earl. “Father, there is an urgent matter that requires immediate discussion. The sow—”

“Ryan, there is a lady present.”

“I beg your pardon, Mother. The headmistress of the academy bloodied a student. So much that the evidence seeps through her gown.”

“Mother Mary! That poor wee child!” Lady Brigit exclaimed, her bright green eyes widening with horror, “Where is she? Does she require a physician?”

“I brought her home with me. She is sleeping in the carriage as we speak. I intend to remedy her condition myself,” Ryan announced, staring directly at both his parents and waiting for the protest.

“You escorted a young woman home alone? Son, we already have enough neighbors talking about your lack of propriety in general public, but—”

“She’s Russian, Father. An immigrant from Bloody Sunday who was brought here to train for service. She does not speak English. She was beaten because of her lack of education and her culture, not for her behavior.”

His parents looked at one another in silence. The Lord Remington cleared his throat as he sat on a chair, considering the situation. His lady fought back tears.

“Gerard?”

“Yes, my dear?” Lord Remington looked up, holding his hand out for her and kissing it.

“We cannot allow this to happen. It must stop.”

“Yes, my sweet. It must. Ryan? What would you have us do?”

Ryan smiled, comfortable in the direct display of love and affection his parents practiced. His mother had been an Irish immigrant and had spoken very little English when she had come here with her family. After her parents died of tuberculosis, Brigit had been placed in a warehouse sorting lace in the dead of winter. In an effort to warm herself, she had set fire to some papers in the sink in the women’s lavatory and watched, in horror, as the flames spread.

She was sent to stand before the local magistrate to decide on her punishment. The man was kind and understanding, voicing his belief that she had not intentionally tried to burn down the factory, but rather had tried to warm herself. He called in the owner, the Earl of Yarlshire, who was not only a wealthy banker, but an old friend. Together they discussed Brigit's situation. The Earl's son, Gerard, had accompanied his father for the conference and suggested that he be permitted to try his hand at the new technique of reform in lieu of sending the young woman to prison. Brigit was called into the room, and her flaming red hair and sweet face immediately caught his eye. He repeated his desire, promising to hire a female assistant to be present at all times in order to preserve propriety. The old earl, also taken with Brigit’s beauty, granted his permission and then sought to improve working conditions for his employees to prevent a future occurrence.

It did not take long for Brigit to win the hearts of both Gerard and his father with her gentle, loving manner and playful, mischievous pranks, which constantly earned her trips over the young lord’s knees. After a year under Gerard’s tutelage, she had blossomed into a graceful and confident woman and had fallen madly in love with the man she called Reformer. With the old earl’s blessings, the young couple was wed only months before his passing. His father’s final request was that Gerard apply his inheritance and title to assist girls much like his beloved daughter-in-law and continue his quest to improve conditions for those who labored under his reign. Respecting his father’s dying wishes, the new Earl of Yarlshire encouraged Brigit to pursue greater education, petitioned for the building of an academy, and had her placed as the first headmistress to help lost girls redeem themselves and be offered a second chance at a better life.

“I ordered Henry to discharge the woman immediately, and that if she remained, I would cane her for every girl she harmed,” Ryan was saying.

“Son, you really must learn to control your temper,” Gerard scolded, “You had no authority to do that. It is the decision of the regents—”

“I apologize, Father, but I informed him that we would withdraw our funding if he did not comply. I assumed your support, given Mother’s history and your own conviction against abuse of women and children and deplorable working conditions…” Ryan said firmly, a taint of challenge in his voice.

“Brigit, this is your doing. You insisted on naming the boy after the Clan O’Ryan and afflicted upon him the stubborn pride and the hot temper of the Irish Nation,” the Lord Remington sighed, kissing her hand again.

Brigit’s eyes twinkled, “Yes, my husband, and as I recall, you’ve enjoyed being afflicted by that hot temper countless times and in many ways.”

He chuckled, smacking her rump. “You are most correct. Very well, my boy. I shall give you my blessings and my full support. What of this girl?”

“I have two requests. One, I wish to reform her myself without restrictions. She needs to learn the language and this would be a good study opportunity…”

“Let me guess… she is also pleasing to the eye?” his father teased.

“Pleasing to both eyes, Father. But that will serve only to make my job more enjoyable. The second request is that you consider allowing Mother to return to her position as headmistress until we find a suitable replacement. I fear that the young women there have undergone significant torment, and I wish it to cease immediately. Perhaps they could find some care under her gentle guidance.”

“Always the flatterer, you scoundrel,” Gerard grinned, seeing his pretty wife’s flush of pleasure at the compliment. “I leave that to your mother. Brigit? What have you?”

“I would enjoy teaching again, and if any of those poor children are hurt, that sow will face the ire of Clan O’Ryan and the curses of Hidden Glen,” Brigit’s faint Irish brogue rolled from her tongue as her green eyes flashed. Ryan chuckled at her threat, knowing that her bite was as sharp as her bark. He had been a precocious child and had challenged even the Lady’s gentle grace to its very end. She had often wondered if he was a changeling and not her precious little son, and she had constantly threatened to call upon the faeries, leprechauns, and banshees to help her deal with the boy’s willfulness. And when that failed to work, she yielded a switch.

“Brigit! Such language!” her husband scolded. Ryan suppressed a grin when his mother raised an eyebrow in a familiar, challenging gesture.

“Truly? Does it displease you, Gerard? If so, what do you intend to do about it?”

“You little imp. Son, please excuse me while I handle your mother’s insolence,” the older man said, standing and holding his hand out for his smiling wife. “We will be at your home shortly. Please see yourself out. Now, you, my naughty one. It seems that a trip across my lap is in order.”

Ryan laughed, hearing his mother giggle as she was taken upstairs. His heart longed for the love that his parents shared and the type of play he was aware they engaged in. Spanking was not an unexpected event in the Remington home, and he had witnessed many if not all of the girls reformed by his father being spanked, bare bottom and over his knee. Ryan had also been fortunate to be called upon frequently to assist when more than one naughty bottom required direction.

Ryan loved the female posterior. Its pale, round globes that jiggled delightfully under his hard, callused hand. The rosy glow it obtained as that same hand connected loudly and directly on the silky, white flesh. And the cries… not so much of pain, but of release. He relished the loving sounds of repentance from the deepest part of her heart and the feel of acceptance as the girl submitted herself to his will and allowed him to direct and guide her. His father used to tell him that a proper Englishman only shows affection to his horses and dogs, but this particular Englishman would also show the same loving affection to a female’s rebellious bottom.

Hearing the tell-tale sounds of smacks upon a naked derriere and the accompanying moans of pleasure, Ryan left the house, shaking his finger at the giggling staff. He climbed into the waiting carriage, pleased to see that the young Russian girl was still sleeping soundly. They arrived at his estate thirty minutes later, and he insisted on carrying Aryanna into the house himself, ignoring the disapproving snort of the driver. His housekeeper, Martha Stiller, blocked his path, a deep frown etched in her weathered brow.

“Your Lordship, is that a female you are bringing into your home? Please sir, I respectfully urge you…”

“Martha, move out of my way and stop looking as though you have been sucking the lemons from the trees again. Is the guest room prepared?” Ryan grunted, eyeing his old nanny whom his parents had charged to tend to his home and his agenda.

“Yes, sir. However, an unchaperoned woman…”

“You live here alone with me, and the neighbors never say anything about that breach of protocol,” Ryan commented with a chuckle.

“Will you never cease to torment me? Even as a child, you would cause me distress. The neighbors—the entire tenancy, in fact—knows your adversity to having live-in servants since your return from America. I beg you, sir, to please reconsider—wait! Is that blood?” the old woman suddenly asked. “I will get some hot water and rags. That poor child!”

Ryan nodded, pleased by the sudden turn of concern on the old woman’s face. He placed Aryanna upon the bed in the large, spacious room and slowly began to pull up her skirt to gain access to the offended areas of her anatomy. Martha stood shock-still as she entered, bowls in hand, and witnessed her Lord with his large hand resting gently on the unconscious girl’s exposed bottom parts. Her eyes then strayed to the ugly purple bruises and split skin left by the angry wielding of a thick cane.

“That is the damage of a headmaster’s cane, My Lordship. That is not intended for a female… This poor, poor child…”

Ryan took the water from her and wrung out a cloth, gently applying it over the swollen welts and dabbing carefully. “I will be Reforming this one myself, Martha. Father and Mother are already aware.”

“But propriety…”

“My dear governess, when have I cared or concerned myself over the opinions of others? Even King Edward knows that I stand strong on what is right and wrong and don’t give a dog’s ballocks for social games. Oh, don’t look so surprised. You have cleansed my mouth of words much worse than this.”