Homecoming Read online

  “No … you can’t leave me! Lucas, I … I want to come with you,” Lucy cried out, not wanting to be without his steady presence. She pulled away from her nanny, her hand reaching to grab her husband’s arm as if to stop him from leaving the room.

  Lucas frowned and put his finger under her chin, lifting her face to his. “Want to try again, little one?” he asked. Lucy looked confused, as if not truly aware of what he was saying. Lucas also realized she was trembling and took her into his arms. “Kitten, I know you are cold and uncomfortable. However, that is no excuse for you to be naughty. Do you need your bottom reddened before your bath?”

  His words shook her from her stupor. “No … no, Sir, I … I’m sorry.”

  Lucas released her so that Molly could remove her dress. Standing in nothing but her thin chemise and drawers, Lucy shivered again. With just a few motions, Molly removed the rest of Lucy’s clothing but then stood quietly, waiting for Lucas to finish addressing his wife. “I told you to be a good girl for Nanny Molly,” Lucas reminded her, the sight of her tightly puckered nipples capturing his attention. He saw her tremble, and as if she realized where his attention was focused, her face colored, her small hands fluttering, rising slightly in an obvious desire to cover her nakedness. Before she could be naughty, Lucas easily lifted her and set her onto her feet in the tub. “Kitten, I’ll bathe and return soon. Until then, you are to be my good girl and obey your nanny.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Lucy managed to answer, moaning softly at the delicious warmth of the water. Lucas bent and gave her a quick kiss, his hand reaching behind her to pat her bare bottom.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, nodding to Molly before leaving the room, closing the door behind him. Lucy slowly sank into the warmth of the steaming water, her entire body quivering.

  Molly pulled the small stool to the tub and sat, picking up the washcloth and a bar of soap. She gave Lucy several minutes to compose herself, gently washing Lucy’s face and neck, surprised as small bits of mud clouded the water. “Goodness, Lucy, while I know you didn’t roll about in the mud, how on earth did you get so dirty? You have mud everywhere.”

  Lucy didn’t answer, memories of her husband’s hands on her thighs, drawing her legs wide apart as he positioned her on his lap rendering her speechless. Those same hands cupping her bare bottom as he gently lifted her up and down on his shaft, his fingers finding her hidden folds, sliding against her small nubbin had her face turning scarlet. Molly didn’t seem to expect an answer as she continued to wash down Lucy’s arms. As always, Lucy clenched her eyes shut as the cloth was rubbed over her breasts and nipples before moving to wash her stomach, both areas having mud on them, which Lucy knew were from Lucas’ hands as he had caressed her underneath her clothing, the memory of his pleasuring her nipples with his fingers causing her stomach to clench.

  Molly resoaped the cloth. “Kneel up, Lucy.” It only took a warning glance from her nanny for Lucy to obediently kneel and then spread her knees apart. “Good girl,” Molly said, as her hand returned to delve between Lucy’s legs, spreading the lips of her sex open with the fingers of one hand as a cloth-covered finger of her other hand moved to clean the tender folds of her quim.

  Lucy shuddered as the slightly-rough cloth glided over her nubbin, her body quickening at the flash of pleasure, her face reddening at the knowledge that she now knew exactly how much pleasure that tiny button of flesh could bring her.

  Molly ignored her squirming, informing her that she would have her cunny shaved during her next bath. Lucy nodded, her face burning, but said nothing. Both women knew that Lucas had set quite specific requirements that his little one was to be smooth and bare between her legs. Molly continued her duties, instructing Lucy to turn around. Lucy did so, quickly sitting back down in the now quite murky water. “Lucille, kneel up. I can’t wash your bottom when you are sitting on it.” Lucy obeyed, not wanting to get a spanking for disobeying, and having learned that fussing only led to a wet, hot bottom. “How on earth did you get mud on your rear?” Molly asked, tsking as she resoaped the cloth. Lucy still couldn’t answer her nanny; Molly didn’t press the matter but did press her hand against Lucy’s inner thigh in a silent order for the girl to spread her knees further apart. Lucy did so, gripping the edge of the tub with her hands, bending forward slightly to offer her bottom more prominently as required. She shuddered as she felt her nanny’s fingers gently parting the cheeks of her bottom, Molly’s other hand was covered in the soapy cloth, rubbing into the cleft of her bottom, scrubbing every inch of Lucy’s rear quite thoroughly. Molly wrung out the cloth and draped it over the edge of the tub before reaching out to give Lucy’s bottom a gentle pat. “I know you must feel much better without all that mud. You may stand.” Molly helped her from the tub and wrapped her in a towel.

  “Bend over the tub, Lucy,” Molly ordered.

  “Wh … why?” Lucy stammered, afraid that not explaining the mud splatters had just earned her a spanking.

  Molly looked up at her as she picked up the pitcher from the washstand. “Firstly, because I instructed you to do so, young lady, and secondly, I need to wash your hair and the water in the tub is too dirty.”

  Lucy clutched the towel around her as she relaxed, despite the mild chastisement as she moved to obey. She remained bent over until Molly had shampooed and rinsed her hair twice before deciding it was clean. Opening the cabinet, Molly selected another towel and wrapped it around Lucy’s wet hair. “Come, sweetie. I’ll comb out your hair in my room,” Molly informed her, leading her into the blue room. Molly took a seat in the chair and settled Lucy onto the ottoman. As she briskly rubbed Lucy’s hair with the towel, Lucy relaxed further.

  “Mol … ummm, Miss Molly?” Lucy said, softly. “That woman … I know Lucas said she was a governess, but … but she acted as if she was … was much closer to him. She doesn’t seem like a servant. I … I think she hates that I’ve come.” Molly frowned and dropped the towel, picking up a comb from the table.

  Lifting a section of Lucy’s hair, she took a moment to compose her response. While she too had felt a distinct hostility from the woman, it was not her place nor Lucy’s to question her husband’s choice in his staff. Though her heart understood Lucy’s concerns, she forced herself to remember her place as Lucy’s nanny. “I’m sure you are mistaken, Lucy. You are just overtired. You will feel better after your nap.” Lucy shook her head and then yelped when the comb pulled against a tangle.

  “No, Molly, I don’t think it’s that I’m tired. I saw her with Lucas … I mean she … she even kissed him!”

  Molly knew she needed to stop her charge from where these dangerous thoughts might lead. “Lucille, I suggest you stop this. As I said, you are simply overtired. Perhaps you are coming down with something, after all.” When Lucy shook her head as if to deny the thought, Molly hurried to continue, “I must say, young lady, I am surprised you seem to have forgotten how to properly address me or your Papa. In fact, now that we are home, you shall address me as Nanny or Nanny Molly. I believe some little girl needs reinforcement of my proper role in her life.” She paused as she drew the comb through the tangles. Lucy yelped a bit at the pull. “What do you think your Papa would say if he knew you were being disrespectful of his choice of staff, Lucy? You know your Papa introduced Miss Browning as a governess for his sisters. I suggest you think long and hard before you speak, unless you wish to find your bottom well-spanked instead of that little pat your Papa gave you before your bath.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss … um, Nan … Nanny Molly,” Lucy said, but continued as if not even having heard the subtle warning about moving dangerously close to a spanking. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but it just surprised me that Lucinda calls Lucas by his name … I mean, why is she allowed? She’s a servant! I’m not supposed to address him by his name, and I am his wife! How is that proper?”

  Molly sighed, shaking her head. Though she certainly couldn’t fault Lucy for her concerns, she knew they would only lead to dif
ficulties. “Lucy, please honey, these are things you shouldn’t worry about. I fear that if you continue, you will discover you might not like the answer. You need to trust that your Papa knows what is best for you. Now, please, be our good girl and stop fretting about things you know will only lead to having your bum blistered.”

  “Listen to your nanny, Lucille,” Lucas said, startling both women. Lucy’s head whipped around to see him standing in the doorway, having entered without their awareness. It was obvious he had also bathed as he was once more impeccably dressed, his hair wet and recently combed. It was also obvious he had heard the conversation and wasn’t pleased. Seeing Lucy’s eyes fill with a gleam of anger as well as a flash of guilt, Lucas stepped forward. “What are you to call me, Lucille?”

  Lucy remained silent for a moment before answering. “Pa … Papa or … Sir,” Lucy whispered softly, her hands twisting in the towel still wrapped around her torso.

  “That’s correct. My little one is to call me Papa, for Lucille, that is what I am to you.”

  “But, Lucinda …”

  “Lucille!” Lucas said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. “You know better. While I realize the people at Hunter’s Ridge are still new to you, I also know your Uncle Edward taught you proper respect. You will address the staff respectfully. Miss Browning is a respected and loved member of my household and has been for several years. You are not to be disrespectful or rude to her, and young lady, if I hear you forget to give your own nanny the proper respect that she has earned, I promise I will tan your hide until you won’t ever forget again. Am I clear?”

  Nodding, she felt her bottom clench even as her feeling of anger and fear increased. “Yes,” she said more sharply than she intended. Hearing Molly gasp, she quickly changed her tone. “I mean yes … yes, Sir,” she managed, her heart heavy at hearing him speak of the governess so tenderly.

  Molly gave Lucy’s shoulder a pat. “As I said, I fear you are simply exhausted. I’m sure you’ll wake up from your nap feeling much better, don’t you?”

  Lucy nodded, knowing it wouldn’t do to continue the conversation, even though she still had serious questions about the dynamics between the governess and her husband. Knowing that he was going to speak to the governess again, when his ‘disrespectful little girl’ was tucked into bed for a nap didn’t help her attitude, but she wisely chose to remain silent.

  After Molly finished brushing her hair, deftly plaiting it into two braids, though it was still damp, Lucas helped Lucy from the ottoman, taking her hand in his. He led her back through the bathroom and to a door opposite the one they entered.

  When he opened the door, Lucy froze, her mind unable to comprehend what her eyes saw. Lucy felt herself trembling, as if she were standing on the precipice of a high cliff, about to tumble over into an abyss. Her heart was pounding as Lucas stepped into the room, guiding her to stand beside him.

  Never having actually seen Louisa’s nursery, Lucy had not truly known what to expect. She and her sister had shared a nursery in their childhood but this … this room did not remotely resemble the one from her memory. Instead of small, identical beds covered with frilly canopies and pretty quilts, mounds of pillows supporting the dolls and stuffed animals of their childhood, this room was designed for a far younger child. It was suited for an infant.

  The walls were painted a light pink, the trim done in bright white. Lacy white curtains were draped across tall windows, sunlight streaming through to illuminate the room. Thick rose-colored carpet cushioned her bare feet. Against one wall was a high table with a thickly padded surface. Shelves held piles of nappies waiting to swaddle an infant, or in this case, Lucy’s own small bottom. Jars held things she was sure she truly didn’t wish to discover. On top of the table, a large, pretty crock stood, slender glass rods rising above the rim. Lucy knew exactly what the tubes were for and understood her nanny would not have to reach far for a thermometer to slide into her charge’s bottom in the time-honored way of taking a small child’s temperature. Against another wall stood a huge crib, small roses and butterflies painted on its white head and footboards. A pink and white striped bed-skirt draped to the floor, a thick mattress covered with a pink blanket waited to cradle a little one in slumber. An armchair big enough to support an adult as well as a small child sat across from the crib, an ottoman in a deep rose fabric in front of the chair. A white rocker sat next to the chair with a table and lamp between the two.

  When she noticed a small white stool sitting in one corner, she flushed hotly, a soft moan escaping her lips. She well remembered being placed on such a stool after getting her bottom blistered for misbehavior. She also remembered being arranged on a stool such as this one on her wedding night, completely nude, her legs spread wide, her hands linked behind her back to display her breasts more prominently, all so that her new husband could simply look at her. She remembered him telling her that it brought him great pleasure seeing her displayed in her natural state, her freshly-shorn cunny immodestly exposed to his view, her nipples puckered as if begging to be plucked or suckled. Despite the fact that she had grown aroused, her sex moistening as he simply looked at her nakedness, despite the fact that he had lifted her from the stool and made love to her, beginning her lessons in the pleasures of a man and a woman, every time she saw a small stool, her embarrassment over her conflicting feelings of being posed in such a wanton way always returned. She turned away from the stool, not noticing the smile on her husband’s face, as if he too remembered that night.

  A large armoire stood behind her, a chest next to it where all her childish clothing would be arranged. She saw a heavy oak hairbrush on top of the dresser and her bottom clenched again. A few inches from the wall next to the door there was a long and narrow bookcase with shelves that held books, toys and stuffed animals. Though she saw them, they weren’t what held her attention. The top of the shelving was not the wooden surface of a normal bookcase. Instead, it was heavily padded and covered in leather. A funny-shaped pillow sat on one end, looking more like a large pink-and-white-striped wedge than a pillow. Her eyes widened when she realized its possible purpose. She could easily visualize being told to bend herself over the pillow, her tummy and shoulders on the leather surface, her bottom presented at the top of the pillow at a height that would make attending to her naughtiness a simple matter. A white wooden cabinet was on the wall above the bookcase. Though the cabinet doors were also painted with delicate roses, Lucille shuddered to think what must lie behind them. A desk and chair occupied the last wall.

  “Do you like it?” Lucas asked when she remained silent.

  “It … it’s a … a nursery,” she said, her voice barely audible. “It’s a real nursery …. For … for a baby.”

  Lucas frowned at her answer before realizing that she was trembling, her knuckles white where they clutched the towel around her naked body. It was definitely not the reaction he had envisioned. “Kitten, no, not for a baby. I had it specifically prepared for my special little girl, my little Lucille Rose.”

  She looked at him as if he had gone insane. How could he think she wanted to have anything to do with such a room? How could she ever face anyone in this house knowing that they were all aware that the mistress of Hunter’s Ridge resided in an actual nursery? It had been difficult to accept the fact that her husband … no, her Papa, forced her to nap every day, instructed her nanny to take her temperature at least once a day in an infantile manner. Though she was gradually accepting being diapered and put to bed with a dummy in her mouth, growing accustomed to her naptime ritual during their trip on the train, she had always slept in the same bed where her husband joined her once he retired. She had always thought "dummy" was an appropriate term for what the Americans called a pacifier or binky—what better way to "dummy-up" a child—or an unruly wife!

  This room was not his own. There was no longer any way she could deny that her husband, the man she loved with her entire soul, had meant exactly what he had said. She was to serve him in dual
roles. In this room, she was to be his little one, not his bride. The furnishings, the toys, the very colors of this room stated its one and only purpose. They were no longer playing at their roles. They were no longer at Wintercrest, sharing a guest chamber where he began to teach her the ways of love between a husband and wife. They were no longer on the train, sharing his compartment where he had once even taken a nap beside her, holding her close after a rather intense punishment. No, he would not be holding her, offering her comfort as she napped in a crib, her diapered bottom pressed against his groin as they slept. No, this room signified the true beginning of her new life. All pretenses disappeared, denial of their roles no longer possible. Remembering the beautiful governess downstairs, remembering how she had kissed Lucas and constantly touched his arm, remembering how she was even now waiting to have another private and personal conversation with her husband, remembering how she had spoken about redecorating a nursery in preparation for Lucy’s arrival, a room where an infant would be cared for by her nanny, finally pushed Lucy past her limit.

  When Lucas heard her begin to keen, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He watched as her eyes frantically darted about the room as if searching for an escape route. Sensing that she was about to bolt, Lucas stepped forward and scooped her into his arms. She began to wiggle and push against his hold, her small feet kicking against him. It reminded him of her tantrum on the train platform, when she had fought his hold, attempting to run after a cat she had believed was her beloved Cleo.

  “Kitten, you are safe; Papa has you; Papa is right here.” He stepped to the rocker, seating himself and attempted to cradle her on his lap. She continued to squirm and push against him. He gave a soft grunt as one of her elbows connected sharply against the side of his neck and a bare foot slammed into his side. Lucas frowned and tightened his hold until he had her restrained against his chest. He could feel her still fighting against his hold, her hands pounding against him as best they could, despite his arms holding her against him. “Lucille, stop!” he said firmly, having to move one hand to attempt to hold her legs still when she managed to kick him again. Though she usually calmed when held so securely, she continued to twist and squirm. Lucy suddenly burst into tears, her sobs growing loud and desperate, her entire body now trembling violently, though she was no longer fighting his hold.