The Doctor's Little Ward Read online

  But when the barrister reached for her, Simon stopped him with just a look.

  “No,” he said, standing and withdrawing a handkerchief to mop the wetness from the young woman’s face in an almost gentle gesture. “She’ll not be going to the workhouse.”

  He studied her pitiful childlike countenance and then dropped his eyes lower, juxtaposing her innocence with the very womanly swell of her breasts. The sight necessitated a shift on his part to hide the evidence of his arousal. He was a gentleman; it would not do for the others to detect evidence of how spanking this rude stranger had affected him.

  The little minx had tested him, he’d spanked her, and now she stood before him, her slim shoulders heaving with sweet sobs as she shed tears of genuine contrition. It had given him a taste of something he’d always wanted—something rare in a woman, something he’d thought unattainable, something he’d remained a bachelor until he could find.

  “I’ll honor her father’s last wish, but not through marriage,” he said, staring at the girl. “Not yet, anyway. This little hellion may be of age, but she’s not yet mature enough to wed. What she needs is the proper parenting that was denied her. She needs the oversight of a nursery and a firm hand applied regularly to her bottom until she learns obedience. She needs medical treatment for her hysteria, treatments only a qualified professional can provide.

  “I will marry his daughter and save her from the workhouse, but only if I can legally make her my ward and prepare her fully for the responsibility of being joined with me in matrimony. If this can be arranged, I’ll also settle her father’s debt. I realize it is staggering and it may take years to pay, but you may inform the creditors that I am willing to settle it over time, should this arrangement be sufficient.”

  “Well, well, but this is an unexpected turn of events!” the barrister said. He smiled broadly and rubbed his hands together, no doubt anticipating the money he would make drawing up the agreement. “I’m quite sure this can all be arranged. And if ever a man were strict enough to take on this baggage it should be you.”

  Simon glared at him. He rounded on the barrister, his voice low with warning. “I just announced my intention to make this young woman my ward, effectively becoming her father. Insult her again and you’ll suffer a gentleman’s retribution.”

  The lawyer stammered and nodded. “Beg pardon, Dr. Abbott,” he said, reaching for and hastily donning his bowler hat. “I meant no offense.” He turned away. “I’ll be back later today with the papers.

  When Simon nodded, Nigel Portman scurried off.

  The young woman had found her voice now, and when she spoke, the tone was one of disbelief broken by hitching breaths. “I c-c-can’t stay here with you! Y-y-you can’t be serious!” she said. “I-I d-don’t know you! Y-you don’t know m-m-me!”

  “This is true.” Nurse Trinket stepped forward, inclining her head toward the girl, seemingly concerned that her employer had taken leave of his senses. “You don’t even know the girl’s name.”

  Simon’s expression did not change. He had not smiled at the young woman once, and noted that the eyes looking up at him now showed a bit more respect and a dash of fear. But a little spark of defiance was still there. Good.

  “Tell me your name.” It was not a request, but an order. And this time she obeyed.

  “My name is Abigail,” she said.

  “Abigail.” He said the word quietly, as if to himself, as if savoring it. He felt her shudder upon hearing him speak her name. It pleased him.

  “Well, Abigail,” he said. “Your father is dead. And now you’ve been remanded to my custody as my ward.”

  “No!” Angry tears slipped from her eyes and she balled her fists at her sides in helpless rage.

  “Nurse Trinket,” he said. “I believe the bedroom beside mine will suffice as a nursery. Take my ward up there. See that she is cleaned up and arrayed in a style more suitable to a child than the adult she is not ready to be. Should she disobey, you have my permission to redden her bottom again. However, should that become necessary, do remind her that your spanking will be followed by a caning from her guardian.”

  “Don’t do this! P-p-please!” Abigail was pleading now as the large nurse took hold of her arm. She tried to resist, but was no more of a match for Nurse Trinket than she’d been for the doctor.

  Simon watched as the two ascended the stairs. The day had begun as ordinary as any other. But now, twenty minutes before his first patients would arrive, Simon had become legal guardian to a ward he planned to train for marriage—not just any marriage, but for marriage to a man like him. From the upper floor he could already hear the sound of Nurse Trinket’s hand slapping against his ward’s bare flesh and wondered if the young woman realized just what she’d gotten into.

  He walked over and put his hand on the tip of a slim cane nestled among the umbrellas by the door. No, she was a complete innocent. She may not know what she was getting into, but he did. She was getting just what she needed—someone to protect her and give her the firm upbringing that she’d missed.

  He’d teach her discipline—oh, yes. He’d teach her to yield to the strap, the cane, and other corrections that had never crossed her innocent mind. But he’d also teach her caring, too. It was an art, he realized, that was likely unfamiliar to them both. But in Abigail he sensed something that would draw it from him. She would be his little one.

  Chapter Two: The Reluctant Ward

  Abigail Barrow stood in the center of the room, shivering as Nurse Trinket vigorously scrubbed her face with a flannel washcloth.

  “I told you. I don’t need this!” the angry little redhead protested, trying to turn away from the hold the older woman had on her chin.

  “Everyone in this house starts the day with a stand-up wash,” Nurse Trinket informed her. “And you can expect a full bath three times a week at least.”

  “I’m not a street urchin, and have never been treated like one until today,” Abigail said, glaring. “And I’ve never been hit until today, either!”

  When the nurse turned back to the basin, Abigail reached back to rub her still-sore bottom. She could not believe she’d been spanked not once but twice in the same morning. Upon entering the nursery, she’d turned on the large nurse, informing her that she would not be treated like a child. The woman’s response was to do just that. Abigail had been immediately upended over the broad lap and spanked to a fresh round of tears.

  “I never said you were an urchin,” Nurse Trinket pulled an arm from where the girl had crossed it over her chest and began vigorously scrubbing from the wrist up. “And the doctor doesn’t believe in ‘hitting.’ He does believe in spanking. There’s a difference. A good correction clears the head, and is not at all cruel.

  “As for bathing, it’s a matter of health. Just ask the doctor! Only clean skin can release the poisons that would otherwise make you sick. Bathing is mandatory, and as a member of this household you’ll abide by the rules.” Nurse Trinket stepped to Abigail’s side and grasped her other arm. “Breaking them will only lead to a sore bottom.”

  “I’ve never been made to bathe naked in front of another adult save my mother,” Abigail added, sniffing pitifully. “Can you not even allow me my clothing?”

  “Your clothing will be burnt,” the nurse said curtly. “You’re in the nursery now and your guardian has ordered you be dressed in more suitable attire.”

  With the bathing complete, Nurse Trinket produced a shift then that she said was left by a visiting relative the year before—an older child.

  “Arms up,” the nurse ordered, holding the shift open over Abigail’s head.

  Abigail was happy to comply with this request. The room was chill, although not was cold as some other houses. ‘Bad air’—or miasma—was a common fear, and many physicians urged against closed rooms. This was an area where Dr. Abbott broke with his colleagues, Nurse Trinket told Abigail. He’d seen more children die of cold than bad airs, and did not believe in leaving windows open, as
was the practice in many families.

  Cook brought up food as Nurse Trinket stoked a small blaze in the grate.

  “Porridge, dried apple, and a glass of milk.” The cook smiled at the new arrival as she walked over to place the tray on a small table. “Aren’t you a pretty thing? Maid says you’re the doctor’s new ward!” She clapped her fat hands together. “A child in the house! What a fine thing!”

  “I’m not a child,” Abigail said, but the women ignored her as they arranged her food on the table. As the two chatted, Abigail eyed the door and considered fleeing. But she knew she would not get far. As it was, she couldn’t remember the last time she had a decent meal. Had it been two days or three earlier that she’d stared into the barren cupboard?

  “We need food, father,” she had said to the shrunken man in the bed. “Can I take what’s left of the money and go to the market?”

  It had seemed silly, asking an invalid permission. But it was what her mother would have wanted. Abigail had promised that she’d look after him, despite his bitterness, despite everything.

  “No,” Malcolm Barrow had croaked. “No food. There’s but money left for one thing. Go get the barrister Nigel Portman.”

  She’d put her hand across her empty midsection. “But, father…”

  “Did you not hear me, you daft cow?” Malcolm Barrow had raised himself up on his elbows, his yellowed nightshirt slipping down enough to reveal the jutting breastbone of his wasting body. “Go!”

  So Abigail had obeyed him. She always obeyed him even as she rebelled against it with every fiber of her being, out of respect for her mother. She’d fetched the barrister, and the two men had met for an hour behind closed doors. Nigel Portman had come around again the next morning to find Abigail sitting stoically beside her father’s deathbed, his body already washed and prepared for the undertaker she had no money to pay.

  “You’ve orders to come with me, child,” was all he’d said. And then he’d brought her here, to the house of this man who intended to make her his ward.

  No sustained sleep in two days. No food for at least as long. Only the dual pistons of fear and anger kept her moving, and both were losing power to her hunger and fatigue. She had already decided she would not stay here. She could not. But Abigail knew she could not escape until she’d eaten and gotten some rest.

  Until then, she’d bide her time until she saw an opportunity for escape. So as she allowed herself to be seated and tucked into the food, she told herself that this was all temporary—all of it. She, Abigail Barrow, may just be a daughter of disgrace. But her father was dead now, and she’d not live by Simon Abbott’s leave. And she’d certainly not call accept him as her guardian.

  “Is all well?”

  She nearly jumped to see him standing in the doorway. Abigail turned her attention back to the porridge, stirring the clotted cream that sat on top.

  “She’s had a good stand-up wash,” Nurse Trinket informed the doctor. “And once she’s had breakfast I think it’s best if she naps, even if it is early in the day. The poor thing is overtired.”

  Simon walked over to the table. “I agree.”

  Abigail did not look at him, but she could feel his nearness—could feel the warmth radiating from his body from where he stood by her right side.

  “Abigail, look at me,” he said.

  Her heart pounded in her chest at his closeness. She did not want to look at this man who was so wholly subverting her will, who had spanked her bare bottom in full view of others.

  “I won’t ask you again,” he said.

  She dragged her eyes up to his.

  “Did Nurse Trinket have to spank you earlier?”

  “She was being impertinent,” Nurse Trinket started to interrupt, but the doctor held up his hand.

  “Quiet,” he said. “I’m asking my ward.” He turned his attention back to Abigail. “Did Nurse Trinket have to spank you?” he repeated.

  She nodded, sullen and silent.

  “Soon enough you will learn to answer me with the words ‘yes, sir,’” he said. “Or ‘yes, papa.’”

  “I’ll never call you papa,” she said coldly, her disdain for his rule evident.

  He ignored this.

  “What did I tell you would happen if she was forced to spank you?” he asked. “And keep in mind that should you refuse to answer, I’ll correct you most sternly without a moment’s hesitation.”

  Now her heart was pounding harder. She wanted to continue her defiance, but her bottom was already so sore.

  “You said you would…” She swallowed, not wanting to say the words.

  “This is your last chance. Answer me, my little ward, or you’ll go over my knee here and now.”

  “You said you would cane me,” she said, her voice barely audible.

  “You were wise to answer, fair Abigail,” he said. “Had you refused, you’d be caned now and caned again after your nap. As it stands, you only have one correction awaiting you. But you will sleep first.”

  She shook her head at this, fixing the doctor with an incredulous look.

  “And how can I possibly sleep knowing what awaits?” she asked.

  Simon reached down to pull a red ringlet of her hair through his finger, watching it snap back into shape when he released it.

  “Oh, you’ll sleep,” he said, and Abigail felt her gaze drawn to where his were now resting—the half-empty glass of milk in front of her plate.

  She’d been drugged, not that it surprised her. It didn’t even surprise her that she’d barely noticed the bitter taste of the laudanum in the milk. She was too tired and hungry and dazed to notice much of anything.

  “Finish your meal,” he said. “After your nap I will see you in the parlor, where we shall take up the matter of your impertinence, as well as my expectations of you now that you are a member of my household.”

  Dr. Abbott turned on his heel and left then. Abigail watched him go. Afterwards, it was all she could do to finish her porridge before being led to bed for the first sound sleep she’d had since she could remember.

  Chapter Three: The Caning and the Caring

  Abigail didn’t know how long she’d slept. When she next opened her eyes, golden shafts of light slanted through the lace curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.

  She sat up, allowing the haze of sleep to clear from her head as she looked around. After a moment she rose from the bed and walked to the window. They were barred, as so many were in nicer homes, especially in nurseries. She assumed the room had once been a child’s nursery. Now it was again, only for a grown woman forced to live as a child.

  It felt like a waking dream, she mused as she stare down at the street below. In an hour, the lamplighters would come and the people bustling below would head to normal homes, and greet their normal companions. Would she ever enjoy such an existence with a man who intended to be her father before he became her husband?

  “You’re awake!” Nurse Trinket breezed into the room. She carried a white dress with a blue sash, black stockings, and shoes. It did not escape Abigail’s notice that the style and cut of the dress were distinctly childish.

  “I don’t see why I can’t wear my regular clothes,” Abigail said. “Even if I am confined to the nursery, dressing me as a child won’t make me one. I’m nineteen!”

  “Your actual age is irrelevant here.” The nurse reached for the hem of Abigail’s shift and pulled it over her head. Abigail flushed, covering herself, but not before the nurse caught a good glimpse of her breasts.

  “It’s a good thing you’re in possession of such a pert bosom,” the older woman said. “Your guardian was explicit in his orders: no corset for his little ward.” She handed her the dress. “Here. Put this on, unless you’d prefer I dress you.”

  Abigail took the dress and turned her back on the nurse as she donned it. With a sigh, she turned back around and Nurse Trinket nodded approvingly.

  “While you napped I took your measurements to the dressmaker. She w
as able to alter this dress, for you.” A smile let up her face. “It fits nicely. Your guardian will be pleased.”

  That word again. Guardian. Abigail said nothing.

  “Do you need help with the stockings and shoes?”

  “No,” Abigail said angrily, pulling on the dark stockings that came to mid-thigh before donning the little leather shoes. A moment later she stood before a looking glass staring at the reflected the surreal image of a woman-child.

  “See?” Nurse Trinket said. “This is much better than that ill-fitting coat and inappropriate dress you arrived in.”

  Abigail started to argue that there was nothing at all inappropriate about her former attire, but before she could respond she was being whisked from the nursery. This relieved her until she remembered that she was being taken to Dr. Abbott, who planned to punish her again.

  What she did next was based more on instinct than thought. Despite Abigail’s small size, she caught the nurse unawares and the larger woman found herself stumbling into the wall as the little redhead shot past her and flew down the stairs.

  Abigail could see the front door at the end of the long hallway. Freedom. She wasn’t sure where she’d go once she got into the busy street; she wasn’t thinking beyond getting out the door.

  She was only yards from her goal when she felt two strong arms catch her about the waist.

  “No!” She cried, her legs flailing helplessly as Simon lifted her bodily from the floor and drew her into the parlor from which he’d just emerged.

  “Put me down!” Abigail twisted and fought with all her might, but even her renewed vigor was no match for Simon’s strength as he pulled her into the parlor and shut the door with his foot. Planting her on the floor, he placed himself between her and the room’s only exit.

  “Exactly what do you think you’re doing, child?” he asked.

  “I’m not a child!” Abigail rounded on Simon. She was too angry to be scared as she faced the man who’d assumed guardianship over her without her consent. “You have no right to keep me here!”