Free The Officer's Little Rebel by Ava Sinclair Page B

easy to remove herself; living as a child meant that neither Major Kingsley nor the nanny ever forced her to sit longer than it took her to finish her meal. But living as a child also meant that she could sometimes be easily dismissed.
    Upstairs, she occupied herself by practicing her letters. Mr. Sutton had allowed her to keep the slate. Afterwards, she sat on the bed and pulled the little alabaster doll from her pocket.
    “Poor Frozen Charlotte,” she said, running her finger across the tiny two-inch figure. “You were a very, very bad girl. You should have listened to your papa.” She smiled then, lying on her bed. She wouldn’t make that mistake, especially not now that she had a man giving her a true father’s love. The two weeks she’d been at Stonehaven Manor had been the happiest of Imogen’s life. Everyone was kind to her, even the staff. Mrs. Philbert and Mr. Plum slipped her sweets from the kitchen, and her papa came to her nightly, sometimes to talk, sometimes to cuddle and sweetly tease. She’d asked him when they would be together again as man and woman, and he’d told her it would be soon, when the time was right.
    Her heart leapt when she heard the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves in the courtyard, signaling Mr. Sutton’s departure in his trap. Soon Major Kingsley would come to her, but when the door opened, it was only nanny.
    “Oh,” she said. “It’s just you.”
    “That isn’t very nice,” Miss Quinn said.
    Imogen sighed. “I’m sorry. I was just expecting to see papa.”
    “And you will,” the nanny said. “But I’m taking you to him. He wants to be present for your cleansing.”
    “Cleansing?” Imogen remembered now that her nanny had told her she’d be subjected to the procedure, and vaguely knew what it would entail. But for Major Kingsley to witness such a thing?
    “Must he be there?” she groaned.
    “Yes, my sweet,” the nanny said. “He is not like some fathers; he wants to be involved in all aspects of your care. Consider yourself fortunate. So many men who keep these arrangements want their little ones presented to them like toys for play. He cares about you, Imogen, and I’ll hear no whinging. Understand?”
    “And if I don’t?”
    Imogen cried out as Nanny Quinn walked over and took her by the ear. The older woman said nothing as she marched her charge over to the edge of the bed, pushed her over, and flipped up the lacy hem of her skirt.
    “Naughty little girl!” she scolded. “First you show cheek at dinner and now here in your chambers? Well, my dear, if you want to show cheek, then you will pay the price.”
    “Where did…?” Imogen was about to ask the nanny where she’d gotten the switch she’d produced, but the older woman cut her off.
    “Never you mind where I got this,” she said. “Suffice it to say a well-prepared nanny always keeps a bit of birch on hand. Now keep your hands on that bed, young lady!”
    Imogen’s heart began to pound as the nanny parted the open seam of her petticoat, exposing her bottom. She wasn’t sure what to expect, and took comfort in the flimsiness of the switch. But that comfort was short-lived when she felt its bite across her bare skin. Imogen screamed as she slumped down to the floor, her hands clasping her stinging nates.
    “It feels as if a bee has stung me!” she cried. “It hurts so!”
    “As it should!” the nanny said, hauling Imogen up and positioning her back over the bed. This time, the larger woman kept a sturdy hand on her charge’s lower back, landing the switch five times as Imogen kicked and howled.
    It was a much more amenable young lady who obediently followed her nanny from the room, sniffling as she occasionally reached back to rub her bottom through the fabric of her skirt. The little lines had puffed into welts that itched and burned.
    Nanny Quinn led her to a small room where Major Kingsley was waiting. Imogen had never seen such a room before. It was all white, with a raised bed in