A Major of Marnie (Miss Robin's Academy Book 3) Read online

  Yet, by the time the punishment from the handsome major was over, Marnie felt herself on the verge of tears. She didn't know why. She had endured much worse.

  She clenched her eyes shut and swallowed as the major rubbed her freshly spanked bottom.

  "There now. Perhaps, next time, you'll think twice before slapping a man across the face. Especially someone who is trying to help you."

  He helped her to her feet, but when he went to pull her drawers up, she stepped awkwardly away from him and did it herself, hoping he wouldn't catch a glimpse of the cunny Miss Robin insisted on keeping shaved smooth at all times.

  She then turned to face him, her face flushed, her hair a tangled mess.

  "You say I should think again? You think you are the injured party here?" Marnie crossed her arms. "You, sir, are a-a pig," she said, knowing that hurling rude words was the best way to keep the tears away. She dredged up the worst insults she could think of. "A bastard! A cur! A son of a whore! I hope—why, I hope you go straight to Hell!"

  With that, she turned and walked back to the academy with as much dignity as she could muster, holding her torn dress together and resisting the urge to rub away the searing sting in her bottom.

  Major James Chance stood stunned beneath the oak tree. He had never met a girl like Marnie Stowe before. After a moment, he went straight into the house and knocked on Miss Robin's office door.

  Chapter 2

  The punishment that Marnie was given was even worse than she had anticipated. Given that she had already been spanked, Mrs. Jones decided that she would stand with her bottom on display during the recreation hour the academy's girls took after supper.

  This occurred in the same parlour where the wedding breakfast had been held. Girls sat in groups or pairs around the black-and-white tiled room, speaking quietly and undertaking one of the approved activities—genteel pursuits, including reading, needlework, painting watercolours, or drawing. One was pressing flowers in a notebook. Another was writing a letter. But all the girls, though sure to obey Miss Robin's strict rules, were stealing glances towards Marnie. She stood in the corner with her nose against the wall, as red in the face as she was across her punished, exposed bottom.

  Marnie's drawers were gathered at her knees and her arms were folded behind her back. For most girls, the humiliation of such a compromising position would have been the source of the punishment. But Mrs. Jones knew her charge well and understood that, for Marnie, having to stand in perfect, submissive stillness was as much a punishment as anything else. This was why she had charged an attendant with standing next to Marnie. The attendant was armed with a paddle, and any time that Marnie slumped her shoulders or let out a sigh of frustration, the paddle would land squarely on her bottom cheeks, which were already smarting from Major Chance's firm, unyielding hand.

  She had already received two smacks from the paddle. They stung exceedingly—all paddles at Miss Robin's had holes drilled along their length to increase the severity of the punishment they could inflict.

  She found that the best way to keep still was to let her mind wander elsewhere. And whenever she was in that parlour, surrounded by the austere portraits of military commanders, the elegant furniture, the smell of wood polish and the log fire crackling in the grate, her mind always wandered to the same place—how she loathed being a Privette at Miss Robin's Academy and the infuriating injustice which had led her to be there in the first place.

  How long had it been? More than a year. She had seen so many other girls come and go in that time, seemingly finding a husband at the very first opportunity. Miss Robin held visitation hours twice a week, on Friday and Saturday afternoons, when eligible suitors met with the girls.

  Marnie was not the first girl men looked to during visiting hours. She had a face that was striking rather than soft—her father had always criticised her firm jaw, her prominent cheekbones, her full, fluffy eyebrows. How many times had she been told that men preferred petite girls, soft girls, girls who understood how to giggle winsomely behind their hands or pin their hair in flattering arrangements?

  Then there was her figure, about which she was always self-conscious. Marnie was one of the tallest girls at the academy. Her limbs were long, her upper half slender, her breasts high and petite. But she had always felt that her hips were too wide. What was worse, her bottom stuck out, round and apple-shaped. Marnie detested her bottom, and when she was able to choose her own clothes, she always tried her best to minimise it.

  Marnie's one vanity was her strawberry-blonde hair. If it were up to her, she would have gladly worn it free and tumbling down her back. A long time ago—so long it was rather depressing—another girl, Cassandra, had snipped most of it off in a fit of rage. Marnie had never been so furious. Then, again, she had just destroyed the girl's most prized possession. Oh, well. They had made it up. By the time Cassie left, they had been quite good friends. Being caned together tended to have that effect.

  That had been so long ago that her hair was halfway back to being as long as it was when she first arrived. She remembered the day of her arrival so vividly it was like a tale from a storybook.

  "Marnie!"

  Marnie hated hearing that tone in her father's voice. It meant she was in trouble.

  "Marnie, where are you?"

  "Almost ready, Father!"

  In truth, Marnie was nowhere near ready. The maidservant, Patty, had packed up her belongings for the season in London and they had all been transferred downstairs. But Marnie was still bent over her washstand, trying to scrub the dirt from her neck and beneath her fingernails.

  She was shivering, having been out in the late-winter cold all morning. Her hair was a mess. She had quickly cast off the stable boy's clothes she had borrowed—it didn't count as stealing if you intended to give them back—but Patty was still trying to button her gown, much to Marnie's frustration. She detested the fussiness of women's clothing. Men could put on a shirt and breeches and pull on their boots, then stride out to meet the world. Why did being born a girl mean she should waste so many of the best sunlit hours of the day rigging herself into complicated upholstery?

  But the trouble she would surely meet when she finally ventured downstairs was well worth it. This was her last morning in the country, and she'd had no intention of wasting it by sitting still while Patty curled her hair. It would be months—months—before she would see Scarlett again. Every time she thought of how long she would be separated from her best friend—she saw no reason not to count her horse as her best friend—tears sprang to her eyes.

  And that, she could not tolerate. No one saw Marnie Stowe cry!

  "Marnie! We're all waiting!" came her father's voice again.

  "One moment!" she called back.

  With the exception of Marnie, the Stowe family were only too glad to get away from Penhurst, their country home. They looked forward to the London season with a focus that Marnie thought bordered on mania. Her eldest sister, Elspeth, now lived in London with the well-to-do merchant she had married, Mr. Talbot. Marnie's younger sister, Phillippa, called Lippy, was only twenty but was already searching for a husband with a single-minded attention she had never applied to any other pursuit. When the Stowes descended on London and into their townhouse, Marnie would be forced to undergo a series of irritations—visiting Elspeth in order to be given a tour of all the new gowns, haberdasheries and soft furnishings she had acquired during the year; visiting all her mother and father's dull acquaintances, endless rounds of cups of tea and games of whist and recitals in parlours and balls where she had to feign interest in the conversation of one odious suitor after another.

  Even at the townhouse, itself, there was no peace. She was obliged to share a bedroom with Lippy, who spread her frippery all around the bedroom they shared and ran a constant commentary on every bachelor she had encountered, their strengths and weaknesses, their looks and their prospects, making careful notes on a chart she had designed for the purpose.

  Marnie always
left Penhurst sullenly. She didn't care about London. She didn't care about dances, fine clothes, husbands, gossip, and doing fine, ladylike things. She just wanted to spend the days outside with Scarlett, wading through the river at its shallow points, climbing trees, rambling through the woods. If she had things her way, she would spend every evening in the stables, brushing the horses down, feeding them, speaking to them. They were much nicer company than her sisters.

  Finally, Patty looped the final button into place and stood back. "There you are then, miss," she said with a sniff. "But what about your hair?"

  Marnie roughly braided her cascading strawberry blonde hair, then twisted it into a chignon and pinned it in place.

  "That won't do, miss!"

  "No one will see a thing. I'll be wearing a blasted bonnet."

  Patty looked at her disapprovingly.

  Marnie stomped down the stairs, followed by Patty. She expected her father to give one of his typical withering remarks about her ragged fingernails or disordered dress, but he merely said, "There you are, finally. Everyone's waiting."

  "I'm sorry about Miss Stowe's hair and dress, Mr. Stowe, sir," said Patty in the simpering voice, which set Marnie's teeth on edge. "I did try to fix it, but there was no time, what with her being gone half the morning."

  She shot Marnie a sly glance. One good thing about going to London, Marnie thought bitterly, was that she would be blessedly rid of the interfering woman.

  She braced herself for her father's wrath. He hated her spending time in the stables brushing and feeding Scarlett and the other horses. As far as he was concerned, that was the stable hands' work and no way for a young lady to be spending her time.

  But he merely let out a muted harrumph and tapped his cane against the tiled floor.

  No lecture? No insults? No moaning what a disappointment she was compared to her sisters?

  On reflection, Marnie could have kicked herself for her stupidity. She should have seen that something was afoot.

  Marnie and her father travelled along the icy, muddy roads in one carriage while Lippy and Mrs. Stowe occupied the other. Every mile that brought them closer to London made Marnie's mood sink lower and lower. She was too distracted by her own grim thoughts to notice how quiet it was in the carriage. She should have noticed that her father stayed hidden behind his newspaper and did not say a word.

  When they arrived at the London townhouse, Mr. Stowe stopped Marnie before she could clump up the familiar stairs to the room she would be sharing with Lippy, whose carriage had arrived first.

  "Be back downstairs at six o'clock sharp. Your mother and I require your presence at a visit we're making this evening."

  Marnie didn't ask whom they'd be visiting. She detested all of her parents' friends equally.

  "What about Lippy?" Marnie had asked. Lippy loved such visits. Marnie found them interminable.

  "She will stay here," her mother said hastily, entering the hall. "She has a number of events to prepare for, and you know Phillippa takes her social engagements very seriously!"

  Marnie huffed and clomped heavily up the stairs. Her family was not nobility. They were well-to-do members of the commercial class. Her father was a shrewd and successful merchant, who, having no sons, hoped to make good matches for his daughters. He had been well pleased by Elspeth's marriage to Mr. Talbot, though he was open about his hopes that Lippy would secure a 'coronet', by snaring an eligible titled gentleman. Only Marnie had proven a disappointment, showing nothing but contempt and irritation to any man who seemed inclined to pursue her.

  When Marnie entered the generously sized bedroom she would be sharing with her sister, she found that Lippy, already preparing for her husband-seeking campaign, had claimed almost every inch of space. Lippy's day gowns and dinner gowns, ball gowns and afternoon gowns, tea gowns and church gowns were all crammed into a heaving clothes press, while various brushes and ribbons and toilet waters and powders were scattered across the dressing table. Marnie had almost no space of her own, but she didn't care. She went to her small valise and removed a framed miniature oil painting of Scarlett, which she placed on the nightstand next to her bed. It was one of only two things she had brought that she cared a whit about.

  She came downstairs at six o'clock, still in her travelling clothes, her hair unravelling. There was a scab on her chin from where she had tumbled while trying to hop from one large stone to another across the brook, which ran through her family's property. Patty had delighted in pulling a reed from her hair and clucking her tongue in front of Mrs. Stowe, then wondering out loud how she could possibly scrub the pond scum from Marnie's skirts.

  "Oh, burn the blasted skirts," Marnie had said, which had resulted in her being sent to bed without her dinner.

  Marnie's tread was heavy as she plodded down the stairs. Her mother and father stood in the entryway, not looking their daughter in the eye.

  "Where are we going?" said Marnie.

  "Not too far," said Mrs. Stowe quickly.

  "Who are we visiting?"

  "An old, dear friend who is poorly and needs some company. One look at you will make her feel like the belle of the ball, I dare say," said her father. Her mother shot him a look.

  "Now, now, Mr. Stowe. Our Marnie could be the belle of any ball she chose, if she would only—"

  Her father held up his hand to silence her. "Enough, enough. I can't bear to hear it again. Come now, Marnie. We're already running late."

  Marnie hadn't brought anything with her, other than a little velvet pouch containing her lucky horseshoe. Other girls filled similar bags with fans, lace handkerchiefs or vials of perfume. But Marnie wasn't even certain she owned such frivolous trinkets. If she did, they would have been bought by her mother and were probably still in their fancy boxes done up with coloured ribbon.

  The lucky horseshoe was Marnie's most treasured possession. It went everywhere with her, and she slept with it beneath her pillow. It had been the first shoe Scarlett had ever cast off, and Marnie had developed a strange superstition about it. She was certain that without it, her luck would almost certainly turn bad.

  When the Stowe family's carriage pulled up at a pair of wrought iron gates in St John's Wood, Marnie didn't suspect a thing. Her family was wealthy; their friends were wealthy; and a life growing up with wealth and comfort had taught her that wealthy people were, for the most part, very boring indeed. All they cared about was marriage—getting married, gossiping about who else was getting married and the quality of the match, speculating on who other people were attempting to snare in marriage, and how parcels of land and family fortunes would be affected as a result.

  This was why Marnie liked horses so much. They didn't care about who owned the land; they only wanted to run over it feeling the joy of their own thundering bodies.

  The first time Marnie thought that perhaps something unusual was happening was when she saw the knocker on the door. Quickly, a servant dressed in an all-white uniform opened it, and the door swung open away from Marnie's sight. But before it did, she distinctly saw that it was in the shape of a girl's head, the ring of the knocker held in her mouth.

  "What on earth—" Marnie began.

  But then Marnie saw another attendant, and then, coming forward down the hallway, a smiling petite woman wearing a crimson dress and small round spectacles. Her hair was wound into a simple dark chignon at the nape of her neck. Her expression was shrewd, her eyes bright with intelligence.

  "Why, you don't look poorly at all," Marnie said.

  At this, the woman smiled. "You must be Marnie," she said.

  The next thing she knew, Marnie was seated in the woman's office, a commodious room,

  papered in white with a pattern of gold leaves. Mr. and Mrs. Stowe, along with Marnie, sat in chairs placed opposite Miss Robin's wide, imposing desk.

  "We thought it for the best if she didn't know about her enrolment before it was absolutely necessary," said Mrs. Stowe. "She tends to be a little—ah—spirited."

&
nbsp; "Spirited? Call it what it is, my dear. The girl has a shocking temper. Always has. We're at our wits' end with her," Mr. Stowe said.

  He looked pointedly at Miss Robin.

  "You see the problem," he said. "My wife has spoiled her."

  "What rot!" Marnie cried.

  Miss Robin interrupted.

  "I read your letters with great interest," she said. "I think I quite understand the situation. We've had plenty of high-spirited girls pass through these doors. I can promise you that she will find this academy sharpens her finer qualities and smooths her less desirable ones."

  "You have a wonderful reputation," Mrs. Stowe said. "Do you really think you can help her? I fear—I have feared for a long time—that she will end up—"

  She shot her middle daughter a guilty look. "That she might end up on the shelf. A spinster."

  She realised what she had said and her cheeks brightened. "Not that there is anything wrong with remaining a single woman, of course, Miss Robin," she said hurriedly. "Only, I don't think it would be the condition most conducive to my daughter's happiness."

  "Of course," said Miss Robin, with no hint of displeasure in her expression. "Now. Dear Marnie. You must be quite confused. Do you have any idea where you are?"

  Marnie folded her arms, jutting her chin defiantly. "How could I? It seems I am in the middle of some sort of plot. A plot in which I am the victim—after having done nothing wrong—nothing whatsoever!"

  "Here we are," said Mr. Stowe, curling his lip. "A perfect example of her odiousness."

  "I think we can allow Marnie a little indulgence, under the circumstances. She must be in shock."

  Miss Robin turned her attention to Marnie, who had set her face in its most ferocious expression. "Generally, I don't tolerate outbursts," she said. "My girls know better—but you will find that out soon enough. In this instance, I do feel you are owed an explanation, so here it is. This is my academy, a private finishing school for young girls who are considered suitable candidates to be wives for military officers."