Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
“Yes, Father!”
“Good.” His tone softens just a little. “I do not want to hurt you, but I will use pain to teach you the lessons you need to learn.”
I don’t know what to say. All I can do is let out another one of those pathetic little cries of shock. The pain of a few slaps of his hand is much more intense than I would have imagined it to be. I am aching and tingling and I am terrified as to what he might do next.
“Go to your room,” he says, releasing me.
I do not need to be told twice. I scramble away as fast as I can, running down the halls with tears in my eyes. Part of me wants to go back and tell him that he has no right to hit me even if I did unlock his stupid door, which I didn’t. But the smarter, more scared part just wants to put distance between us.
I retreat to my turret, sobbing as I crawl beneath the blankets. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair.
Bryn
“Don’t you give me that look, Ivy. You raised a brat.”
The portrait has narrowed her eyes at me, or maybe that’s just my guilty conscience. Regardless, I can’t stop thinking about the way Nina’s bottom felt in the palm of my hand. She fit perfectly. Like she was made for me.
I know nobody is actually made for anybody, but the illusion is a pleasant one to maintain and very strong in this moment. I am sure she will recover from her bruised ego and make an appropriate apology in due course. If she does not, I will teach her how.
These little American brats are going to have to learn that rules mean something. I am vaguely aware that they come from a world where they’re encouraged to express themselves as they please and behave as they please, be creative and outspoken and daring and all the rest of it, but this is England.
In the meantime, my day is busy. There is plenty of parish work to be done in the hours of light. There are sick to support and dying to comfort. I am rarely found at home during the day, though I admit there is some temptation to stay now that such a fascinating little creature has arrived. Better that I don’t. Better I immerse myself in the work of the people, my vain attempt to build up stores of goodwill for later use.
Life did not start when the twins arrived on my doorstep and I cannot afford to spend every minute monitoring them. I have deputized Crichton to keep an eye on the pair of them. I am certain he is more than capable of doing so, given that the one is hermetically attached to his phone, and the other is sulking as if it might soon be an Olympic sport.
The day passes quickly. Before I know it, dinnertime has arrived again with that banal inevitability I quite often regard as a chore. Tonight it feels less like a tedious requirement to feed my physical body. I have told Crichton to set the table for three, and to prepare something suitable for their palates.
When I arrive in the dining room, it is conspicuously empty. Crichton is hovering with a general expression of disapproval, though I do not know who it is aimed at. If I did not know better, I would think he has the nerve to look at me with his disconcerting disgruntlement.
“Where are the twins?”
“Jonah has elected to feed himself on snack food he found in his luggage. Nina has respectfully declined your dinner invitation,” Crichton informs me.
I am not pleased to hear that. I think, for a second, about demanding she come down. Then I think better of it. Better to have her come to me than drag her down.
“Have to assume she won’t starve. Serve dinner.”
Crichton coughs gently. “She seems rather upset, sir.”
“She broke into one of the rooms and was spanked for it. I think you know what room. The one room in the entire house entirely off-limits.”
He clears his throat. “Actually, I believe the room in question was unlocked, sir.”
“I’ve kept it locked for years.”
“Until last week, if you recall, you decided to replace all the smoke alarms, and…”
I realize he’s right. And that means I was wrong to thrash the girl. Fortunately for her, it was only a few swats. Nothing to do lasting damage. Nothing to sulk endlessly and hungrily about.
“I think you should retrieve her, sir.”
He stops short of telling me to apologize, but I understand something must be done. I have been having some difficulty forgetting the expression on her face as she fled to her room. She was absolutely shocked. At the time I believed it to be a demonstration of how very spoiled she was, but now I can understand it as a reaction to what she must have considered to be injustice.