Discipline by the Book
When the mischievous nineteen year-old, Lydia Cherrywell, inserts a scandalous chapter on “disciplining companions” into Dorothea Portman’s prim etiquette guide, she expects more giggles than consequences. But Dorothea is nothing if not meticulous, and insists upon a stinging correction... delivered strictly “by the book.” The spanking that follows is a searing brush with impropriety, and a lesson in poetic justice. During this chastening sequence of events, Lydia discovers that being taken in hand can be perilously enjoyable, and she finds the boundaries between discipline and desire are sometimes blurred.
from 📚 Household Discipline
Act 1 – Discovering Discipline
When Miss Dorothea Portman and her companion, Lydia Cherrywell, arrived at Bournemouth seafront, the threat of dreary April showers had given way to the promise of spring sunshine. At the far end of the promenade stood the imposing white façade of Harbour Villas, a colourful striped awning shading its front door. Along the pavement, well-dressed holidaymakers strolled in linen suits and exuberant sun hats, walking sticks tapping and parasols swaying, in rhythm with the waves along the shoreline.
They’d enjoyed an uneventful taxi ride from the station, and a cheery porter relieved them of their cases as they stepped inside the high-ceilinged entrance lobby.
“Miss Portman, how lovely to see you again,” Mr Arthur Green said. Behind the mahogany reception desk, he and his wife, Cynthia, greeted them with warm smiles.
“Your twin suite is prepared just as you requested,” Cynthia assured them. “As per your confirmation letter, we've placed a writing desk beside the window. Did you say you’re working on a new etiquette manual? How delightful. I hope you’re listening, Arthur?”
His eye had drifted away from the desk towards the striking profile of Miss Cherrywell. Tall and pretty, her brunette hair tumbled around her shoulders, and his roving eye admired her curvy hips and the way the uplifting swell of her bosom strained the snug fit of her light chiffon summer dress. Realising his wife was talking to him again, he refocused, trying to appear attentive.
“Of course, dearest. I’ll make sure all the correct cutlery is perfectly aligned at the dining table, and you’d better be on your best behaviour too.”
Directing a roguish wink towards the two young women, and pretending not to hear Cynthia’s harrumph of indignation, he dinged the countertop bell and directed the porter to room number three on the first-floor landing.
It was the ladies’ second visit to Harbour Villas, and as they settled into their room, Dorothea reflected that, unlike herself, Lydia’s outlook always inclined towards frivolity. Despite this, she hoped her companion’s diligent help over the last few months, taking dictation and typing up page transcripts, might provide some inspirational insights into ladylike manners and etiquette.
“Now, Lydia,” she said, “we really must make sure we’re properly composed before we head out to explore. After all, one must always make a fine impression, especially while holidaying in a seaside town.”
“I’ll unpack our best frocks and sun-parasols right away,” Lydia assured her, “and please may we have a little paddle in the sea? I’ve been so looking forward to it.”
Dorothea smiled. Her companion was nineteen, only five years her junior, yet she often felt cast into the role of an authority figure. A young aunt, perhaps? Or, at times, something closer to a governess. The girl’s air of youthful exuberance was infectious but, like other infections, it needed to be monitored for complications.
“Well- I suppose so, for a few minutes, but we must be careful not to catch a chill. And, only up to our ankles. I don’t want you splashing me again, not like you did last time,” she added, as a priggish word of caution.
“I promise I’ll be good, Miss Portman,” Lydia replied, her respectful tone softened by a pouty grin. Dorothea found it hard not to be charmed by the younger woman's thinly veiled flirtations. Hints of her amorous ambitions were often betrayed by the subtle blush across her rosy cheeks.
They returned early from their walk, and Dorothea permitted them both a small glass of vermouth before their dinner of soup and grilled salmon. Lydia may have indulged in one too many jam and cream scones for dessert, but otherwise, her behaviour had been impeccable.
“What a delightful afternoon, Lydia,” Dorothea declared once they returned to their bedroom. “I think the tremendous amount of help you’ve been giving me with my etiquette manual must be paying dividends. The final chapters have to be completed this week, but I daresay there will be time for one or two more excursions.”
Lydia sighed, thrilled by Miss Portman’s compliments, but not wishing to be either too good, or to allow her wistful romantic longings to be hemmed in by the constraints of old-fashioned etiquette. Her efforts to tease some of the starch out of Dorothea’s demeanour had, so far, proved unsuccessful. But, the seed of an idea had been germinating in the mischievously fertile corners of her mind.
After they’d helped each other unbutton their summer frocks, Lydia waited until Dorothea was in the bathroom before changing into her own modest pyjamas and unpacking Dorothea’s nightwear.
Reassured by the sound of running water and what seemed to be tuneful humming of Abide With Me, she laid out an outrageous sheer negligee on Dorothea’s bed. The shop assistant claimed it was ivory coloured, though its almost complete absence of opacity left the garment’s true colour open to viewer interpretation. Scandalous lace trimmings edged the thin shoulder straps and decorated the indecently short hemline.
Lydia had been too shy to collect the item herself, and gave their housemaid, Emily, a shilling to collect it from Harrods' bridal-wear department. When the young maid returned an hour later, she was blushing and giggling, the parcel discreetly wrapped in brown paper.
“What, in the name of heavenly mercy, is that?” Dorothea demanded, the moment she returned to the bedroom and caught sight of the appalling item. She picked up the negligee at her fingertips, holding it at arm’s length, and glaring at Lydia directly through the flimsy fabric. It was as transparent as a damp cobweb, and she noted that her view was largely unhindered.
“Don’t you just adore it?” Lydia enquired. Angels on high couldn’t have put on a more convincing display of innocence than this mischievous young lady seemed able to exude. “I hear they’re all the rage in Paris!”
Dorothea’s reaction was closer to abhor than adore, but for the moment she was rendered speechless. She took several deep breaths, counting to ten, and trying to calm her blushes. The so-called nightie possessed the filmy transparency of a soap bubble, and would have appeared indecent even if draped over a provocative cherub in a Renaissance painting.
“I dread to think what would happen,” Dorothea exclaimed, “if anyone were to see me wearing this. Imagine if Mr and Mrs Green, or even one of the maids, caught sight of me! They might think... something unthinkable!”
“Don’t be such a goose, Dorothea,” Lydia teased. “Try it on. I’m dying to see how it looks. I bet you’ll have the most wonderful dreams while wearing something so pretty. But if you honestly don’t like it, I’m sure we can hunt down some boring pyjamas for you in one of the local shops tomorrow.”
“You mean,” Dorothea gasped, “this is the only nightwear you packed for me? I can’t believe you’d presume to be so forward. I wouldn’t dream of wearing such a wanton piece of fabric.”
Lydia giggled, failing to notice the uncharacteristic glint of mischief in Miss Portman’s eye.
“However, if you insist there’s nothing improper about it” Dorothea challenged, “I see no harm in letting you wear it, instead of me. Take off your pyjamas, because we’re going to swap our nightwear!”
Her younger companion looked taken aback as Dorothea clicked her fingers in a flourish, holding out her hands to accept the pyjamas that Lydia suddenly seemed hesitant to remove.
“But... I chose it specially for you, Dorothea,” Lydia protested. “It seems a shame to deprive you of a gift.”
“I’m waiting, so you’d better hand them over,” Dorothea chided, assuming a stern and governess-like tone.
Lydia gulped, her fingers trembling as she unfastened the pyjama buttons. The way her friend watched with such a clinical eye, gave her the shivers. They'd undressed in each other's company before, but the stiff formality of this moment reduced Lydia to a state of flustered embarrassment.
In the strangest of ways, she felt even more exposed after Dorothea helped slip the negligee over her head and shoulders. She tried to appear nonchalant, as if wearing daring French underthings came naturally to her. Yet, whilst actual nudity possessed a certain biblical authenticity and might even be considered artistic by some, this nightie drew attention to her most sacred and intimate areas, and in an entirely salacious fashion.
“It’s really rather fetching,” Dorothea observed, her cheeks dimpling in a sly smirk. “I’d like to tell you how much it suits you, but I don’t know if I can, when it’s almost invisible!”
Her eyes lingered, relishing her companion’s blushes as a fitting reversal of fortune, since Lydia’s original intention was to impose this same embarrassment upon her. She didn’t know if wearing a see-through nightie might prompt exciting dreams for its occupant, and didn't wish to find out, but she couldn’t deny that the sight of a beautiful body, adorned in flowing gossamer folds, might prompt exciting dreams for a lucky observer.
However, as winsome and adorable as Lydia might appear, Dorothea’s sense of duty required her to maintain standards. Even when they were on holiday, she couldn’t neglect her duty to ensure her companion lived up to familial expectations of decorum.
“I wonder,” she pondered, her eyebrow raising into a quizzical arch, “what Great Auntie Henrietta would say if she were here right now?”
Lydia cringed in alarm. “You wouldn’t really tell her, would you?” she implored. “I was only teasing, and Aunt Henrietta already suspects I’m becoming far too modern. She’d be ever so cross.”
Dorothea observed her companion's reaction, the corners of her lips turning up in a wicked grin.
“Count your blessings that she isn’t here,” she said. “But, since we are here alone, it’s my duty to step in. A lady of my standing can’t simply disregard a lapse in decorum. Tonight, Miss Cherrywell, I see no alternative except to put you across my knee and send you to bed with a well-deserved smacked bottom!”
Lydia spluttered in disbelief and consternation, though even to her own ears, her protestations were half-hearted.
“But- don’t you think I’m a little old for a spanking? And, just look at me! You can’t possibly believe I’m properly attired for such a thing!”
Dorothea folded her arms, as if to underscore there was to be no further discussion.
“Come along now, unless you want me to send a telegram to Auntie Henrietta telling her about your scandalous taste in nightwear, and the sort of tawdry items you've been purchasing using your allowance.”
Lydia’s sulk was only partly for show, and she opened her mouth, but fell silent as she saw Miss Portman raising a finger to her lips in the universal gesture of, “shush”.
The peculiar intimacy of this sensual garment mingled with the sizzling, risqué knowledge that she was a grown woman who was only minutes away from having her bottom soundly spanked... not by a headmistress, or a stern aunt, but by a close friend. The realisation sent a thrilling chill of goosebumps dancing down the back of her neck, and up the insides of her all too exposed thighs. She wondered if the shivers were amplified by her almost non-existent nightie, but deep down, she knew there was a bit more to it than that.
“Off to the bathroom, right away, young lady,” Miss Portman instructed. “You can reflect upon your lamentable fashion choices while you wash, and brush your teeth. But I don’t tolerate dawdling, so try not to get distracted by the view!”
Lydia obeyed, anxious and curious in equal measure, sensing her friend’s eyes watching her slink away to the bathroom.
When she returned, Dorothea was seated on the corner of the bed, already changed from her full length cotton slip into the borrowed pyjamas. They were at least a size too small, and wrestled with her curves in a manner that was rather adorable. Lydia squeezed her lips together to stifle a giggle.
Dorothea had extinguished the ceiling light so that the room’s only illumination spilled from the shaded lamp on the table between their beds. Centred on the opposite wall, the embers within the fire’s iron grate had softened to a warm glow.
“Please tell me you were only teasing me,” Lydia ventured. “I’m sure it can’t be appropriate for you to actually smack me on the bottom!”
“Of all people,” Dorothea assured her, “I believe I’m sufficiently well-versed in my study of etiquette to judge what is, or isn’t appropriate. The role of a companion comes with privilege, but also responsibilities. A silly prank deserves a response that is memorable and fitting. I guarantee this will be both!”
Dorothea patted her lap, as much invitation as threat, but it wasn't an invitation that was open to negotiation. Lydia moved closer until their thighs touched. With inexorable certainty, she slowly leaned in, until she could reach the edge of the bedframe to steady herself. Tipping further and further forward, she was drawn down into a long-forgotten position, prone across a lap like a naughty schoolgirl.
The sheer negligee would have offered negligible protection in any regard, but in her upended position, its indecently short hem spilled up and over her bottom, leaving her shockingly uncovered. Dorothea’s left arm snaked around her waist – constricting, confining – her hand cupping around the fullest part of Lydia’s hips. The grip felt supportive, but it also spoke of firmness, pinning her into a position of humiliating vulnerability.
Having secretly longed for more closeness and intimacy, things were unfolding in a manner Lydia had never dared to envisage. When her friend’s right palm first alighted upon her bare bottom, the contact felt warm and soft. With an anxious grimace, Lydia contemplated that the next few minutes could get warmer still, much warmer in fact, and the next contact certainly wouldn’t be soft.
Beneath her thighs, the supportive touch of flannelette pyjamas felt smooth and comforting as her sense of anticipation grew. Dorothea’s hand lingered, long enough for Lydia to wonder if she might be having second thoughts. Revelling in an excited, kittenish sense of anticipation, she hoped that wasn’t the case.
Seconds later, she felt Miss Portman's hand lift. There was a light tremor as a cool waft of air brushed her skin. Then came a tantalising pause. She hardly dared to breathe as she braced herself; wondering.
Dorothea herself felt no less of a thrill. With her right arm raised high, she gave herself a moment to admire the pale swell of Lydia’s firm and well-rounded derrière, before delivering a sharp smack, savouring the rippling impact across bare flesh, before raising her hand again. The pinkish residual imprint of her palm, extended by tantalising traces of fingers and thumb, sent a tingle to her core.
Lydia gasped, the sting impossible to ignore, especially when a second crisp spank followed, dotted from her other cheek.
“Ow! Dorothea, please. Is so much enthusiasm really necessary between ladies?”
“Oh- more necessary than you can imagine. How do you think it would look if the author of an etiquette manual were to disregard her companion’s improper behaviour? That would never do, darling.”
Having reiterated her playful but uncompromising verdict, Dorothea continued to address the matter in hand with considerable aplomb. Her hand moved, brisk and firm, maintaining a delicious measure of squirming discomfort. Whenever an especially spirited yelp escaped Lydia’s lips, she slowed, massaging and soothing her friend’s warmed, wounded cheeks, before resuming her ministrations with renewed vigour.
Lydia was overwhelmed by tempestuous emotions. The stinging heat was strangely beguiling, as if the spanking was intended to teach and cherish, rather than to punish. Nevertheless, Dorothea, whether from instinct or some kind of esoteric knowledge acquired during her etiquette research, somehow kept the smarting pain teetering on the very brink of becoming unbearable.
By the time Dorothea’s hand came to rest, Lydia felt abashed, her face flushed and her posterior thoroughly aglow!
The implication had been that she would be sent straight to bed, but Dorothea stood, taking her friend’s shoulders in her hands, studying her blushing teary-eyed expression.
“You were a very naughty girl tonight, Lydia. I expect much better than silly pranks. You really test my patience sometimes, although I confess, it’s often in the most charming of ways.”
Lydia nodded; meek, accepting. Dorothea drew her close into a warm embrace.
In that instant, Lydia forgot all about the throbbing soreness. She could think of nothing but the comforting squeeze as their supple bodies pressed together. As if in a dream, she felt herself surrender, melting into the yielding softness of Dorothea’s pyjama-wrapped bosom, enchanted by the warmth seeping through her gauzy negligee.
The moment lingered, neither of them wishing to break away from the intimate contact. Dorothea, reluctantly, was the first to pull back, planting a soft kiss upon Lydia’s forehead. The delicate touch of her warm, lightly moistened lips was nurturing, yet carried an unspoken emotion.
“Tuck yourself into bed, and in the morning I trust you will be back on your best behaviour?”
It proved to be not a moment too soon, as a shuffle and metallic clunk of a coal scuttle from outside their bedroom door confirmed the arrival of the chambermaid. Lydia pulled the blankets almost over her chin in a bid to ensure her saucy nightwear remained out of sight.
“Fresh coal for the fire, ma’am,” the young maid announced as Dorothea opened the door.
She knelt beside the grate, adding coal in a well-practised spread, and adjusting the vent to slow the airflow.
“There, ma’am. That should keep things warm and toasty, and for quite some time.” She glanced across towards Lydia with what just might have been a knowing smile. “And would Miss Cherrywell like me to plump-up her pillows for the night?”
Lydia shuddered, turning slightly pale in spite of her blushes. Her heart raced at the thought of this young woman glimpsing her revealing nightie, or her reddened rear.
“I’m perfectly comfy,” she assured the maid, “but thank you all the same!”
Lying warm and cosy in her bed, Lydia felt a sense of triumph. Despite the steady, thrumming prickle filling her behind, she had achieved a long sought after ambition, albeit in the most unexpected of ways. The affectionate correction was thrilling, and the warmth of Dorothea’s embrace was electrifying.
Only one thing troubled her as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep... Exactly how long had that chambermaid been waiting outside their door?
Act 2 – Discipline by the Book
Lydia awoke early, feeling a warmth of contentment as she observed the sun beaming through the light woollen curtains. As she sat up in bed, the warmth shifted into something rather different. It took the form of a ticklish, tingling sting, still lingering and pulsing throughout her bottom. She smiled at last night's naughty memories.
Dorothea had to ensure the last couple of chapters of her etiquette manual were ready for the publisher by Friday and it was set to be a busy few days. The work was almost done, save for revisions, fine-tuning, and the written notes Lydia was still typing.
First came the chapter, “Proper Comportment in the Boudoir”. Lydia tried her best not to smirk when typing up the sections on appropriate nightwear.
Following that, there came the final chapter: “Maintaining Poise During Indecorous Situations”, which ostensibly tried to help young ladies develop tactics to deflect awkwardness. After typing-up the entire chapter, Lydia observed that any advice for maintaining poise – during a jolly good spanking – was notable by its absence.
As they beavered away, Dorothea failed to notice quite how industrious Lydia had been whilst seated at the typewriter. She also entirely missed the short additional chapter that was now slipped into the manuscript. With inspired and mischievous flair, Lydia gave it the title: “The Bare Essentials of Correcting Companions”.
It was not until a month later, back home at Rose-blush Cottage, during one of their locally renowned social affairs, that alarm bells first began to ring.
Half garden-party, half book-celebration, the gathering was composed of distinguished guests, ranging from their bridge club friends, to the postmistress, and even the vicar. Dorothea’s publisher, Bernard Lawless, was due to arrive on the 2:15 afternoon train.
In the drawing room, a side-table was stacked with copies of the new etiquette manual: “The Well Disciplined Lady: A Guide to Elegance and Refinement”. Lydia had confirmed several new sales of the book, and all afternoon Dorothea received praise, often effusive, sometimes surprising.
“I found your guidance strikingly clear,” the postmistress, Ms Redgrave, complimented her. “It’s rare to see such firmness in one so young, Miss Portman. I’m so glad you held nothing back.”
Dorothea was still riding a wave of satisfaction when she found herself intercepted by Lady Constance Burningham.
“It’s a remarkably hard-hitting manual, Miss Portman. I must say, you cover every angle, from top to bottom, and I found your advice thoroughly actionable. It’s marvellous how you avoid shying away from delicate areas. Why, only this morning, I was able to apply one of your methods whilst dealing with a disobedient housemaid. It proved most efficacious!”
“Thank you, Lady Constance”, Dorothea beamed. Before she could say anything else, the vicar drew her to one side.
“Miss Portman, I believe your book is a triumph. Your hands-on approach, your willingness to lay your subject bare, is going to work wonders for the youth of today. I’m sure many people will be left feeling a warm glow.”
“It’s very kind of you to say so, vicar. I do aim to leave a lasting impression,” Dorothea replied.
A nagging uncertainty was creeping into her mind, and she glanced across the room, momentarily meeting Lydia’s eye, and noting that her companion appeared a trifle sheepish, and was suspiciously quick to look away.
“Absolutely,” the vicar continued. “It was so bold of you to uncover sensitive topics, raising them as needed. Your chapter discussing applied disciplinary techniques was certainly eye-opening.”
Dorothea felt her anxiety growing, warm blushes spreading.
“If you would excuse me for just a moment vicar, there’s something I need to verify with Miss Cherrywell.”
“Of course, of course,” he replied. “And perhaps later you could share a few more of your practical insights?”
Already striding across the room, Dorothea snatched up a copy of the book, her free hand taking a firm hold upon Lydia’s wrist. In a dramatic procession which observers might well have interpreted as coming directly from her book, she led her companion up the staircase and into her bedroom.
“What on earth have you done, Lydia,” Miss Portman demanded. With frantic haste, she was leafing through the latter pages of the book. She froze in horror at the sight of Lydia’s creative chapter.
“But you wanted my help, Dorothea, and I thought you’d be pleased that I could make an additional contribution. You were so perceptive to see how much I could benefit from a soundly smacked bottom, so it seemed only fair that others should benefit from your expertise in these matters.”
Dorothea couldn’t refute her companion’s assertion, not exactly, but nevertheless, she was stunned by the young woman’s sheer impertinence.
“It seems you may not have benefited quite so much as I'd hoped,” Dorothea warned. She was still glancing down at the illicit chapter, scanning the text, her eyes wide.
“Warming your companion’s posterior is both morally improving and socially illuminating?” Dorothea queried, staring at one of Lydia’s improper contributions in disbelief, but she continued through further passages.
“And what is this? A well-bred lady always applies her palm with the firmness required by educational necessity.”
Just as she thought the outrageous words of advice couldn’t become any more lurid, she found herself reading: “Special attention must be given to your companion’s undergarments, since an uncovered derrière is required to ensure maximum impact?”
“But- I learned everything from you, Miss Portman,” Lydia quipped, an ill-advised smirk upon her lips. “Aren’t you impressed that I was paying such close attention?”
“Yes- well, that’s as maybe, but right now, I can tell you are sorely in need of lesson number two!”
In a whirling motion, Dorothea grabbed her hairbrush from the dresser, seated herself on the velvet ottoman storage bench at the foot of her bed, and swept her impertinent companion over her lap.
In a tangled flourish of chiffon and satin, Lydia found her flowing dress drawn up, along with her half-slip. She heard Dorothea’s gasp of outrage as she caught a glimpse of her lacy, peach-coloured silk French knickers. They possessed no cinch or structure, just a scandalous fluttering softness, that did little to conceal the delectable curvy derrière beneath.
Dorothea frowned in disapproval, dragging the offending lingerie to a less prominent position around Lydia’s knees.
“No! Not the hairbrush! Not on the bare!” Lydia wailed, finally appreciating the gravity of her plight. “I was only trying to help.”
Dorothea’s response, a sharp whap of her broad-backed brush across Lydia’s left-buttock, indicated her companion’s explanation was less than satisfactory. There followed a prolonged chorus of whap-ouch, whap-ouch, repeated in the perfect tempo of a gramophone record stuck in a groove.
“I’m going strictly by the book, Lydia. Warming your uncovered behind with necessary educational firmness! I believe that meets your chapter’s prescription.”
Lydia writhed upon Dorothea’s lap, her feet kicking and fingers scrabbling at the soft carpet. Compared to her spanking at the Bournemouth guesthouse, the wooden hairbrush possessed an awful, penetrating bite. Her reddened rear sparkled and burned as though she had leaned against the edge of a stove.
“And how dare you make changes to my manuscript without permission,” Dorothea scolded. “The book will have to be reprinted, and I don’t know how I’ll ever live down the embarrassment.”
As the pain in her upturned cheeks became more and more intense, Lydia considered her current misfortune could merit an entire new chapter. Each of the hard, rigid slaps imparted a blinding, focussed flash of agony, followed by a slower, throbbing sting.
This time, Dorothea granted no merciful pauses in the proceedings. Her ministrations were relentless and steady, occasionally punctuated by rapid flurries that sent her chastened companion squirming and squealing upon her lap.
Only when she noted a pair of mottled crimson bruises, beginning to blossom at the centre of Lydia’s cheeks, did Dorothea finally relent.
Leaping up, her cheeks flushed, Lydia hopped from foot to foot, frantically massaging her sit-upon and employing the sort of lively rhythmic gyrations that would be frowned upon at their usual tea dances.
“My goodness,” Lydia exclaimed, somehow still exhibiting a blushing smile. “You actually gave me a real spanking!”
Dorothea raised a quizzical eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of her companion’s apparent enthusiasm. Before she could decide, Lydia wrapped her in a cosy embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re here to keep me on my best behaviour, Miss Portman,” Lydia whispered into her ear. “Just think how naughty I might be otherwise!”
Lydia stepped back, stealing a cheeky kiss upon Dorothea’s full and sensuous lips, before skipping away to the bathroom.
Eyes wide, Dorothea raised a hand to her mouth, relishing the tingling memory of that unexpected kiss. The young lady was incorrigible, to be sure, but at least taking her in hand was proving to be an enjoyable task... for both of them, apparently.
“Please give me a few minutes to compose myself,” Lydia said. “Then, I promise, I’ll apologise to the guests and help get the books back. I could say there’s been a mis-print, and we’ll provide them with new copies.”
Whatever Lydia expected to find when she rejoined Dorothea in the drawing room five minutes later, it certainly wasn’t to see her engrossed in a jubilant conversation with her publisher.
“Advanced orders are off the charts, Miss Portman. Your hands-on approach to etiquette enforcement is becoming a phenomenon! Our board of directors is asking when we can expect a second instalment.”
“It’s funny you should ask,” Lydia improvised, continuing to discreetly rub at the sore spots through the seat of her skirt, while taking a sip of fruit-punch. “Miss Portman and I have recently undertaken some additional research.”
A satisfied grin was forming on Dorothea’s lips. “Certainly, and I must insist on giving credit to Miss Cherrywell. I couldn’t have managed without her help.”
“It’s been my pleasure to contribute,” Lydia assured them both. “This news is ever so exciting.”
“Wonderful,” Bernard said. “You must continue to work together. It’s obviously a winning partnership, and...”
But at that moment, their housemaid, Emily, interrupted.
“Excuse me, ma’am. A parcel has arrived for Mr Lawless, and the driver told me it was urgent.”
“More copies of the book?” Lydia queried, eyeing the oversized parcel which the maid deposited onto the end of the dining table.
“Even better,” Bernard declared. “My next-door neighbour, Ms Evesham, is a retired headmistress. She’s provided me with a selection of memorabilia from her days at St Josephine’s School for Young Ladies.”
As the other guests began to gather round, Lydia gave an anxious wince as she glanced inside the parcel. There were at least three plimsolls, a chunky wooden ruler, a broad and heavy-looking leather strap, and unmistakably, a pliant rattan school cane with a smoothly curving handle.
“Oh- these will be perfect, Mr Lawless,” Dorothea enthused. “Precisely what we need for our research into an advanced manual of rigorously applied etiquette!”
While Dorothea and her publisher discussed possible chapter topics for book two, which they’d decided to title: “The Well-Reared Companion: A Masterclass in Firm Correction”, Lydia felt her freshly-tendered rump tremble in anticipation. Dorothea had demonstrated her consummate thoroughness, and judging by the formidable disciplinary tools arrayed upon the dining table, book two looked as though it would provoke considerable, and long-lasting discomfort whilst seated at her typewriter.
For a fleeting moment, Lydia wondered how her delightful companion might look in the stern, implacable guise of a headmistress whose commitment to manners would, without a doubt, be absolute and unflinching. The vision of that fearsome crook-handled cane, gave her a tantalising (though faintly terrifying) flash-forward to an entirely new syllabus of startling research.
The next time she visited the Harrods’ bridal-wear department, Lydia vowed that sheer and flimsy underwear would be out, and heavily quilted would be in. If book one was already a big hit, book two looked set to make even more of an impact. As a treatise on applied disciplinary measures, it was going to take some beating. Unfortunately, Lydia reflected, so might she...