Authors: Celeste Jones
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Erotica, #Romantic, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance
y the Colonel
Copyright 2014 by Celeste Jones
All Rights Reserved
No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any from or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Celeste Jones.
This book is intended for mature audiences.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, brands or events is coincidental.
Cover by Anthony Walsh
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Miss Cassandra Sheridan is desperate to get married. Not because she is deeply in love, but because her family is deeply in debt. She leaves behind her two younger sisters to care for their ailing father while she heads out to do the only thing she can to secure the future for herself and her
family—marry a rich man.
She sets her sights on Lord Owen Tyndall, attractive, rich and gullible. Just when Cassandra is sure a proposal is imminent, Lord Tyndall's cousin, the annoying and attractive Colonel Blaise Sinclair
The Colonel is not nearly so easily fooled as his cousin and he is determined to find out the real story behind Miss Cassandra Sheridan's presence at Hadley Hall. If he must employ over the knee discipline to ferret out her plans, then so much the better.
Corrected By The Colonel is an erotic romance that includes explicit sex, rapid fire dialogue, anal play and anal sex all within the confines of proper Regency society. If such topics offend you, please do not buy this book.
Miss Cassandra Sheridan perched daintily upon a settee in the drawing room of Hadley Hall embroidering an elaborate pattern. Whether it would be made into a tablecloth or wall decoration she cared not. Performing the feminine arts was expected of her and while a guest at Hadley Hall, she would make no missteps, regardless of how much she disliked country activities and most ladies’ endeavors in general.
She stitched on. She loathed needlework. All those hours spent making tiny sews, the finer the better. As though the mark of a woman’s worth came from the number of stitches she could cram into an inch of fabric.
But she had an imperative mission and if success required a few hours sedately pushing a needle into a piece of cotton cloth in order to complete her goal, then so be it. What was an afternoon or two of drudgery compared to a lifetime of grandeur as the mistress of Hadley Hall?
While feigning interest in the discussion of the other ladies she took a visual tour of the room. Large paintings adorned the walls, mostly likenesses of generations of Tyndalls. A few were reputed to be by famous artists and allegedly worth thousands of pounds.
One large portrait depicted the current mistress of Hadley Hall, Lady Blanche Tyndall. In addition to the rapturously luxurious gown she wore in the portrait, diamonds and sapphires adorned Lady Tyndall in such abundance Cassandra wondered how the diminutive woman had been able to bear the weight.
Cassandra envisioned herself sitting for a portrait bedecked by the same jewels; the weight of history and family money around her neck and dangling from her ears. A most heady thought, indeed.
But first, she had to secure a proposal from the son of the widowed Lady Tyndall. It had been her singular goal since making the acquaintance of Lord Owen Tyndall in London and when she learned that dear, rich, and available Lord Tyndall had a younger sister, Cassandra had made it her business to befriend the sweet girl.
Lady Jane Tyndall, a delicate, harmless, and trusting girl, found the attentions of the lively Miss Cassandra Sheridan flattering and amusing. Upon the basis of that friendship Cassandra managed to get herself invited to a house party at Hadley Hall. She had even dropped sufficient hints to Lady Jane to secure an invitation to travel with Lady Jane, her mother and brother from London in advance of the other guests, like she was already a member of the family.
Oh, the idea of it made her heart flutter.
She dutifully stitched on.
Cassandra lay upon the bed of her guest room in her undergarments ostensibly resting before dinner.
Cassandra did not need rest. She needed a husband and she needed one now.
Not that she was some lovesick girl mooning over Owen Tyndall, though his looks were more than tolerable. What he lacked in charisma he made up for with wealth, social standing, and more wealth.
Why the rush to wedded bliss?
Cassandra had it on good authority from his sister, Lady Jane, that another party of guests was expected which would include Miss Eliza Collins, a reputed favorite of Owen’s. If Cassandra was going to secure his affections and a marriage proposal, she needed to do it before the arrival of her adversary.
A potential husband such as Lord Tyndall was too valuable and important to allow to slip through her fingers and into the waiting arms of Miss Collins.
The Collins' family wealth rivaled that of the Tyndalls. Why should all that money be hoarded by two families not in need when it could be spread out to Cassandra, and more importantly her younger sisters, who required decent clothing and respectable dowries if they were going to avoid a life of drudgery as governesses or widows' companions.
She shuddered at the thought. The only thing between the Sheridan sisters and abject poverty was Cassandra’s sheer determination to keep them from it.
Cassandra’s father suffered a grave illness and with his estate entailed upon the male line, once he died, Cassandra and her sisters would be at the mercy of a distant uncle who had no interest in his nieces’ futures other than how long it would take them to vacate the household.
Not only was her beloved father’s time limited, but so was Cassandra’s. According to Lady Jane, Miss Collins would arrive the following week. Cassandra had a mere seven days to convince Lord Tyndall he loved only her.
She dressed carefully for dinner, strategically planning out her wardrobe choices for the next few days with an eye to allurement. She examined her gowns and wondered if she might be able to ask one of the maids to perform a few repairs. Limited funds had forced Cassandra to give up her personal maid. Fortunately, no one questioned her story when she explained her maid had been called away on a family emergency. There was no shortage of staff at Hadley Hall, though how she would explain why her dresses needed repair when she only just arrived might be a bit tricky. She could hardly tell them she had been so busy caring for her ill father and directing the management of his meager estate she had neither the time nor funds for proper clothing.
Of course, they were servants, so why did she feel a need to explain anything to them at all?
At dinner time she left her room intent on securing Owen's affections. A footman at the end of the hall caught her attention. “You there,” she called out. “I need your assistance.”
The man turned in response to her directive, but did not move with sufficient speed to suit her. By the time he arrived at her door, he appeared insolent indeed. “Yes?” he asked, his eyes scanning her up and down in a most inappropriate way.
She added his immediate termination to the list of changes she would make as soon as she became Lady Tyndall. For now, she did not wish to tip her hand too readily, so she simply gave him a withering glare before turning back into her room and returning with one of her shoes which she handed to him saying “There is a small hole in the sole of this shoe. Please see to its repair.”
The man, who she noticed had penetrating dark eyes and possibly a haughty smirk which she did her best to ignore, glanced down at the shoe in his hand, appeared to wish to say something, thought better of it, bowed and said “As you wish, my lady,” then turned and walked away.
Cassandra watched his retreat and hated herself for noting the way his jacket hugged the broad expanse of his shoulders. She gave herself a mental shake. She was on a mission to land a lord, not ogle the hired help.
She straightened her skirt, gave one last glance to the mirror, then made her way to the drawing room for pre-dinner socializing.
It pleased her when the object of her visit, Lord Owen Tyndall, glanced in her direction as she entered the room. She would never be so forward as to approach him, but she did make her way to a conversation area where Lady Jane sat which also happened to be very near Lord Tyndall’s location. As expected, he joined them and enquired after their well-being and asked how they had spent the afternoon.
“We had the most enjoyable time visiting in the drawing room and working on our embroidery,” Lady Jane said, with as much enthusiasm as a placid girl could. Presumably in hopes of aiding her friend’s cause, she added, “Miss Sheridan stitches beautifully.”
Lord Tyndall looked suitably impressed. “The fine handiwork ladies perform always amazes me. How can you stitch so delicately?”
Cassandra smiled demurely and peeped up at Lord Tyndall through her lashes. “You flatter me, my lord,” she said in her most humble voice. ‘Amazes’ was a strong word to use for the act of pushing a needle through a piece of cloth, but she assumed Lord Tyndall intended to express the ardor of his feelings for her in all things.
“Miss Eliza Collins is an exemplary stitcher,” Lord Tyndall said, a faraway look in his eye. Cassandra’s demure countenance disappeared and she snapped her gaze up to look at him before she realized the suddenness of her movements.
“I have heard she is quite accomplished,” Lady Jane said and Cassandra wondered how on earth a woman miles away and not expected for days, had invaded the drawing room. This was her night, not some stupid woman with money and extraordinary needle skills.
From behind her, Cassandra heard a cough which might have been a stifled laugh. She tilted her head and unobtrusively scanned the room.
The impudent footman stood near the mantle. Had he overheard their conversation? Had he snickered at her expense?
A footman making fun of her, Miss Cassandra Sheridan, a woman who would soon be mistress of this household? The cheek.
She gave him her most imperious stare from the top of his thick dark hair to the tips of his well shined boots. She pretended most intensely she had not noticed his piercing eyes or broad chest.
To her satisfaction, the servant turned and left the room.
Clearly she would make a most excellent lady of the manor.
Dinner was a cozy affair with the three members of the Tyndall family and Cassandra. She paused for a moment to take in the experience and hoped her future held many more such meals.
She sipped her wine and examined the elaborate display of food before her. Although her father was a gentleman with a modest estate, their table had never been particularly bountiful. On occasion, when times had been especially difficult, Cassandra had even done some of the cooking, an activity which she knew would be met by horror if a member of the Tyndall, or any proper family, found out.
She had been most careful and did up her hands with buttermilk and rags to prevent them from looking like the hands of a scullery maid. A lady could not have rough, red hands.