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education and guidance she never received. I’ll raise her, and instill in her the discipline I expect in a wife. She’ll live with the expectation of being obedient and respectful—the opposite of what you observed today. If she disobeys, she will be forced to endure a child’s correction. It will be hard for her, but I believe when all is said and done she will understand why this was the only way. In time, perhaps she will grow to love me.”
    “But will you love her?” Mrs. Philbert asked.
    The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock.
    “I know it may be hard to understand this,” he said to the couple. “But I already do.”

Chapter Four: Imogen’s New Beginning
     
     
    Imogen ran her fingers across the intricate lace coverlet on the four-poster bed. Never had she seen such fine furnishings in a bedchamber. Despite her anger and humiliation following Royce’s ultimatum, the room she’d been sent to was proving a distraction.
    For years her stepfather had railed at the aristocracy. Buzzards, he’d called them with a sneer—feckless buzzards who fed off the sweat of working folk like him. Imogen recalled his sour breath as he’d drunkenly counted each day’s meager earnings. If there was too little to suit him—and there usually was—he’d console himself by drinking. What came next was the blame, usually directed at her for not doing more to entice guests to drink or stay an extra night. And then criticisms of the ton followed. Her stepfather’s resentful speech would slur as he spoke of their sloth and fine houses.
    Perhaps for all his bitterness, her stepfather had been right. It spoke to Major Royce Kingsley’s entitlement that he’d just announced his intentions without asking what she wanted. Was that how his lot did things? He’d sent her to this room as if she were a naughty child. Unconsciously she reached back and rubbed her bottom. It no longer hurt, but she could remember every moment of the spanking he’d given her just two days earlier with remarkable clarity—the way he’d raised her skirt to bare her bottom, the feel of his strong grip, the air cooling the heated place between her thighs as she’d struggled and kicked. That place throbbed softly now, and Imogen furrowed her brow in confusion. The pleasant, aching twinge made itself known whenever she recalled either the spanking or her deflowering. In both instances Major Kingsley had been so commanding. Even with the whiskey on his breath, his voice had been calm and authoritative. Once he’d realized she’d been a virgin, he’d taken control of the situation, and her body had responded.
    There was a name for that response, Imogen decided: weakness. She remembered her mother on her deathbed, lamenting the sad life she’d been about to depart.
    “Your father was a beautiful man with a honeyed tongue,” she’d said between wracking coughs. “When he said he’d take care of me, I believed him. But he left. Your stepfather promised me care and protection, but always resented me for not giving him a son. He’s used me as a maid, and he’ll do the same to you.” Imogen remembered now how the dying woman had dabbed at her lips with a handkerchief that had come away red with fresh blood.
    “Don’t be so quick to believe a man,” she said. “Don’t be weak to their ways, for it will only lead to ruin.”
    Imogen’s mother had slipped into unconsciousness after that. In the wake of her death, Imogen had precious little time to reflect on that last bit of maternal advice. But now it seemed to take on new meaning.
    The sound of the door opening pulled her from her thoughts. The older woman who’d been introduced as the housekeeper was walking in bearing a tray of food and a pot of tea. Imogen said nothing as the servant leaned over to carefully lay the repast on a table by the fire.
    “It’s not a large meal, but master says you’ve been traveling for a while and should eat.