A/N: Thank you all for your reviews and emails! As a few people noted, the chapters seemed too short. This one is also small as it was written last week, but the Chapter Six is much longer.
THANK YOU to Brenda for beta-ing this.
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"She is mute Dr Maxwell."
He must have been staring. Ella was still smiling at him, but she looked a bit perplexed as to why he hadn't handed over his coat. He had never seen a girl like her before. While she moved with grace and held an ethereal beauty, there was something off about her.
"My apologies to you both. It's been a long evening and I am very tired," he explained.
"Ella, please show Dr Maxwell to our guest suite." She smiled and turned it on Jonathan, "The bed is small as I do not have guests often; however, it's in the back of the house so you may rest undisturbed."
Jonathan could only nod stiffly before following Ella up the stairs.
Ella moved down the narrow hall in a manner that Jonathan could only describe as catlike. She was slender in form, her blonde curls swaying with every step she took. He was having trouble keeping up with her with his nearly lurching gait.
Opening a narrow door, she then ushered him into a small bath. Her smile seemed unnaturally wide as she thrust a towel into his hands before scurrying out so he could do his business. He closed his eyes, leaning wearily on the pedestal sink, and listened to the housemaid move away.
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Walking to the back parlor, Eliza sighed as she reached up to pull out the pins that held her hat. She slapped the offensive mass of frippery on the bar before letting her attention slide to a thick sheet of crumpled vellum. There on the sideboard sat the same letter that she had been seething about before she departed earlier in the evening.
Grinding her teeth and growling, she picked up the missive again before tossing it into the fire. He did it, he finally bloody did it! Lord Addison had her ousted from The Order. The old white haired bastard evidently managed to get enough support with his constant preaching about consent and morality. Pets should be willing slaves, he said! Submission is a precious gift, he said! She snorted. A willing slave is an oxymoron. It was no secret that Marcus Addison was seriously ill. Maliciously, she hoped that he had a coughing fit during one of his grandiose speeches. A fit that would put him in his well earned grave.
Taking a few deep breaths to calm down enough to think, she walked back over to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of brandy. Yes, even though she was a woman, it seemed that she had picked up nearly all of her father's habits.
Her father. He had helped create The Order thirty-two years ago to mirror the Hellfire Club of one hundred years prior. He was surely rolling in his grave over her expulsion. While they made no secret that as a woman she was only allowed admittance due to her blood relations, Eliza had hoped that at least David Longwood would have come to her aid, as his beliefs were parallel with hers. Unfortunately, he's been weighted down with Scotland Yard sniffing about his private affairs for the past few years. It seemed that due to an anonymous tip, several members of the House of Lords had to get rid of evidence of their extracurricular activities. It worked out well in the end; that was how she had wound up with Ella.
Three years prior, she had passed along word she was looking for a new charge. It had only been a week when Eliza stopped by his townhouse. David wrapped the awkward thing up in a blanket and all but threw her into the carriage to be rid of her. She threw back the brandy in one go, feeling the burn down her throat.
She heard the floorboards creak overhead and was filled with the sure knowledge that her doctor had finished washing and was about to retire to the "guest suite" for the evening. She smiled when she thought of what was to come. Her father had really outdone himself when he redesigned the interior of this building to suit his needs. He kept many pets here over the years and taught her exactly how to dole out punishments for infractions. However, it wasn't until she met Clinton that she began to see it as an art form. While her father was happy simply torturing his pets in various ways, Clinton enjoyed manipulating them not only physically but psychologically as well. She learned so much from him.
Dr. Maxwell...no, Jonathan, she mentally corrected herself. He was now her plaything and would be addressed as she saw fit, and would begin his training first thing in the morning. Finding out that he was a widower might prove to be even more beneficial. At first she was just going to keep him for a few days, then eventually blackmail him to keep the good reports on her health coming. Now he might have a bigger role to play. It all depends on his performance tomorrow.
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