"Your tea, sir," the butler said, placing the tray at Lord Bernier's elbow.
The stern older man harumphed as he lifted his attention from the ledgers in front of him, inspecting the tea as if expecting to find something wrong with it. After several seconds of examination, he lifted the cup to his lips and took a delicate sip. "Very well," he said finally, when he found it had been prepared exactly to his liking, just like every day. "Dismissed."
The butler bowed and turned to leave the library, and Lord Bernier took another sip of his tea, then cleared his throat. "Oh, and send the girl up here."
The butler paused and turned to regard him. "Sir?"
"Sylvia. Send her in to speak with me."
"As you wish, sir." The butler bowed again and left.
Lord Bernier returned to his tea. He had finished roughly half the cup when the quiet sound of footsteps alerted him to Sylvia's presence. He turned to examine her with the same attitude he'd taken to the tea tray.
Sylvia was, in fact, his niece--his younger brother's eldest child--and had been sent to his household to act as governess to his own children when she'd reached the age of twenty, as she'd professed little interest in marriage. That had been five years ago, and she was well into the bloom of womanhood now, but she was still a delicate little slip of a thing, too pretty for her own good. Her chestnut-red hair was tied back in a sensible bun and she wore the practical dress of a governess, and yet she was still so decorative to look at that Lord Bernier wondered that his eldest son, now eighteen, didn't find her distracting.
"You sent for me, sir?" Sylvia said quietly. Her freckled cheeks were already stained with red, which made him suspect she knew why she was there.
"Yes. Please close the door," he instructed, and she did, then approached his desk. He grunted and frowned at her. "I've heard from the majordomo about your little...indiscretion the other day. I understand a maid found you hiding in the linen closet and touching your breasts in an ungodly way."
He wasn't personally acquainted with what sort of ungodly way a woman might touch her breasts--he never touched his wife's, being that they were intended for the feeding of children and he wasn't sure what other use they would have--but he trusted that a maid would know. Sylvia's blush immediately deepened to a dark crimson and she ducked her head with shame, confirming her guilt.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"Is that all you have to say for yourself? I did not agree to add you to my household with the intent that you would cause a nuisance of yourself."
"I'm sorry," she repeated, her face screwing up in anguish. "I just--it's just that--it's been five years, sir. In the belt, I mean."
Lord Bernier frowned at her, perplexed, and then realized what she meant. He'd procured a chastity belt for her to wear upon her arrival in his house, having been assured by the head matron of the maids that it was the easiest way to ensure a pretty young woman would not make a wanton spectacle of herself with the other staff. He'd given the matron a copy of the key and trusted her with the care and cleaning of such a device. "And? My understanding was that the belt would prevent you from acting ungodly, not encourage it!"
"It's..." her voice was shaking a little now, even quieter, like a mouse. "It's just so difficult, sir. Not being able to--to engage with myself--privately. For all of that time."
He harumphed. "Privately? For what purpose would you engage with your womanly bits in private? Those are meant for the marriage bed, and I understand you prefer not to marry, or have you changed your mind?"
"No, sir, but I still...my body still craves occasional...release." She stuttered her way through the explanation, her face brick-red with embarrassment now. He stared at her in incomprehension.
"Release?"
"C-climax, sir. Orgasm."
He scoffed loudly. "Women do not orgasm." He'd lain with his wife enough times to know.
