Free Reads!! Wednesday Briefs – Innocence & Carnality Part 22

Welcome to the next part in my Wednesday Briefs flash fiction serial, Innocence & Carnality! Each chapter has to be between 500 and 1,000 words and this week I skipped using a prompt. Don’t hate me, just read and enjoy. lol

Nathan deals with being locked in the bedroom.

Click here to start from the beginning

Part 22

Thinking back, my home in Victoria was a prison.

My brothers were the guards and my mother the governess playing both sides refusing to take either. My father was the warden, locking me away when he was reminded how I’d cast a shadow on his precious status. He exercised his authority and reveled in it. Whenever he wanted to erase my presence—which was more often than I care to admit—he closed the door with me on the other side and turned the key.

Now my husband had done the same. It might have been more palatable if he’d made the slightest effort to sound regretful as he secured my cell. He was far too calm about the whole thing for my liking.

Whether I now had a choice in the matter or not, I was not planning to live out my days having traded in one form of imprisonment for another. I may have been surrounded by finery, but it was a cage of brass and silk. Perhaps there was something amongst the Francinian people where this act would be seen as acceptable. I doubted it, but clung to the hope. Anything less chilled me.

When Rother left, I listened to his footsteps drifting away, convincing myself it was a poor joke, some Francinian custom no one bothered to share with me in the pathetically short time I’d lived here. I stood there for far too long waiting for the door to burst open, Rother and his staff initiating me into their world. I didn’t hold the fantasy close for long.

My fury grew. I wanted to rage, throw myself against the door, and beat it until my broken, bloodied fists reduced it to splinters. I wanted to track Rother down, shake him by the collar and shout in his face until he understood he couldn’t treat me this way. I wouldn’t allow it.

But I didn’t do any of these things, because I was born a Victorian lord. We didn’t stoop to such vulgarity. Perhaps that was the problem. We had so little common ground between us.

I understood how difficult I found the differences between our cultures, but I was trained in how to be the organizing force behind my husbands affairs. How to treat dignitaries and political figures and conduct social events was only a small part of my schooling since my orientation had been divulged publicly. Since arriving in Francine, I’d suffered my share of shocks, but my facade was practiced. I was Victorian, after all. Rother’s lack of faith distressed me. Did he really believe I would shame him, that I would do anything to jeopardize his holdings or harm his successes? Rother bartered for my hand with my father; he had to know this. I think I was more offended by his unwillingness to trust my skills than trapping me inside our suite.

His reasons for segregating me from everyone this evening may have been calculated, but his assessment was unfair. My wedding and arrival in Delaga House had all the hallmarks of been thrown into the deepest lake with a single swimming lesson to save myself. I struggled, but I refused to go under. I may not have shown it yet, but I was more than capable to adapting in a social situation, even connected to a business I knew nothing about.

My husband was in dire need of a lesson in what made up a Victorian lord.

I was still furious, but Victorians didn’t rant and make scenes. Victorians internalized their pain and performed acts of aggression of a more subtle variety.

Pulling out my trunk, I unpacked a smart outfit of fine wool. It didn’t have the flair of Francinian couture, but fit me well. Without Harston’s aid, I kept the chore of dressing myself simple. Forgoing the ascot, I left the top buttons undone, giving a glimpse of my chest, mimicking Rother’s casual air. I couldn’t choose one piece of jewelry, so I wore several. Multiple rings graced my fingers; several pins glittered along the edges of my clothing. The excess seemed correct. Instead of slicking back my hair, I raked my fingers through my hair, sweeping it back yet leaving it loose. In front of the mirror, I made sure every piece of clothing accented me without telegraphing a Victorian rigidity. In such a short time, Rother had taught me well without saying a word.

My outrage was well in check. It burned inside, fueling me into something more worthwhile. Filled with purpose, it drove my hand without the slightest tremble. I was far more focused than I could ever remember.

I collected my tools from the clock and approached the door. Since the disastrous attempt to open my chastity belt, my father had confiscated my lock picks. I protested of course, but it did little good; I had no power. He’d turned over my room so often I gave up trying to hide a set for years.

Fortunately, I didn’t need them to get out of here.

It took little skill to unscrew the door handle’s brass plate, exposing the lock and its inner workings. Rudimentary mechanics, I made quick work dismantling the lock, tumblers, handle and latch down the smallest screw. Each part I gathered and placed on the table next to the clock in precise order, leaving an exploded schematic of everything inside the door to educate my husband once he returned.

And if he didn’t understand that portion of the lesson, I took apart the hinges as well. I may not have been an alpha male like my husband, but I was strong enough to carry the door into the hallway and lay it on the floor. I considered pushing it over and letting it slam, but others might hear, ruining the surprise.

Once I was pleased with my work, I dusted off my clothing, stood tall, and headed for the stairwell. It was time to learn more about Delaga House.

Check back next Wednesday for the next installation… Be sure to take a read at the other briefers free reads this week here: Wednesday Briefs