Page 46 of The Spinster & the Sock

“Are you ready for your punishment, wife? For running away from your handsome husband?” Her giggles intensify, but cut off with a gasp when I shuck the suspenders from my shoulders, letting my pants drop to my ankles, then I drag her to the edge of the mattress by hers.

“The sleeve, it’s in the drawer,” she says quickly, waving wildly at the bedside table. I understand now that this sleeve must be some kind of early condom, but as I stare down into the drawer, I can’t help but laugh.

“It’s a fucking dress for my Johnson!” I cackle, holding it over my goods by its red ribbons. “What do you think, wife? Is red my color? What do I even do with these?”

“You’re to tie them,” she says wickedly, “around here.” My eyes bug out of my skull as she fists my family jewels.

“Son of a bitch.” I drag a hand down my face. “It really is a dress for my Johnson.”

My head is pounding. I didn’t think I drank that much, but clearly I was wrong.

Bam, bam, bam!

“Josephine Colette Dash—Hollows!”

My eyes snap open, then over to where my wife is still drooling on her pillow.

Bam, bam, bam!

Okay, maybe it’s not my head that’s pounding—though I can’t for the life of me think of who could be screeching for my wife so vehemently.

As quickly and quietly as I can, I slip from the bed and search for pants. I unlatch and yank the door open just as the offender begins banging again and find myself face to face with Helena Dashwood.

The Silence of Ruin

Josephine

Ungodly shrieking from below in the modiste jerks me from my peaceful sleep, and rudely thrusts me into the arms of misery. The minister has warned of hell until I convinced myself I was damned, and even now, my head throbs harder than during those fearsome sermons. My thighs and everything between them ache, and when I stand to investigate the commotion downstairs, dizziness twirls my vision.

I’m naked, miserable, and maybe about to be murdered, given the threatening noises of whatever devil has knocked on our door this morning. Blinded by the light, which in this exact moment I am grateful is not the result of the Lord’s second coming, I fumble until I find one of Blaze’s shirts. I button the enormous thing over my body and stumble down the stairs, brushing the unruly strands of my hair from my face.

The instant I enter the modiste, right after freeing a clump of hair stuck on my cheek—with what I hope is drool—I am met with both regret and rage.

Regret that I did not stay upstairs and allow Blaze to handle this.

Rage emanating from my mother.

“You look like one of those Winchester Geese from Vauxhall!”

Blaze glances at me for context.

Already annoyed, I interject with a clarifying ‘rostitute’. Exasperation seeps from my pores, and my tone of voice is no exception. “Mama, I’m certain Father has left you in a similar state—ah ah, let me finish—I know you enjoyed it too. Surely you wouldn’t have so many children otherwise. Please kindly tell me why you are here. I was not done sleeping.”

My mother’s mouth hangs open, and she looks from me to Blaze, then back once more at me. “I—Josephine, wha…” Her voice trails off into utter despair, and I cross my arms, leaning against the counter.

“Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” Blaze interjects, gasping as if he’s seen a ghost. “Has someone died?”

“I wish!” Mother retorts, pulling the hood of her cloak further over her face as a group of high-society ladies pass, eying the modiste with disgust. At once, my stomach drops and I vaguely remember the encounter with Stanley.

“Why are you here?” I demand.

“I am here to let you know that you have finally done it, Josephine. You have fallen too far beneath the standards of society for myself, your father, or our title to save you.” She squeaks before forcing the following words out. “A Winthrop servant was on their night out last evening when your husband decided to…lick your…unmentionables.”

Heat flares throughout my body, but shame is not what wrecks me. I smooth the front of my husband’s shirt to keep myself from interrupting her.

She presses flat palms to her flushed cheeks. “The entire ton knows of your scandalous night! Thank God Stanley was with Lord Edwardson and found you being ravaged on the streets instead of someone else, or the rest of us Dashwoods might be ruined! He was so kind as to come to us first in the interest of keeping you out of a scandal! I believe the Viscount would still marry you if circumstances changed.”

I clench my jaw. Blaze says nothing, enduring my mother’s thoughtless distaste for him.