Spring 1818, Hertfordshire
Regina Carlisle held back a moan behind gritted teeth as she dropped her booted foot to the ground with a thump.
“Daggers,” she hissed under her breath as pain shot up her back. She glanced at Cecilia, the student who was assisting her effort to achieve the saddle, hoping she hadn’t heard the curse.
Cecilia stepped back. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I need to get to my late class. Perhaps we can try again tomorrow?”
“Ta, Cecilia. Enjoy your learning.” Regina had no doubt the girl would. Cecilia was one of many eager pupils at the School of Enlightenment. She’d arrived a fresh-faced innocent and would leave in less than a month just as bright-eyed but much less innocent, having learned the tools of managing her life and happiness at the secret finishing academy.
Regina, meanwhile, needed to find a way to exercise her babies. Each horse might weigh seventy-five stone, but they were still her babies. Her role as stablemistress for the school was everything she’d dreamed of in a post, or in her life, for that matter. She was determined to do it well and avoid risking her future here.
If only she had not slipped on a patch of ice three days ago and injured herself. This snowfall had been a March surprise, coming after a day of rain which had frozen under the snow. It made clearing the path from the main building to the stables quite a strenuous job and by the end of it, she’d tired and gone down hard on her bottom. At thirty-three, she had a well-cushioned posterior but was slower to recover, and the injury prevented her from lifting her leg over the saddle.
Even so, she had zero regrets about not learning to ride sidesaddle, which might be feasible with her sore muscles. But sidesaddle was the way to a broken neck, far worse than a bruised bottom. Growing up she’d always preferred breeches or trousers to dresses and skirts. These days, she wore a split skirt, or what she thought of as wide-legged trousers, and encouraged all staff and students to do the same for riding.
She sighed. She’d need to request help if she was unable to ride in the morning. Not wanting to draw attention to herself was unfair to the horses. They’d gotten no exercise for days with the inclement weather keeping other riders indoors.
She ducked into her rooms at the rear of the stables, beyond the tack room, to rest her back before attempting to forage for food. Usually, she ventured to the dining hall in the main building in hopes of seeing her secret crush. The odds of her seeing the lush, enticing form of the headmistress, much less speaking to her, were slim, but as her eyes closed, she could not resist conjuring Helen Montague’s fair form.
That arse, those breasts, her warm eyes and inviting lips. Imagining her caused a spurt of warmth in Regina’s stomach, but imagining was all she allowed herself. Tonight, she’d make do with the snacks and scraps she had in her room rather than attempt that trek with a sore back.
The headmistress’s assistant, Grace, would be in bright and early in the morning. Regina would speak to her then. She’d prefer to avoid encountering the lovely headmistress and jeopardizing the role she loved so much. Grace would find someone to assist Regina for a day or two, and Helen never needed to know.
Helen Montague leaned back in her office chair and stretched her arms overhead. She blinked a few times, realizing how dim the room was. She’d pulled the oil lamp so close to her as she worked, she hadn’t even noticed the day coming to an end. Thankfully, the window was cracked despite the cold temperatures, given how much soot the light generated. She was eager for spring’s longer days. They would bring better light to work by, but perhaps more importantly, provide an opportunity to enjoy the sun on her face and alleviate her post-winter ghostlike pallor.
Knocks thumped on her door, and she glanced up at the open crack. Given the time, her assistant Grace would likely have gone to supper.
“Come in,” she called.
A Scottish student with brown skin, dark hair, and a ready smile entered. She was a favorite with the staff due to her positive attitude. Having completed the introductory course, she was in her final weeks of the advanced course.
“Good evening, Cecilia. I’m surprised you are not at supper. How are classes going?”
“Quite well, thank you, Mrs. Montague. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“Nonsense. I am always available to you and happy to help.” She smiled. “Would you like to sit?”
“No, thank you. I’m on my way to supper and don’t wish to disturb the other diners by being tardy. But…” She wrung her hands.
“What is amiss?” Helen’s brows creased with worry.
“It may not be my place to say…” Cecilia took a deep breath. “But I’m worried about Mistress Regina.”
“Oh?” Confusion layered on Helen’s worry. “Perhaps you’d best explain. What is wrong?” she repeated.
“She hurt her back the day after the snow and has not yet been able to ride. No one else has been riding, either, given the cold and the mud as the snow melted. The horses are getting restless. And, er, so is Mistress Regina. I was wondering if you minded if a few of us took an afternoon away from class to help her?”
“Oh no. Do I need to call a physician?”
“Uh…” Cecilia grimaced.
“I beg your pardon, Cecilia. Of course, you are not in a position to know that. I shall check on the stablemistress myself. After I speak to her, we can determine next steps. I appreciate you bringing this to my attention and your generous offer to help.”
“You’ll let me know? The beasties”—Helen smiled at the common Scottish vernacular from Cecilia’s childhood—“want to enjoy the spring like the rest of us. And I worry about Mistress Regina trying to do too much.”
“I shall find you tomorrow. I promise,” Helen vowed.
As Cecilia left for supper, Helen stood. Then groaned. Lud, she was stiff from hunching over the never-ending pile of paperwork that running the school entailed. There were letters to the founders, progress reports to the sponsors, authorization of recruiting efforts from her helpers around the country, as well as reviewing financial records, approving new curriculum requests, and hiring.
The school had only begun a few years before to equip young women with the knowledge to manage their own futures and sexualities, founded by a group led by the generous Lady Roslynn and her reluctant-at-first husband, Lord Suffolk. By the end of the first year, they’d barely been able to keep up with the demand for placements. Given the secret nature of the institution, the founders, including Helen, had expected to have to tiptoe through the gossip mill that was the Ton, handpicking potential students and sponsors with extreme caution. And they had—and continued to do so—but it was amazing what a few well-placed comments by the right aristocrats could cultivate. Particularly when said lords belonged to a spanking club that prided itself on its vetting of members and privacy.
Helen shook her head. When the London-based founders had approached her about the idea, she’d been impressed with their vision. She’d offered the land she’d inherited at her husband’s passing and to head the school temporarily. While unsure if she was the right person for the role given her sheltered life, she nonetheless had the time and resources to help.
Instead, it had become her passion. Four years in, however, she was struggling to keep up with the pace of growth. She’d enjoyed the tasks required to set up the school, especially finding the teachers and students. Now, she would love to hand off the daily administration of running the buildings, staff, and grounds, if she only had time to hire someone.
Her lips twisted in self-recrimination. She’d been trying to find a new staff member for more than two months but had not been able to give it her full attention with the many urgent tasks that arose daily.
As she maneuvered out of her office and paced toward the stables, she evaluated her stiffness and the fact that her clothes were growing ever tighter. Despite the never-ending amount of work that required her attention, she should exercise a bit more. She used to walk or ride almost daily, but she’d let the days get away from her these past months. Regina’s injury was well-timed, if unfortunate. ’Twas the perfect excuse to get some fresh air.
Helen knocked on the door to Regina’s room. She heard movement then a groan. Concerned, she did not wait for an invitation. She swung the door open to peer in, hoping she would not find the stablemistress on the floor. Given how stiff she was, she wasn’t sure she could lift the taller woman.
Dark eyes, wide with surprise, stared at her. “Helen,” Regina gasped, perched gingerly on the edge of the bed.
“How are you, Regina?” Helen bustled over and peered at her, looking for signs of pain.
“I am getting better. Let me guess, Cecilia was concerned about ‘the beasties?’”
“She was worried about you. As am I.” Helen could see the pinches around Regina’s eyes and mouth in an otherwise stoic countenance. She wanted to pat Regina in reassurance, but they’d never had the type of relationship that allowed for casual touches.
“She’s a sweet girl. I would have come to find you or Grace tomorrow if I could not ride. The girls”—Regina gestured toward the door Helen had entered through—“should not suffer for my injury.”
“Shall we have the physician from town out tomorrow?” For the quiet, independent stablemistress to consider asking for help meant the pain must be severe.
Regina shook her head. “I’m relatively certain ’tis a pulled muscle.” She explained the ice under the snow.
“You poor dear. What if ’tis something worse, though?”
“It has improved each day, hence my expert diagnosis.” Regina offered a self-deprecating, one-sided grin.
Helen returned her smile. She’d give it one more day to see for herself before making the decision to call in a physician. Changing the subject, she said, “D’you know, Cecilia offered to gather a few friends to take the girls out tomorrow?”
“Like I said, sweet. But I hope to be well enough to do it myself by then. And with today having been warmer, perhaps some students or staff with free time will want to ride.” Regina echoed Helen’s preferences on interfering with students’ learning.
Cecilia’s classes in the advanced course offered less free time than the introductory course. Girls new to the school needed time to assimilate to the independence and learning offered them. And some students were proficient in the foundational subjects, so they had use of the grounds during those classes.
“Very well. I shall check with you in the morning. If nothing else, I plan to help.” She half-turned toward the door.
“Nnnooo.”
Helen frowned, tucking her chin in confusion at the vehement tone.
Regina cleared her throat and adjusted her response. “I beg your pardon. I am grateful for the offer, but you have the entire school to run. I’m certain Grace and I can find a few people to step in, even if we call on townspeople.”
“And how will you do that, if you can’t ride?” She put her hands on her hips.
“Er, Grace?”
Dropping her hands, Helen shook her head. “It will take less time away from managing the school if I help. Her workload is as heavy as mine.”
“Oh.” Regina seemed at a loss.
“Now that we’ve settled the matter, how can I serve you this evening?” Helen edged closer, smiling to put the other woman at ease. It was easy to take charge after running the school these past years, and she truly was happy to help.
Regina’s brows rose. “Helen. You’ve just said you are very busy. You’ve offered to assist tomorrow. I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but I hate the idea of taking more of your time than necessary. I do not need a nurse. This, too, shall pass.”
“Nonsense. I can’t see to read or write anyway. ’Tis dark. Have you eaten?”
Flattening her lips, Regina stared at her.
“No? I haven’t either. I shall go get us a picnic from the kitchen and bring it back here. Don’t run off, now.” She giggled at her silly attempt at a joke.
Regina continued to stare. Perhaps Helen’s attempt at humor had been weak, but it was clear that Regina needed sustenance. As did she.
She hurried to the main building and grabbed a variety of offerings for a cold supper. Walking back, her arms laden with bread and cold meats, a carafe of wine tucked under one arm, a memory rose in her mind.
George, her husband for nearly twenty years before his death, had wrenched his back doing fence work on their land and been in agony for days. They’d tried hot and cold compresses but nothing had eased the pain. She’d been helping in the stables in his place when she spied their stable hand rubbing a horse down with camphor oil. Snatching it up as soon as he finished, she returned to her bed-ridden husband and rubbed his back with the oil.
He’d asked her to dig into the muscles with her thumbs and fists, moaning in relief when she did. He’d been up and walking the next day, although he did not lift anything heavy for a few more days.
Regina was one of the quietest, most caring people she knew, and from their few prior conversations, it was clear the stablemistress was as passionate about the school as she was. Regardless, the woman was in pain, and she was Helen’s responsibility, like the rest of the staff. She’d explain the idea, and hopefully Regina would overcome any shyness about baring her lower back. They were both women, after all. What was a little touch between coworkers if it helped speed her recovery?
As she bustled in with her food offerings, she saw that Regina had moved a few things around. The room had already been neat, even sparse. Now, the tiny table and two wooden chairs had been pulled out of the corner and plates were set out. There were large checkered handkerchiefs folded as napkins. Helen placed the food on the table and sat down across from Regina. The stablemistress had removed the tie from her dark hair, and it fell forward to frame her face. While Helen’s own hair was turning gray, they were closer in age than much of the staff. Once the stablemistress was back to full strength, a friendship could be forged if Helen made the time.
Over supper, she asked Regina about the amount of exercise each horse needed and on any other chores she’d struggled with the past few days.
The other woman balked at further assistance. “I’ve been hurt worse falling off a recalcitrant horse.”
Helen narrowed her eyes at Regina, dissecting the response. The school ensured the mares were docile for all levels of riders. Which meant Regina’s fall had been when she was several years younger and more resilient. Distracted by worries of how to bring up the idea of a rubdown, she let the comment pass. She poured them each a second glass of wine, exhaling a tired sigh as she propped herself against the chair back.
“If I may ask, what did you do before the school was founded?” Regina asked.
Helen circled the glass of wine in a negligent gesture. “I was a working farmer’s wife on this land. I cared for the yard animals and the house; George took care of the barn and beyond. Without all the staff we have now, it took every waking moment.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I did…” Helen chose her next words carefully. “At the time. I could not return to it now. My husband was a lovely man, a decade my senior and, of course, the ruler of our household. I was not aware of any other choices. Now, I love being surrounded by smart, forward-thinking women, making my own decisions, and having my own career.”
"Was running a school a difficult transition?”
“Surprisingly, no.”
Regina tilted her head in question, her hair blending with the serviceable dark brown of her dress.
“When I started, I thought it was temporary. I’d get the school set up and hand it off, and build a little cottage for myself in a private nook out there.” She gestured. “But seeing young women come in as girls and leave ready to take on the world was addicting. I wanted to bring more in, and offer them a wider set of options, and ensure they had room and space to grow without men in the way.”
Regina laughed.
Helen poured out the rest of the carafe, surprised at how quickly they’d finished it. Regina was easy to talk to, which surprised her given how little the stablemistress socialized. When Regina raised her brows at the wineglasses Helen muttered, “It will help you sleep.” At speaking volume, she continued. “I never liked Town. I’ve always preferred the country with less rules. This is a way to offer girls that experience, even if they have to return to London. They can take that feeling of freedom with them and find ways to insert it into their lives, whether they are Ton or working for the Ton, or whatever. ’Tis the same reason I could not go back to a traditional marriage.”
Helen’s cheeks felt hot. She could not remember the last time she’d had three glasses of wine or talked so much. Then again, nor could she recall the last time she’d offered to rub camphor into a coworker’s back muscles. A little liquid courage was needed here.
“You know, my husband used to get lower back cramps when he overdid it.” She gulped as Regina’s shocked gaze snapped up to meet hers, and her next words were rushed through tight lips. “If I rubbed camphor oil on it and kneaded the muscle, it helped.”