The Saga of a Naughty Lady

Chapter Two-3

Whatever be the lingering vestiges of her ordeal, however, the worst of it was over for her body. That would recuperate in time. What was left to scar her more intently was the abrupt change in her lush and cultured life.

The crowd began to murmur and disperse as the bailiff untied the beauty from bondage, and held her upright to keep her from fainting. A robe was thrown over her raw shoulders, which made her grimace—as well as come to life. She stood before the magistrate clutching the sides of the robe in her fist.

“The remainder of your sentence,” the scowling magistrate began, “will be five years of indentured service. I could send you to a more severe work detail, but it has been pointed out that you have some value as a house servant rather than a field or sweatshop laborer. And, as your husband is no longer interested in maintaining your marriage under these conditions, I have signed the papers for your divorce. He is transferring the responsibility for your welfare to Sir Marcus Roger in return for several favors from that honored nobleman. For the next five years, Marie Jolie Gabrielle Antoinette, you will submit to his authority and his every command.”

Five years! She was too delirious from stimulation to understand completely what was being said; but she understood time. She understood that five years was an eternity in her mind, beyond the scope of her comprehension. She’d only been married three years. Five was forever.

And Sir Marcus Roger! He was not a man she could love, admire or even serve with any ease at all. The ruthless noble was an egotistical and maniacal brute. While he cut a handsome figure with his tall and robust bearing, his bearded face and handsome eyes, he also had a puffed-up chest, a leering gaze, and a grimace that combined in one man the worst in mockery and scorn found in all who participated in her trial and punishment. She did not like the savage scoundrel; and her abhorrence for the man only increased now that her fate had been disclosed.

The spectacle was over; the scandal and the shame had run their course. Justice had been served, order established, the province could live with itself for a few more months until another public calamity would break out—another for the authorities to squash before a greater rebellion ensued. Public officials considered it a blessing that ignominious women provided them with such an exquisite means of placating the masses with outrageous punishments.

As the gavel sounded its final crack, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, including the accused, convicted and now punished Marie Jolie Gabrielle Antoinette. Shunted off the stage, she was led to the infirmary where the few overt wounds were cleaned. Then she was dressed, collared, manacled at the wrists and handed over to Sir Marcus Roger.

“Why what a pleasant happenstance for me!” Sir Roger declared once he spotted the spent young woman.

“Yes, sir,” Jolie attempted to sound dutiful in the face of his mocking tone.

“I think you’ll survive,” he said.

“I should hope so, sir,” she answered.

He spent some moments appraising her physical appearance. The pale blue dress she’d been given to wear was hardly more than a tattered hand-me-down: soiled, stained with grime and much too big for the small Jolie. It hung on her body like an old sack, so shapeless that it was difficult to tell anything about the voluptuous form of her body.

“I’m afraid the clothes don’t do you justice,” he remarked in the same supercilious manner he’d used before. “But, I am sure I can remedy that situation.”

“That would be a pleasure,” she agreed, gazing down at the appalling garment.

“You’ll be quite an ornament in my house.”

“Ornament?”

“Oh, indeed,” his chestnut eyes lit with lascivious intent. “I plan to use all of your talents, Madam Gilbere.”

“I am no longer Madam Gilbere,” she reminded him.

“Yes, I suppose not. And you have the fabulously long name no one can remember.”

“Call me any of my names, sir. It doesn’t matter to me which one.”

“Your husband called you Antoinette, is that not right?”

“He did, sir.”

“Then I shall call you the same.”

She nodded. Considering the circumstances, she was as compliant as she could be. Knowing this man’s character, she was wise not to rile, to spit out the venom she was feeling in her heart. Truthfully, and despite the man’s miserable nature, she bore no honest ill-will for him, for he’d done nothing to her in their brief association. Her animosity was almost completely toward her former husband—and the court that had condemned her. Fate did take ugly turns. She’d have to live through this one with her wit and charm. If it was possible to charm Sir Marcus Roger, she’d do it.