Page 15 of Papa's Rules
“Y-yes, Papa,” she finally said on a whisper. “I-I have never seen anything so grand in my entire life. Is this really meant to be my room?”
His heart soared with happiness to see her astonishment at his creation. “Yes,” he said. “Yours and yours alone.”
“At Talcott House, I shared a room, with Hyacinth, Daisy and Rosie.”
“Did all of the other girls at Talcott House have flower names? Cammie is not a flower,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Miss Wickersham gave everyone a new name when they came to live with her at Talcott House. She said we were her little blossoms. And,” she added with a giggle, clearly pleased at having a surprise for him, “my name is Camellia, but everyone calls me Cammie, but that’s a flower too.”
“So it is.” He smiled down at her, his pleasure in her company increasing every moment.
Alexander was curious about what had brought his little Cammie to live at Talcott House, but he was not so sure he wished to ask at this time. Miss Wickersham had told him a small amount, that her brother had been about to sell Cammie off as a servant girl to a disreputable household. He shivered at the idea of anyone else laying claim to his little treasure, and fierce anger coursed through his veins at the thought of her working her fingers to the bone day after day. Much as Miss Wickersham annoyed him with her brusque manner and humorless ways, he had to acknowledge the importance of her mission. A mission which had brought sweet Cammie to him.
“I am glad the room pleases you, Cammie,” he said, but then noticed that she seemed confused about something. “Is everything to your liking, Cammie girl? You look upset.”
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and his cock stirred in his trousers imagining those same lips wrapped around his hard member, but he forced those thoughts away. His first priority was to assure his Cammie’s comfort and happiness.
“I-I thought that m-married people...well, Rosie said that...and bossy Garland too...they all said that well, that little girls and papas shared a b-bed, and I thought you said something similar downstairs, but perhaps I misheard you.” Having said what was on her mind, Cammie turned from him and buried her face in her small hands, an adorable flush visible on the back of her neck.
Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, lowering her hands so they could look at each other.
“That is true,” he said, “and I am looking forward to sharing my bed with you tonight, after we are married.” He felt her quiver in his hands and pulled her to him, stroking his palm down the length of her back and forcing himself to stop before continuing down to cup the curves of her bottom. “In my bed, you will be my wife, a grown up lady. Lady Cavendish. But here, in your room, is where you will be my little girl, my sweet Cammie. Does that make sense to you?”
He held his breath while she considered his words. “I-I think it does,” she said. “I am to be your little girl, but also your wife.” She blushed again, but this time she did not turn away, so Alexander felt he was making some progress.
“Exactly,” he said. “This room is yours where you can play and keep your little girl things.” He led her to a door along the wall. “In here,” he opened the door to display a dressing area filled with dresses of all description, some more fitting for little Cammie and others for Lady Cavendish. She gasped and gaped at the collection of fabrics and laces.
“Are these all for me?” she asked, astonished.
* * *
Cammie wondered if she might faint dead away. An entire room filled with clothes and shoes, hats, capes, and other things she could not even identify. Miss Wickersham had certainly done her best to outfit her little charges, and Cammie had been grateful for two or three dresses which were laundered on a regular basis. Sometimes, late at night, she had memories of her time before arriving at Miss Wickersham’s and how she wore an old dress that was torn and dirty and how people looked right through her as though she did not exist, or if they did look at her, they turned their heads and glanced the other way. Only Miss Wickersham had seen fit to offer her clean clothes and treat her with dignity.
And now, Miss Wickersham had found her a papa who wanted to treat her like a princess. His princess. There really was no other way to describe it. She wondered if royalty had as many clothes as she saw hanging about.
A small fabric covered stool stood in the center of the room. “What is that for, Papa?” she asked.
With an over-exaggerated bow, he extended his hand to her. “Step this way and find out, my lady.”
She giggled and placed her hand in his. Oh, how she loved the feel of his strong fingers around hers. He led her over and helped her to step up on the stool. “This,” he said, “is where you will stand while I assist you in dressing for the day.”
Cammie gasped. “Y-you will assist me in dressing? Is that not a servant’s job?”
“That is true, my little treasure, but it is my pleasure and my duty to take care of you, to take care of all your needs and that includes helping you dress.”
“W-will I not have a maid for such things?”
“On those rare occasions when I cannot attend to my responsibilities as your papa, one of the house maids will take over those duties, but only on a temporary basis. You, my dear sweet Cammie, are mine and I shall shower you with all of the love and attention you have ever wanted. And that I have always wanted to shower upon my own little bride.”
Cammie’s head spun with the notion of her papa dressing and undressing her every day, assisting her with her clothing. A soft giggle escaped her lips.
“What is so funny, Cammie?” Papa asked, a smile on his face.
“Will you also style my hair, Papa?”
“Oh, you are a sassy one, are you not?” Papa gave her hair a playful tug. “I might surprise you with my skills.”
Cammie giggled again and peeked up at her papa from beneath her lashes. He was certainly a handsome man and that funny tingly feeling had returned. Or perhaps it had never left. Standing on the stool, she wiggled a little bit from side to side.
