Inebriated Epiphany

Patrick Henry cursed for the thousandth time as he stormed out of his manor, a stream of muttered unpleasantries wafting behind him. "Damned father of mine. Married. Married! And to a prude of a woman no less!"

It had been three months since the previous Earl of Wilshire had passed and left his sole heir, Patrick, with a will stating his desire that the Henry family join hands with the Merills. A man who lived for the pleasantries in life, Patrick had never intended to return home, much less settle down. He was only twenty-eight for gods sake!

Having reached the stables, he stopped his blind rampage at the entrance and inhaled the earthy scent of hay and horse. One stallion poked his head out over his stable door and looked inquiringly at Patrick with a large chocolate eye. "Yes well, beauty she may be but it doesn't make a difference if she won't even try to enjoy our nights together!" The stallion hrmph'ed in reply and ducked his head back and down to grab a mouthful of fresh hay while the man continued his ranting.

"Just lies there! Limp as a rag! Taunting me with those...those...beautifully, soft...lumps of fat!" He refused to admit that her appearance enraptured him, a weakness of men that he constantly found himself submitting to. Chewing contentedly, Jasper, Patrick's prized horse, seemed rather used to his master visiting at odd times as of late and not even bothering to take him out for a ride either. Just coming and going, a small storm disturbing the peace of his simple life.

Leaning against Jasper's stable, he slid down the smooth wood pillar and onto the dusty ground. "No, Jasper. It's not my fault. I'm just trying to perform my duty as a man! You know her parents are coming to visit soon and she's not even pregnant yet!...Don't look at me like that."

As his new wife continually rejected him, he felt the bitter stab of guilt each time his frustration overcame his rationality. As debauched as he was, he was still a gentleman at heart and never meant to bring any harm to the woman. Still. It wasn't his fault. It just wasn't...Was it?

A soft huff of warm breath blew down at him and soon lips followed as Jasper began to nibble away at the top of his head. "Stop that! Stop that Jasper! Can't you see I'm trying to think here? I have to find out how to woo this witch, this game of hers cannot continue."

Swatting away the over-friendly beast, he stood and started to pace the floor, mumbling to himself. Not even caring that his pristine appearance was both wrinkled and dusty as well, hair disheveled from Jasper's loving touch with bits of hay sticking out here and there. "Girl treats me like the plague. Forever on the lookout as if I were trying to kill her! Wouldn't want to surprise her in her sleep either..." Who knew what sort of gossip the servants would spread?

An idea started to slowly dawn on him and a look of enlightenment changed to that of a sly grin. "Yes. Yes! Jasper, I daresay I am a genius for this plan is bound to work...it's practically fool proof!"

Or so he hoped.

* * * * *

Esther Merill knew as well as any other that she had literally been sold as a business transaction. None would admit to it but all insisted that she was getting the better end of the bargain. Her family had only recently come to its wealth, but lack of experience had ended with them quickly squandering what little of a fortune they had made much sooner than anticipated.

Everyone in the town of Wilshire knew that the old Earl had had his eye on Merill lands for years now, though it wasn't until their sudden downturn that they had finally appealed to him for help. Unfortunately, the bastard dropped dead before he could be of any help...or so she had thought. It wasn't until later when the deal had already been made that she found out about her arranged marriage.

Many of her friends had already wed and she was the last to tread down the accursed path. At the age of nineteen she went rebelliously and most unhappily, prior knowledge of how the others had fared in their marriages warned her of how her own was bound to turn out. Tending to the husband's needs, to the house, and to the children...all of her friends now seemed tired and worn, as if their youth had been drained from them as they slaved their days away. A fate that she refused to resign herself to.

It had been two days now since he had last tried to bed her, a shudder of revulsion passed through her at the memory. She had stayed obstinate from the day she stepped foot into the luxurious household. Obeying and fulfilling his commands by doing as little as she possibly could.

She made sure that he never saw her dressed improperly in the light, opting to only undress for him in the dark. Never uttering a sound as he explored her body, willing herself to stay as still and quiet as possible. Then scrubbing herself raw once the deed was done, making sure to carefully bathe herself in the regions that he had soiled.

It was as if he was marking her, claiming her for his own. Well he can have my body, but he shan't have my devotion...That thought was her motivational mantra lately.

* * * * *

There was nothing for her to do around the manor as the servants took care of everything. They cooked and cleaned and so she had taken up sewing to keep herself preoccupied. The life of a married woman was quite different than she had imagined...

Seated in her usual spot in the drawing room, the heavy oak door swung open with a groaning creak and a handsome man stepped quietly in. She continued to work steadily, needle piercing cloth as it swam slowly but surely up and down, red string following it to form stitch after stitch.

He glanced steadily at her for a moment before making his way to the sideboard and uncorked an ornate glass bottle filled with light amber liquid. Esther's hand twitched irritably at the sound of the liquor sloshing into crystal glasses and she scowled quietly into her work as she picked out her latest crooked stitch. Patrick sauntered over lazily and seated himself languorously in a nearby armchair, propping his feet up on the window seat she was seated on.

A few silent moments passed as he sipped from his glass. He had placed the other on the windowsill besides her, though it sat ignored and untouched. With each passing second Esther's irritation grew. Though she kept her emotions well hidden, her true feelings could be seen through her unsteady stitches. Finally, frustrated, she put down her work and glared over at him before speaking slowly. "How may I help you my lord?"

Patrick didn't even look at her, seemingly too focused on the swirling of his glass. Holding it up to the light, he peered through it as if trying to see her through the haze of golden yellow. "How are you feeling today, Esther?" he asked, voice as smooth as honey.

She had fully expected some sort of nastiness from him, brazen innuendos, baiting. But instead he was inquiring on her health? She quivered at those particular words, the hidden meaning behind them obvious as images of dark nights flashed past her eyes. Carefully and with credible calm, she replied, "I am quite all right, my lord."

A short pause as he tilted back his glass.

"A pity," Henry said, his voice still smooth. Her eyes met his, and she saw irony in his, and something else she didn't understand. "Would you like some?" Another swirl of his glass and a tilt of his chin to the drink next to her easily showed what he was offering her. She looked uncertainly over at the glass and hesitated, confusion evident on her features as her mind tried to encompass this new version of Patrick Henry that she had not known of before. "Do you enjoy brandy, Esther? Perhaps you would prefer something else?"

"N-no, this is fine." She raised her glass and sipped. The liquid burned down her throat and landed squarely in her empty stomach, warming her from the inside.

"What are you sewing there, my dear?" Although his question was pointed towards the work that lay forgotten in her lap, his eyes never left her face. Captured by his forceful gaze, Esther found herself blushing under his scrutiny. She suddenly realized that she'd been silent for too long, mesmerized by this charming figure that was trying to pass himself off as her husband.

Fumbling and flustered, she pricked herself on the needle while trying to show him her progress. Hand jerking back in surprise, she glanced down and watched as a drop of blood slowly welled to the surface and formed a perfect crimson droplet on the tip of her finger.

What happened next left her dumbfounded.

As that brief flicker of pain and surprise flashed past her face, Patrick had leapt to his feet and was next to her in a single bound. He held her hand gently in his as if she had been mortally wounded. Concern was etched across his features as he asked, "Are you all right?"

He was standing so close, she could feel the warmth of his body brushing tantalizingly close. Leaning over slightly to better examine her finger, she could practically feel his warm breath against her. Suddenly, she blurted out, "Yes! I'm...I'm fine!" even as she drew away from him. Practically stammering, she was so mortified at her own behavior she wanted to scream and cry at the same time.

Henry smiled down at her, a painful smile. His eyes drank in her white shoulders and he wanted more than anything to touch her, caress her, ease his hands over her shoulders and downwards to cup her full breasts. He caught himself and looked away, letting go of her hand as his own fell limply to his side. His back was to her now and she could see the slight stiffening in his shoulders as he responded gruffly, "Of course. My apologies."

Awkward silence stretched out uncomfortably before she finally broke it with a tentative, "My lord? May I inquire as to your visit?" It was rare that he bothered to seek her out during the day, meeting only when necessary which was usually over the dinner table or in their rooms.

As if prodded from his thoughts, he straightened and righted his toppled glass, murmuring to himself, "Hm, I'll have to let Bridget know to tidy later." Striding to the sideboard and back, his long legs only required a few steps as he returned to his earlier position in his seat with glass refilled. One leg crossed over the other, he drank long and deep before responding. "I wanted to see if you would like to play a game of cards."

Esther sipped from her own glass, the heady drink was half gone already. Perhaps that was why she agreed? "Oh. That sounds lovely." As she set her sewing aside, he handed her a pack of cards. "Shuffle and deal the cards, my dear," Henry said, "and I shall get us some more brandy." At least he wasn't standing over her to watch her mangle the deck of cards. By the time he set the brandy snifter at her elbow, she had managed to deal the correct number of cards. Henry picked up his cards and sorted them.

Feeling oddly nervous, fidgety rather, she drank from her glass in an attempt to calm herself before beginning to sort her own cards, staring at them stupidly while half listening to Henry. "I suppose I became quite the successful gambler in the army. There were stretches of inactivity, you know, not much for the officers to do after drilling the men. Many times we didn't play for money, which was probably just as well, as I remember both winning and losing fortunes..."

* * * * *

Their game of cards continued and Henry found himself a good deal impressed with Esther's skills, but she was quickly losing her edge. His wife, he saw with gleaming eyes, was becoming quite drunk. "More brandy?" Esther shook her muddled head and selected a card, determined to continue the game as best she could.

At the close of the game, Henry said lightly as he tallied the score, "Pity we aren't playing for money. You are in a dreadful situation, Esther." He dropped the pencil and leaned back in his chair. "A long day."

"Yes," Esther agreed, toying with the eight of spades.

"I find myself quite fatigued."

Her mind sharpened with miraculous suddenness. "I too," she said quickly.

"You held excellent cards, my dear." She shrugged but was forced to agree.

"Shall we go upstairs now, Esther?" He watched a myriad of expressions cross her face. The expression that remained was one of wariness.

"What will you do?"

"I think I'd like a bath," he said calmly.

"Yes, I do too!"

"Pity, I don't think there's enough room for the both of us." She stared at him, befuddled.

He said nothing more but instead rose and stretched. She found her eyes automatically drawn to him. He was a magnificent specimen, and of course he knew it. Esther's eyes dropped bashfully down to her hands, but she still saw him with blinding clarity. In her mind's eye, she saw him striding out of the bath, water dripping down his muscular body in tiny rivulets. She gulped.

"Will you visit me?" she asked quietly.

That brought him up short, and he blinked. A direct assault, he thought, smiling to himself. Perhaps the brandy was working far better than he could have hoped for, and he congratulated himself silently once again for his brilliant idea. "I shall think about it, Esther," he said simply. He offered her a brief nod and took himself out of the room. A long sigh escaped his lips as the doors closed behind him. His body was throbbing with lust, and he feared that he would ravish her right on the drawing-room carpet if he remained.

Esther stared at the scattered cards on the table. Her mind felt sluggish and quite at ease. Her body felt languid. She rose, and listlessly made her way upstairs.

Bridget had her bath prepared, and steaming, scented heat reached Esther's nose as she came into her bed-chamber. "His lordship told me you'd want a bath, my lady," Bridget said matter-of-factly.

"How kind of him," Esther said vaguely. It didn't take Bridget long to realize that her mistress was tipsy. She smiled, thinking that her ladyship was finally going to enjoy herself this night. Bridget was starting to understand the gleam in the earl's eyes when he had given her instructions. She frowned a bit, seeing that Esther was on the brink of falling asleep in the bathtub. "My lady," she said softly, gently shaking her mistress' shoulder.

"Have I become a prune yet?" Esther said, grinning lopsidedly up at her maid.

"Very nearly. Come now, let me dry you off." Esther was a pliant creature under the guidance of Bridget's steady hands. While Bridget gently brushed out the wet tangles in Esther's hair, Esther giggled at her reflection. "I lost at cards."

"No wonder," Bridget patiently replied, her tone lightly laced with humor.

"I didn't play as I usually play," Esther continued, frowning down at her bare toes.

"Probably not, my lady," said Bridget. "Come, let me help you into bed."

Esther was on the point of climbing into her bed when she stopped and spun about. "I'm hungry." The maid sent her eyes heavenward. Taking care of her drunken mistress was far too similar to dealing with a child. "Yes," Esther continued thoughtfully, her greed growing, "I think I'll visit the kitchen. Surely Cook has left something to nibble on."

Bridget sent an agonized look toward the door connecting to the adjoining room. "If you wish, my lady, I can have something sent up to you," she volunteered helpfully.

"No," Esther announced, searching for her slippers, "I wish to forage for my own food." She stopped in her search to momentarily giggle at herself. "Forage," she said matter-of-factly before giggling some more.

To Bridget's utter relief, there came a light knock on the connecting door. She rushed to open it, saying when she saw the earl, "Her ladyship is hungry."

Patrick grinned over at his wife, who was trying determinedly to put her right slipper on her left foot. Nodding a dismissal to Bridget, he said, "I shall see to her." It wasn't until the bedchamber door had closed that he spoke once again. "So, I hear that you're hungry, my dear?"

"Why won't this stupid slipper do what it's supposed to do?" He watched in amusement as she sat on the floor, foot sticking out and still trying to fit the obstinate slipper onto the wrong foot. "There!" she cried triumphantly, then tilted her head to examine it more thoroughly, brows knitting in slight confusion. "But it looks so very odd. My toes seem to be pointing in the wrong direction..."

He wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He was breathing too hard to do so. Her nightgown was spread about her and her glorious hair hung loose down her back in soft waves of curls. He looked at the slender ankle and the foot with its awkward toes before dropping down onto the floor in front of her. "Here, let me help you."

She looked up at him and responded solemnly, "Thank you."

Instead of placing the slipper where it belonged, he removed it completely and tossed it over his shoulder. Picking up her foot he kissed the tip of each toe. She stared at him for a moment, completely befuddled, then started to giggle. Wiggling her toes in his face she started to giggle even harder.

Patrick bit her little toe.

Esther fell back, hugging her sides as she burst into merry laughter. Patrick stared at her for a moment and found himself grinning. After all, he was the one who had encouraged her to down the damned brandy. The grin quirked up further, mischief dancing in his eyes as his fingers began slowly sliding up her leg.

"That tickles!" she cried and tried to pull her leg away from him. He held her leg firmly despite her squeals and with his other hand pushed up her nightgown. A sudden view, a very close view, of two long white legs greeted him. He saw slender ankles and calves, he saw beautiful thighs, and Lord, even her knees were lovely.

Suddenly Esther, still in the throes of drunken giggles, lifted her other leg and thrust her foot into his chest. Caught off guard, he landed on his rear, still holding her ankle. He pulled her towards him, grabbing her other ankle in the process. As she found herself tugged closer, her nightgown rose higher. Holding her legs apart, Patrick enjoyed her wriggling as well as the ever-increasing view. By the time her nightgown was bunched about her waist, he felt himself perilously close to the edge of his control. Swallowing, he tried to tear his eyes away and failed. "Esther," he said with a gulp, voice husky with desire.

She tried to sit up and he released her ankles. Balancing herself on her elbows, she stared at him owlishly, legs widespread, nightgown tangled around her hips. "Are you ticklish?" she demanded, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"I...uh, well-" He was cut off as Esther lurched unsteadily up to her knees and dived towards him, smashing him onto his back. Laughing down at his stunned face, her fingers flew towards his ribs before he could completely comprehend the situation. It took her mere seconds to find his most vulnerable spots and answer her own question. Yes, Patrick was indeed very ticklish. Laughter burst forth from his lungs, almost easing his desire momentarily.

When he finally managed to catch her hands, holding them as far away from himself as possible, he almost wished he hadn't. Panting as he gasped to catch his breath, he was painfully aware of how she was sprawled between his spread legs. Of how she was sprawled between his spread legs while naked up to her waist. Naked and pressing against his own bare skin due to his own dressing gown having parted in their scramble.

He looked up into her laughing face and gently cupped his hands on either side of her face. Bringing her face closer to his he said softly, "Esther, kiss me." Moving his hands to the back of her head and pressing down slightly, he waited expectantly for a response. He was fully prepared for outright denial such as those of previous nights, yet he couldn't help hoping against hope that this recent display would lead to other...fruitful events.