He was shocked out of slumber by an explosion just to the right of his head. Moving by instinct alone, he threw himself out of the chair and landed with a hard thump against the wooden floor as the other occupant in the room let out a wailing scream. He rose quickly and rushed towards the chaise. Stopping abruptly and throwing out his arms he tempered his voice into a soothing accent, "Miss Benning are you alright? Miss Benning?" He took a cautious step closer and then another. Her eyes were wide with fright and confusion and she brandished the silver flask over her head in poise to hurl it towards him.
He saw a flicker of recognition pass over her before she spoke, "Mr. Donal?" Relaxing he dropped his arms as the corner of his mouth lifted, "Aye my lady." Her brows knit together and he could see her relax, but she did not remove the flask. "What in the bloody..." Before she could finish, her body rolled over the side of the chaise, both arms grasping for an item on the floor. Having barely found it, she promptly got sick. Not knowing the exact reaction required in such a circumstance, Ewan stood still and waited. Rolling slowly back against the chaise she drew a handkerchief across her mouth and seemed to forget he was there. At this time the door to the parlor flew open and a half-dressed butler rushed through exclaiming in French. Miss Benning turned her head just enough to see the figures standing before her and made a valiant attempt to focus on the one speaking. She responded to the butler's exclamations in his same tongue which seemed to placate him. He walked to the chaise, lifted the pot, gave Ewan a look of irritation then quit the room.
She settled back on the chaise again seeming to dissolve into herself and Ewan was likewise about to return to his own over turned settlement when she spoke, "Oh! The room is being exceedingly unkind to my eyes, for it dances a country jig round and round and refuses to submit." Ewan laughed softly, "I do believe you are soused my lady." "Posh." She paused, cleared her throat and continued in a refined French accent, "Ma Cherie, if you can talk and understand yourself you are not drunk." Ewan openly laughed at the revelation. "I see. I bit of Miss Benning's wisdom." She smiled in reflection, "Mrs. Benning's". "Your Mother was French?" The surprise was evident in his voice and her smile widened. "Yes, thoroughly, French."
"Mr. Donal, can you hand me the flask?" He bent down and plucked the object from the floor but did not offer it to her. "I think you have had enough and, since I am guessing, the laudanum bottle was the object you so accurately aimed at my head, might I suggest some tea?" A giggle escaped her, "Oh! dear, did I hit you? You must forgive me Mr. Donal I had no idea you were in the room." Smiling he knelt down so her face was fully lit by the candle, "A near miss my lady, and from the wail you released upon my clumsy attempt at saving my skin from the assault, I gathered you were as surprised as I." She giggled again and he felt his chest tighten, "Tea?" She stared at him for a long moment, unconsciously biting her lower lip, which exponentially increased the tightening he was already experiencing in his chest. "Coffee?" said she to herself. His brows rose. She released her lower lip and smiled brightly, "That will do, whiskey goes with coffee."
~
He was happy to find her still conscious when he returned. Placing the cup in her hands, he pulled a chair respectably close to the chaise and situated himself thereon as she softly blew over the liquid. "What language did you speak over me while the apothecary performed his duty today?" He met her eyes, "Gaelic." Her chin lifted slightly, "And what were the words?" He could not disclose to her the truth of what he had said. He was certain she would think him a sodden fool at best, at worst it would be met with distaste, "A prayer." One thin brow rose but neither made the effort of speech.
She tilted the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. Her nose curled up and she thrust the cup towards him in indignation. "There is no whiskey in this coffee." He smiled but made no move towards the flask, "You ask me to aid and abet the debauchery of a lady of gentle birth?" The corner of her mouth rose slightly, "What is life without a little debauchery now and then?" He lifted a shoulder, let it fall, and poured a tot of whiskey in her cup, "I suppose, since you did me the honor of taking my maidenhood at the ball, I am honor bound to return the favor now."
There was silence as she took several small sips from the cup. "I am sorry to disappoint Mr. Donal, but I cannot afford you that particular honor in this present circumstance." He was thoroughly intrigued, "For shame Miss Benning I am shocked." She giggled again supplying him the fortitude to continue. "You deprive me of the pleasure of debauchery and fulfillment of a duty to my own honor." He grasped his chest in feigned mortification eliciting a soft laugh from the chaise. "Indeed sir, I must beg forgiveness for the loss of debauchery but may afford you the hope of pleasure for assuredly the first time was not pleasurable and as for your honor, you more than fulfilled any obligation you may bestow on me, with your assistance on this day."
Her smile dropped as she saw his face grow serious. "I beg you not to ask so much of my honor again my lady." Believing it a rebuke, she dropped her eyes to the floor and sipped her refreshment in silence for several moments before speaking, "I do ask your forgiveness. It was a gross abuse of your friendship with Sir William, and certainly reflects the superiority in your character and the flaws in mine." He had to stop himself from reaching for her, "You misunderstand." He saw the light briefly illuminate the wetness in her eyes as they rose to meet his. "How could any honorable man be expected to do what I did today, and bear it with no scar?" Her eyes dropped again. "Miss Benning." He paused but she kept her countenance. "Miss Benning." She stayed as she was and he rose violently from the chair.
He paced back and forth in front of the infernal chaise for several minutes waiting for some acknowledgment from her, but she remained still as stone. With purpose, he took two strides towards the chaise, collapsed onto his knees and took her hands in his, "Damn it Ace. You were in pain, more pain than I have ever seen and I, I was tasked with ensuring that you suffered every breath of it. These hands, these arms forced it upon you as you clawed and screamed for release." He paused to draw a deep breath. Tears spilled over her cheeks and he exhaled audibly. "I would take up the task every day of my life if you asked, but I beg you, take heed of the feelings of those around you so it may never be asked of me again." He lifted his hand towards her cheek, she turned away, "I am tired, goodnight Mr. Donal."
The remainder of the night into the next day she could receive no peace, not from sleep nor family nor food nor drink, she cried and she sat in contemplation, but she did not speak. The apothecary came and went. William came and went. Grant came and went but she kept only her own company. The apothecary came again that evening and announced she could be removed to her own bedchamber. She took no notice of Ewan, when he approached the chaise, nor when he lifted her effortlessly into his arms or sat her gently atop her own bed. Not even when he brushed her cheek softly and spoke to her in Gaelic before quitting her room.
YOU ARE READING
Sheffield
Historical FictionMiss Benning is very rich but very unconventional and so is shunned by London society. Mr. Donal is about to lose his family's home to an Uncle he doesn't know. Set in early 1800s England it is a story of love, loss, regret and redemption. My nod...
