Prompt table fic #12
Hey-ho. Just a short piece this time, written somewhat late last night and I'm still not sure if it makes any sense. I hope it does. Oh well, doubtless someone will tell me if it doesn't...
Title: “A Woman’s Duty”
Rating: 15
Pairings: La Marquesa/(…well, you’ll see.)
Summary: Helena performs her duties well.
Author’s Notes: For the look_sharpe prompts table; Prompt #19 “Chosen Men”.
“Clouds filled with stars cover your skies
And I hope it rains
You’re the perfect lullaby
What kinda dream is this?
You could be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare
Either way I, don’t wanna wake up from you
Sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare
Somebody pinch me, your love’s too good to be true…” - ‘Sweet Dreams’, Beyoncé.
-------
Dawn was breaking on the fortress town of Ciudad Rodrigo and the first pale washes of light filtered through the window into the bedchamber of La Marquesa de Casares el Grande y Melida Sadaba, touching the bed in which she lay and the sleeping head on the pillow next to her. Helena smiled. She knew well the effect the slowly strengthening light would have on her looks; the sun would lend a tone of warmth to her pale skin, her golden tresses would glow and the soft shine of her eyes would play in contrast to the dull red of her smiling lips. She knew because she’d had the image described to her in great detail many times before, in varying degrees of poeticness, by the men that were chosen to enjoy her favours, and she was careful to replicate the illusion of heavenly beauty every time. Her current target was not yet awake to appreciate the sight, but he would be soon enough; she would wake him to make sure. It was all an act; a carefully calculated contribution to the ongoing campaign against the enemies of France, and she performed her duties so very well.
The smile lingered as she gently stroked her bedfellow’s short tawny-brown hair and he murmured in somnolent appreciation. This one liked to be stroked, she noted for future reference; chiefly behind the ears or across his shoulders or back, rather like a large cat. In fact asleep he reminded her very much of a tabby cat that slept curled up in its contentment; and in fact his right foot, she had also noted with some amusement, twitched involuntarily much as a cat would twitch the very end of its tail. All for duty... She had married her husband, the Marquis, under orders - no matter how distasteful that had been, and still continued to be - she utilised her position to her full advantage. It was partially thanks to her efforts that the English were now in retreat, unsupported by the Spanish army; a few well-placed words whispered in Luis’ ear were all it had taken. It was often ludicrously simple to achieve what she wanted, whether it be to influence proceedings or to gain information that could not be obtained by traditional means. Men were essentially all the same, though there might be differences in their morals, their values and their abilities, and one way or another they could all be manipulated. Usually it was left to her own discretion as to which victims she chose and to what methods she employed (A position envied by the Emperor’s most trusted agents), but this one… This one she had been instructed by the Emperor himself, no less, to be given her full attention. Helena had laughed when she had received her orders, as she would not have needed any prompting as to her course of action; General Sir Arthur Wellesley, Supreme Commander of His Britannic Majesty’s Forces in the Peninsula, deserved no less than her fullest attention, and was a task she had relished undertaking.
Sir Arthur bore a reputation as something of a ‘cold fish’ amongst the French marshals - he did not, after all, keep a mistress - but on their first meeting Helena had been glad to see that they were if fact mistaken; for what her male compatriots had taken for a coolness in passion was in fact discretion, and she found the general to be charming and an outrageous flirt (Innocent flirtation, she had been happy to note; Sir Arthur knew how to play his game very well). A little further questioning here and there amongst the Staff officers made it clear that the general did possess a noticeable weakness when it came to the fairer sex; that a ‘pretty face’ quite often inspired rarely perceived tender feelings and a somewhat parental affection. From this she concluded that the best way to catch a man who fell in love too easily was to make him a lover, and this is what she did. Last night she had organised a soirée for the gallant retreating English troops as her hunting ground, and she had espied her prey early in the evening surrounded by a gaggle of young redcoated officers - the Beau’s notorious ‘family’. She had stayed distant, but close enough to make eye contact through the ever-milling crush; her manner aloof and her gaze challenging. He had seen her, sought her out with his eyes again and again throughout the evening, understanding her intentions perfectly, and when she’d left the ballroom at a half past eleven he had followed, escaping his now quite intoxicated minders, and meeting her just as she called for her carriage. She had smiled and enquired whether he was leaving already; he had bowed and replied that yes, alas, his duty called him away. She had asked then whether he intended to walk, would not hear of the hero of Talavera walking and insisted that he share her carriage as far as Headquarters.
They did not, needless to say, go to the army Headquarters but to her husband’s house and the bedchamber in which they now lay.
Unfortunately the night had proved somewhat disappointing. She had no complaint regarding Sir Arthur himself, though; far from it. The general was a handsome man in his forties - slender, athletic and not lacking vigour in his mental or physical capacities - no, her disappointment was discovering how little General Wellesley trusted or confided in others. It was normal for even the most reticent of men to begin spilling their secrets with minimal encouragement after love-making, as if by way of reasoning physical intimacy bred verbal intimacy also; but it seemed that Wellesley's attitude to secrecy went far beyong the usual principles of a commander and were deeply ingrained in his unconsciousness. He would talk - how he would talk! - but only of light and neutral subjects, hardly any of military interest and practically nothing about himself; ergo, not what she wanted to hear. Arthur’s mind, his very soul, was closed. She sensed an inner coldness that turned away deep intimacy; it was an annoyance, a set-back in her campaign, yet at the same time intriguing from a professional point of view.
Reflecting back on the events of the previous night it could be said that she had enjoyed herself. She had endured some truly loathly and uninspiring men in the course of her duty (her husband not the least of them), but in the field of love-making Sir Arthur had not rated badly in her opinion. She mused on the subject a while. The general would make a fascinating lover were she at liberty or in the least inclined to keep one. He would love her dearly, but not slavishly, would provide interesting or engaging conversation, would not be an embarrassment to her in public and be a considerate companion in bed - not to mention the soul of discretion as well, which with a husband like Luis was a quality in a man worth his weight in gold. Still she toyed with the idea a few moments more, lingering on various aspects of such a relationship before pushing it to one side and returning to the business in hand. It was time that Sir Arthur woke to his vision of angelic beauty…
Title: “A Woman’s Duty”
Rating: 15
Pairings: La Marquesa/(…well, you’ll see.)
Summary: Helena performs her duties well.
Author’s Notes: For the look_sharpe prompts table; Prompt #19 “Chosen Men”.
“Clouds filled with stars cover your skies
And I hope it rains
You’re the perfect lullaby
What kinda dream is this?
You could be a sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare
Either way I, don’t wanna wake up from you
Sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare
Somebody pinch me, your love’s too good to be true…” - ‘Sweet Dreams’, Beyoncé.
-------
Dawn was breaking on the fortress town of Ciudad Rodrigo and the first pale washes of light filtered through the window into the bedchamber of La Marquesa de Casares el Grande y Melida Sadaba, touching the bed in which she lay and the sleeping head on the pillow next to her. Helena smiled. She knew well the effect the slowly strengthening light would have on her looks; the sun would lend a tone of warmth to her pale skin, her golden tresses would glow and the soft shine of her eyes would play in contrast to the dull red of her smiling lips. She knew because she’d had the image described to her in great detail many times before, in varying degrees of poeticness, by the men that were chosen to enjoy her favours, and she was careful to replicate the illusion of heavenly beauty every time. Her current target was not yet awake to appreciate the sight, but he would be soon enough; she would wake him to make sure. It was all an act; a carefully calculated contribution to the ongoing campaign against the enemies of France, and she performed her duties so very well.
The smile lingered as she gently stroked her bedfellow’s short tawny-brown hair and he murmured in somnolent appreciation. This one liked to be stroked, she noted for future reference; chiefly behind the ears or across his shoulders or back, rather like a large cat. In fact asleep he reminded her very much of a tabby cat that slept curled up in its contentment; and in fact his right foot, she had also noted with some amusement, twitched involuntarily much as a cat would twitch the very end of its tail. All for duty... She had married her husband, the Marquis, under orders - no matter how distasteful that had been, and still continued to be - she utilised her position to her full advantage. It was partially thanks to her efforts that the English were now in retreat, unsupported by the Spanish army; a few well-placed words whispered in Luis’ ear were all it had taken. It was often ludicrously simple to achieve what she wanted, whether it be to influence proceedings or to gain information that could not be obtained by traditional means. Men were essentially all the same, though there might be differences in their morals, their values and their abilities, and one way or another they could all be manipulated. Usually it was left to her own discretion as to which victims she chose and to what methods she employed (A position envied by the Emperor’s most trusted agents), but this one… This one she had been instructed by the Emperor himself, no less, to be given her full attention. Helena had laughed when she had received her orders, as she would not have needed any prompting as to her course of action; General Sir Arthur Wellesley, Supreme Commander of His Britannic Majesty’s Forces in the Peninsula, deserved no less than her fullest attention, and was a task she had relished undertaking.
Sir Arthur bore a reputation as something of a ‘cold fish’ amongst the French marshals - he did not, after all, keep a mistress - but on their first meeting Helena had been glad to see that they were if fact mistaken; for what her male compatriots had taken for a coolness in passion was in fact discretion, and she found the general to be charming and an outrageous flirt (Innocent flirtation, she had been happy to note; Sir Arthur knew how to play his game very well). A little further questioning here and there amongst the Staff officers made it clear that the general did possess a noticeable weakness when it came to the fairer sex; that a ‘pretty face’ quite often inspired rarely perceived tender feelings and a somewhat parental affection. From this she concluded that the best way to catch a man who fell in love too easily was to make him a lover, and this is what she did. Last night she had organised a soirée for the gallant retreating English troops as her hunting ground, and she had espied her prey early in the evening surrounded by a gaggle of young redcoated officers - the Beau’s notorious ‘family’. She had stayed distant, but close enough to make eye contact through the ever-milling crush; her manner aloof and her gaze challenging. He had seen her, sought her out with his eyes again and again throughout the evening, understanding her intentions perfectly, and when she’d left the ballroom at a half past eleven he had followed, escaping his now quite intoxicated minders, and meeting her just as she called for her carriage. She had smiled and enquired whether he was leaving already; he had bowed and replied that yes, alas, his duty called him away. She had asked then whether he intended to walk, would not hear of the hero of Talavera walking and insisted that he share her carriage as far as Headquarters.
They did not, needless to say, go to the army Headquarters but to her husband’s house and the bedchamber in which they now lay.
Unfortunately the night had proved somewhat disappointing. She had no complaint regarding Sir Arthur himself, though; far from it. The general was a handsome man in his forties - slender, athletic and not lacking vigour in his mental or physical capacities - no, her disappointment was discovering how little General Wellesley trusted or confided in others. It was normal for even the most reticent of men to begin spilling their secrets with minimal encouragement after love-making, as if by way of reasoning physical intimacy bred verbal intimacy also; but it seemed that Wellesley's attitude to secrecy went far beyong the usual principles of a commander and were deeply ingrained in his unconsciousness. He would talk - how he would talk! - but only of light and neutral subjects, hardly any of military interest and practically nothing about himself; ergo, not what she wanted to hear. Arthur’s mind, his very soul, was closed. She sensed an inner coldness that turned away deep intimacy; it was an annoyance, a set-back in her campaign, yet at the same time intriguing from a professional point of view.
Reflecting back on the events of the previous night it could be said that she had enjoyed herself. She had endured some truly loathly and uninspiring men in the course of her duty (her husband not the least of them), but in the field of love-making Sir Arthur had not rated badly in her opinion. She mused on the subject a while. The general would make a fascinating lover were she at liberty or in the least inclined to keep one. He would love her dearly, but not slavishly, would provide interesting or engaging conversation, would not be an embarrassment to her in public and be a considerate companion in bed - not to mention the soul of discretion as well, which with a husband like Luis was a quality in a man worth his weight in gold. Still she toyed with the idea a few moments more, lingering on various aspects of such a relationship before pushing it to one side and returning to the business in hand. It was time that Sir Arthur woke to his vision of angelic beauty…