Kill Me Now
By Starchild
Rating: PG-13, to be safe.
Category: romance/humor
Summary: It's the morning after her wedding, and Hetty has a hangover she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. With some trial and error, she and Jason discover a cure.
Author's Notes: I can't believe I wrote this. I wrote a fic to a goddarn romance novel, with sumptuous ladies and Regency-England setting at all. Granted, I like fluff, but not like this. I make myself sick, if a fluffy kind of sick. Oh, and this is the first time I've bothered to write a fic for a random novel I'm not exactly a rabid fan of. I was just… inspired, and everyone knows there's no fighting one's muse. Anyway, if you haven't read Lord Harry, take a day or two and do so. The fic takes place the morning after Jason and Hetty's wedding, and I have deliberately ignored the fact that the event would be in February or thereabouts, because I want it to be spring and all pretty and flowery. Go figure.
Feedback: if you'd be so kind. Not that this is even an established fandom, anyway….
But this was my first attempt at humor, even if the humor comes to give way to honest, solid fluff.
Disclaimer: the former Henrietta Rolland and Jason Cavander of Oberlon are the creation of Catherine Coulter, author of Lord Harry. I am borrowing said characters for this one-time, one-shot vignette.
~~~~~
Jason Cavander lay in bed near to two hours after waking. It was not his habit, for he was by nature an active and outgoing man - but today, it was unlikely that any business affairs or social engagements would call him from his leisure. Thus he was free simply to laze about enjoying the gorgeous weather outside, calls of birds, and the company of his wife of less than twenty hours, the new marchioness of Oberlon, who even after eleven o'clock in the morning showed no sign of regaining consciousness.
Jason gazed down at her. She was curled up against him, one arm draped over his chest, pearly blonde curls delightfully askew. He didn't begrudge her sleeping in, as she had doubtless exerted herself the day before, first at their wedding festivities and attending to myriad guests, then - he smiled - with him. Still, he far preferred her company awake rather than asleep, and today was far too fine a day to pass with one's eyes shut. Especially Hetty's sapphire eyes framed with gilt lashes, which he wanted to see turned on him. He wanted to see her smile, feel her move.
He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Hetty, love," he murmured. "Wake up. It's a beautiful day." He smoothed the hair away from her face.
Her only response was a loud groan.
"Come, come," he said encouragingly, gently turning her to face upward and bracing an arm around her shoulders. "Today is your first day as Mrs. Henrietta Cavander, marchioness of Oberlon - surely you wouldn't want to miss it?"
After much squinting an apparent attempt to open her eyes to the warm sunlight filling their bedroom, Hetty moaned again and pushed away from him.
"Hetty?"
She rolled off the bed, taking much of the sheet with her, to hit the floor with a thump and soft grunt of shock.
Jason sighed and got out of bed on his side, pulling a fleece-lined robe around him. He walked around the other side of the bed to find Hetty prostrate on the carpet, white sheet wrapped around her slender form, arms curled protectively around her head. Jason knelt beside her.
"Outdid yourself on the champagne last night, did we?" he asked gently.
"I'm going to die," she moaned at length. "There's no hope for me, I condemned myself in a moment of excess, and now there's not an hour of life left in me. Forgive me, Jason."
"Now, now," he chided, and carefully lifted her limp body to replace her on the bed. "You're going to be fine. It's just a hangover, nothing more."
Hetty pulled the sheet over her head.
He sighed. "I'm afraid we'll simply remedy this the old-fashioned way, my dear. I'll be back in a moment." He left the room, to return shortly with a bucket of ice water.
"Dunk yourself in this, Hetty."
She emerged from under the bedclothes and sat up painfully, accepting the bucket onto her lap. "My unhappy fate is sealed," she proclaimed, one hand braced on the rim of the bucket. Her s's were softer than usual, and her vowels sounded much alike. "Would that I could go on by your side, but the dream we both cherished is gone, extinguished in an intemperance of alcohol, that sly nemesis of man. Ah, but it suffices that I lived to spend a night in your arms, that your beloved features should be the last thing I see -" she extended a groping hand, presumably to touch his face, but missing by a foot to the left. "Adieu, my love." She plunged her head into the bucket.
The marquess frowned slightly at this speech, sitting by Hetty to gently rub her back. After half a minute she emerged, dripping, to draw a gasping breath and dunk herself again. After three such cycles, he pulled the bucket from her grasp and set it on the floor. "Enough of this. What you need is some fresh air." He pulled a satin robe from the closet and helped her into it. "Come, let's go outside."
Unfortunately, she seemed in no condition to walk on her own. He scooped her into his arms and strode toward the balcony doors. Her head hung back, unresisting, her sopping curls leaving a damp trail on the carpet.
Out on the balcony in the lush spring air, it occurred to him - just for a fleeting moment - to hold her at least partway over the railing. Perhaps that would dispel her unfortunate condition. He started to grin, then thought better of it, realizing that such action would later cost him considerable damage to his person. No, he reminded himself, Henrietta was not someone to cross, being a crack shot and relentless swordsman in addition to that sharp tongue of hers. It was easy to forget sometimes, such as when she was in his arms, head pillowed on his chest and leaving a damp spot on his hunter-green robe.
"Come, Hetty," Jason coaxed, "this is no start to our marriage. Look, it's a lovely day. You can see Sir Arthur's private garden from here, did you know? Ah, but he's entertaining that Natalie Whithers again. I suspected there was something between them. You can also see all the east fields over there, where you've not yet been. We must go riding there today. Or perhaps you'd like to work on your parries on the fencing court? But that might be rather strenuous for the day after one's wedding. Let's just call for breakfast now, and afterwards we can settle on what to do. What do you say, sweet?"
She mumbled something unintelligible and draped an arm over his shoulder.
"Hetty," he sighed. She'd seemed fine the night before. But then, perhaps such application came at the reciprocal cost of her performance this morning. He looked down at her, gaze tracing the delicate features, half-open eyes bluer than the open sky above, and wished she were alert and smiling at him, that smile that made his gut melt. Her fully, rosy lips seemed inviting, like the Sleeping Beauty waiting to be roused with a kiss. With a half smile, he bent to kiss her, semi-conscious or not. And that seemed to do the trick.
Her wide eyes fluttered open, and he felt pressure from her arm behind his neck. She responded to the kiss, soft lips moving in tandem with his, and slid from his grasp to stand on her own, pressed close to him. He braced his hand on her back, steadying her, and brought the other to cradle the back of her head.
They pulled apart, just enough to look each other in the face. Now she was smiling at him, features open and relaxed despite her still-dripping hair. "Why, good morning, Jason," she said warmly, sliding both arms around his neck. "Lovely day. You slept well, I trust?"
He grinned and chucked her under the chin. "Exceedingly. And you, Hetty? How are you feeling?"
"Feeling? Why, I'm perfectly well. I'm always well." She glanced around them, frowning. "Goodness, it's late. This won't do. We must keep pace with the world lest it leave us behind. I, for one, am more than ready for some breakfast. Nuptial duties do leave one quite hungry." She moved for the bell cord.
"You seem quite sober, Hetty. I'm relieved."
"Don't be a fool, Jason." She frowned, stern. "I've always been sober, and mind you, I'll always be sober."
He grinned again. "Indeed you shall, I believe."