The Salt Mill Tavern, Fifth And Main, Boylesten, England (1763)...
Renting a space away from the prying eyes of his overbearing family was one step toward independence as the grove was no longer a place he had any intention of returning to. Casimir's wedding was due to take place and there was no way he wished to share the same living quarters as Casimir and Noreen when it was all said and done. He found Noreen to be quite nosey when it came to his personal affairs and the fact that she'd gone to his father to speak about his occasional overindulgence with rum and wine was all the more aggravating. Sir Alfred had taken her side not knowing the kind of viper she was nor the fact that it was her lies and wickedness that led him to seek soles in the bottom of a bottle now and again.
Alain yawned as he entered his room it was a modest space, with plenty of room for him to work if he so desired, and well above the tavern where a local place where women worked to clean various forms of linen was in full view of the room. He had the presence of mind to bring a bit of his canvas and art supplies to the room. Despite not getting much work done. It was a pity that he had not bothered to paint a thing since his trip to the new world.
Slowly, Alain began to discard his attire casting his clothing onto the dust-covered hardwood floor as he approached the nearby bed. He smirked as he collapsed into it hearing the bed creak and the mattress, which was mostly stuffed with chicken feathers and cotton, scrunched a bit as he rolled onto his back.
The effects of alcohol were quite severe as Alain slowly drifted off to sleep as if he had not a care in the world, his dreams once bombarded with images of Noreen in the throes of passion gave way to a woman with blue eyes that never seemed too far from his subconscious. This woman whomever she'd been had loved him so much that she happily carried his child.
"My sweet Alain," she called him and soon everything faded into darkness.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Sometime Later....
Alain Remington awoke to find himself alone in the darkened room above the tavern naked and far from home. He didn't appear the least bit out of sorts aside from his cock being painfully aroused due to the strange and no doubt rum-induced dream. He got to his feet feeling the uncomfortable air of heat all around him and ventured toward his window where he caught sight of a most peculiar redhead lass with pale skin wearing a gray cotton dress and rather gaudy brown boots. He watched her struggling to carry a brown wicker basket full of clothes and other liens as she approached the building where the washing had been done. She appeared to have been no more than fifteen years of age and vastly inexperienced in the ways of the world.
The embittered noble took note of her thin frame and awkward steps as she had only begun to develop due to the onset of puberty. Unlike most women, she was given to having the body of a woman while still being a girl, but the distribution had been most unkind as far as her features went. She wasn't special, quite the opposite. Like the proverbial ugly duckling before becoming a beautiful swan, if she would even be that fortunate.
He had taken notice of her before a time or two on his way to and from the tavern and the brothel in search of the redhead who had charmed his cock when Casimir sought to debase him for laughs. She was quite the lay, but the sickening side effect of having lowered himself to stick his cock into the warmth of a prostitute was becoming tiresome. A good lay she may have been, but he wasn't interested in "used goods" as much as the other men of his age and station.
His eyes wandered in search of something untouched, similar to Noreen's quest to find him when it came to her involvement in the game of courtship. Of course, Alain had not been sure if his quest was for the sake of avoiding disease and stigma or if he simply wanted to ruin the innocence of another as it had been done for him. With the bitterness still very much present in his heart, he didn't seem to care which had been the reason for his sudden interest in the redhead worker that frequently passed by his window.
One of the low points of being sexually active for him other than the degrading need to say and do anything to stick his cock into a willing woman with an available orifice was the sheer need that came from craving the act that he had not had to experience before. He felt his cock stir at the very sight of a woman and the unwanted throbbing sensation got to be quite unbearable at times. He wondered if this was the cause of Casimir regularly seeking out someone to stick his cock into was due to this unseemly urge.
Alana had not been privy to her younger son's sexual exploits as of late, but she had begun to notice that he wasn't as prudish as he was before when it came to certain matters and he'd even taken to actively speaking with other women instead of outright dismissing them. Had she known about it, she most likely would have given him a lecture about the dangers of giving in to desires being left unchecked. It would seem that the men of The DuChene bloodline had a weakness for always following their cock, as Sebastien had not been as good a husband as his dear wife wanted everyone to believe he'd been.
Alain's gaze was once more on the redhead and he saw his way to watching her carry yet another full basket toward the building for washing and eventually, he tore himself away feeling the urge to paint something after all this time. He believed that Noreen had taken all of the artistic notion out of him but he'd been wrong. The young lass from beneath his window provided ample inspiration for his work and it ignited his passion like a fever he set up his canvas near the window and grabbed his paints.
It was invigorating to be able to paint again as if he had not a care in the world. His hands moved rapidly as the images in the form of blotches of color and brush strokes began to make sense amid the formerly empty canvas. Alain didn't bother with getting dressed and was subjected to being splattered with a bit of wayward paint now and again as he continued his work. He was painting once more and it seemed to be all that mattered to him at the moment.