His hands still hers, stops her from continuing the movement of removing the pins from her hair. He says nothing as he finishes the task that she began. This is the first time that he has done this, removing the pins from her hair, gently releasing the tightly wound locks from their confinement. But this has been a day and a night of firsts.
She never thought he would do it; never be so bold to join her in sitting in the library even though they were the only ones home, alone. Once, Mrs. Patmore told Elsie that she had him wrapped around her little finger and she'd scoffed at the time because if she had, he'd have already proposed by then instead of stuttering around about business ventures. Nevertheless, with one flick of the wrist, one beckoning look, her husband joined her on the settee in the library and enjoyed it. He even when so far as to lean back and encourage her to do so. That astonished her completely. She wondered then, still wonders now, if he might have wrapped his arm around her, encouraged a little snuggle if Mr. Barrow had not interrupted them.
She watches him in the mirror; watches as he studies her while carefully removing the pins and unwinding her hair, allowing the silken curls to slip through his fingers. Though the scene is so very innocent, he makes her feel cherished, safe, and electric all at once.
He continues on his task and she thinks back on that little plan that she and Mrs. Patmore hatched. She was not convinced that it would work. She wondered if he would take the contents of the basket Mrs. Patmore put together and prepare their supper or if he'd insist that they walk back up to the Abbey, concede defeat, and dine in the servant's hall. Yet to her utter astonishment, he had agreed to it; had agreed to take it in his stride do as she asked.
And it has endeared him to her all the more. Only added to the immeasurable love that she has for him.
When he's removed the last of the pins, placed it with the others in the little porcelain box on her dressing table, she sighs. She wonders if he is going to step away now, make his way to bed, and fall fast asleep. She so badly wants to hold him close, to soothe his ruffled feathers, to love him. But she doubts Mr. Carson is up for any of that tonight being that he couldn't keep his eyes open while at dinner.
Instead, he picks up the brush that lies near the little box and returns to stand behind her. He begins delicately to comb out her hair and still he has said nothing to her, but she hears his breath beginning to fall heavy while her own is growing more unsteady.
She suddenly feels the cool night air on her neck as he gently pushes aside her hair. He draws himself closer to her and she feels the warmth of his lips on her neck, a gentle kiss at the spot that he's learned makes her knees go weak. They have learned so very many things about one another, so many intimate things, beyond what late night conversations over sherry can reveal.
The gentle kiss gives way to several as his fingers slips under the collar of her nightgown and his intentions become clear. He turns her toward him and she sees eyes dark and serious, full of adoration and understanding. He claims her lips in a sweet and tender kiss before she encourages him further and then she finds herself fidgeting at the buttons of his pyjama top. He captures her hand, kisses it, and leads her to bed.
TBC… Thank you for reading. I note of review would be lovely.
"A plotter she may be, but that young man of romance, she's set free."