"I'll be just a moment longer." She tells him as he walks in, ready for bed. She's still sitting in front of the mirror, the maid behind her undoing the intricate braid her hair was tied into for today's dinner with their hosts. She can see Francis look at her through the glass, his attitude telling her that she's not the only impatient one.
"You may leave us." Francis tells the maid suddenly, and the girl steps back and curtsies, then leaves right away. Mary is left with her mouth almost hanging open.
"Francis! She has yet to undo my hair." She complains right away, but he just shakes his head. "I'd do it myself but I can't even see it, I'll tangle it all. What did you do that for?"
"I guess I just could not wait a minute longer to be alone with my wife." He tells her, coming behind her, his fingers dancing on her shoulders and his eyes dancing with mischief. It would be a lot easier to be cross with him if she didn't love him that much, or if he wasn't such a charmer and a sweet talker when he meant to.
"Well, now you'll have to wait until I figure out what to do with my hair." She tells him, not wanting to let him get away with it. She knows she's punishing them both but so be it. She likes a bit of playful pettiness every once in a while, he had it coming.
"I believe I'm capable of helping with something as simple as a braid, my love." He tells her, and she finds his idea is much better than hers.
"Very well then." She tries to hide her smile, taking a brush and pressing it to his hand before climbing on the bed. He follows suit, confident in his abilities. Yet when he sits behind her, the man finds himself in front of a truly puzzling picture. Mary's long black hair is rather complicatedly braided into a heart, and he's not quite sure where it all begins or ends.
"Shall I call for the maid to come back?" She asks him, smug, once he says nothing and makes no move to begin. Although he sits there with the brush held loosely in his hand and a very confused expression on his face, he shakes his head before realizing she can't see him.
"No, it's quite all right." It is not. He's a man truly lost, but although he's quite happy to pleasure her at all times, he doesn't want to give her this particular satisfaction. Carefully he begins to undo the braids that are loose among her hair, for something to do before facing her hairstyle. He will not be defeated.
Once he's done with the less threatening part he softly begins to search for ways to unwind her hair, almost too careful as he doesn't want to pull on it and hurt her. Slowly, he finds where the ends have been hidden and after a few minutes her hair is back into its usual curls and smaller loose braid he can deal with quite easily. He smiles, satisfied with himself. He undoes all of the smallest braids, except one close to the front that he knows she always likes to wear because it reminds her of Scotland and Aylee.
He then takes the brush and runs its bristles through her long hair, and he finds that its no longer the playful desire to prove her wrong that drives him, but that he likes it as well, as he knows she certainly does if her quiet sighs are anything to go by.
There's a certain peace to this, a certain intimacy as he does something so small and perhaps insignificant for his wife as brushing her hair. He loves the feel of it, as he can never tire of running his fingers through her hair as she lies on his chest. And although this is different it feels good all the same. The scent of lavender that floats from her curls fills the air, tickling his nose with the sweet scent. He thinks he might just do this for her every night, rather than wait for her to finish. After a lot longer than what was needed, her hair almost straight, he lays the brush down.
"I believe I'm done." He whispers in her ear, then kisses her cheek sweetly, and she's waken from a little stupor.
"Uh?" She sounds a bit confused, and he smiles with the knowledge he almost lulled her right into sleep.
"I hope your hair is to your liking, your majesty." He says, as dutiful as a maid.
She runs her fingers through her hair as if assessing his work, not finding one tangle. She's pleased but not surprised; she knew he'd do a good work of it with his deft fingers. Not that she'd ever tell him that.
"It's…not too bad, I suppose." She says, holding her chin a little higher in jest.
"You suppose?!" He exclaims, laughing, his arms going around her waist and holding her to him tight. "I think... you undermine my handiwork." He tells her slowly, then leans back and takes all of her hair over one shoulder pressing a kiss to the tender skin at the nape of her neck.
"I guess it's all right." She concedes, sighing.
"Just all right?" He asks her, his finger deftly unbuttoning the top part of her nightgown and his lips dropping kisses on her increasingly bare shoulders. She chuckles.
"Keep that up and I'll never use a maid again!"