XI. – Brocaded Patterns
The longer she examined the brocaded drapery above her, the more she could see the stripped pattern through the darkness. The colors were indistinguishable, of course. But the pattern was there.
It was a lovely pattern. Or at least, what she had seen of it when she first entered the room upon their arrival, just as dawn was breaking. The journey from the church to wherever they had come had only been an hour or so; she had lost track of time and had been extremely weary, desiring only to sleep in a soft bed. But in the short time she had actually been able to see the fabric by the light of the candles (for the curtains were drawn tightly shut), she learned it to be a rich brocade in jewel-tones of deep wine red and shimmering, muted gold, with minute thin stripes of black and chocolaty brown between. The floral paisley design was formed by raised, velveteen ridges that made her fingertips tingle when she touched them.
Now, memorizing the pattern gave her a definite distraction from the warm body beside her, and the loose arm about her waist. Her husband had insisted they sleep in the same room, stammering over his words a bit, as he'd tried to explain that it was necessary, because there was no telling what Martin-Roget might do and Yvonne was not to be left unattended at any time, if possible.
She had demurely agreed and consented to the suggestion - he was her husband, after all. Still, he had insisted that he would do nothing further than sleep beside her, unless she gave him permission. And he had been true to his word. The only thing that had happened thus far was that they had both gratefully changed into their night things, each separately and behind a large painted screen in one corner of the room, and then Anthony had given her a chaste kiss before helping her onto the large bed. Both were far too exhausted to do anything else. Yvonne had not even particularly cared that her nightshift was quite thin - except that it allowed the heat of Anthony's body to seep through it very quickly, and in a strangely pleasant, soothing way.
She had managed to sleep a little – though fitfully. The bed had been exceedingly comfortable and Anthony was exceedingly warm, and both these things had been a great help to her nerves. When she finally awoke in the strange room, it was eleven o'clock in the morning, if she counted the chimes on the clock a room below correctly. Besides, the line of sunlight through the chink in the drapery seemed to fit the hour.
She wondered where they were at. It seemed that Anthony had told her the estate they had traveled to, but she could not remember. And she wondered what would happen in a few hours when her father realized she was not with Lady Ffoulkes, but that she had eloped against his wishes.
Then suddenly, before she could panic at the thought, her dear husband stirred slightly and his arm tightened about her tiny waist. Other than that single arm, his chin against her shoulder, the length of his body against her back, and the momentary kiss he had given her before falling asleep again, he had not touched her all night. For this, she thought him all the more dear – she had been too overwhelmed the night before to have considered consummating their marriage immediately. Anthony had understood her in a way no one else ever had, and she found that she loved him with all of her heart. It was a love that positively ached within her, and Yvonne gasped in surprise at the revelation.