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The Gentleman with the Invitation
Elaine sat at her floor loom in the sunny corner room. The heddle frames clicked soothingly, parting the yarn threads of the warp so she could toss her shuttle through. The reeds of the beater bar clacked against the fabric as she tightened the weave once—then twice. Selecting the next pedal to raise different heddle frames, she repeated the process, continuing her pattern.
She was always soothed by this meditative work more than anything else—and she thought best here, in between the strings of the loom. There were many things to ponder: Severus Prince and his secrets, the pursuit of the two men, and her own place in these strange events. She wondered if she ought to be more frightened of Severus like the strange men implied.
A tentative tap on the door interrupted her musing, and when she looked up Severus stood, peering around the frame.
"I thought I might come in and read in your excellent studio light." His voice was monotone but the question was clear to Elaine.
She smiled and nodded towards one of the two squashy scarlet chairs by the window, a chair laden with Moroccan-inspired throw pillows and woven blankets.
His lean frame sunk into the cushions and he opened the thick book without further comment.
The implication that the light was best here was a lie, and they both knew it. His own study and library were exceptionally well lit. The two meals and two hours in the evening she was told he expected to be spent with him had grown into most of the day. Now they ate every meal together, and he often sat with her while she worked in the kitchen or wrote letters in the parlor. However, spending an afternoon in the studio with her was new.
Currently the gentle sounds of page turning mingled with the click and swish of the loom.
She watched him over the loom frame, his dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She realized quite suddenly that while she might not know everything about the serious, slightly awkward man—she knew him, and he would not injure her.
After a long moment of contemplation, Severus spoke without looking up. "I had thought Paris would be fine this time of year—to get away from the troubling goings on in the neighborhood."
Elaine fumbled with the shuttle and sent it skittering over the floor, trailing forest green yarn from its bobbin. "I'm sure you're right. When will you leave?"
He finally met her eyes over the top of his book. Was he blushing, or was that a trick of the light reflecting off of the chairs?
"I thought you might be persuaded to join me, actually," he said stiffly.
The silence stretched for a moment before his words sunk in. "Yes—yes!"
He shut the book with a snap and stood, mission accomplished. "Good. Is Monday too soon?"
Elaine nodded her head as she went scrambling for the shuttle. "Monday is perfect."
Forest, #41