Violet woke early, gently leaving the comfortable warmth of Betsy's backside just as dawn was breaking gloriously in the eastern sky. Trying his best to avoid waking his sleeping beauty, a smile graced his face as Betsy snored softly, little puffs of air whistling past her lips with a small raspberry at the end. Taming a stray strand of her hair, Violet smoothed it away from her face, loving the feeling of silkiness under his hand, and the feeling of joy that simply touching her brought to him. Vi turned away reluctantly, before his attentions woke her, as she had no need to rise this early.
Making his way through the bathing room, to the sitting room, Violet used a twig and the banked coals from the hearth to light candles, as their rooms were still dark. Violet was grateful, appreciating the ability to so easily gain light, to now have a hearth and home to call his own. He thanked God for these things, as he placed a candle in the dressing room, before taking the other with him into the bathing room. Violet washed, and then shaved his cheeks, leaving a faint shadow on his upper lip, the same width with which he left a shadow upon his chin. Rubbing his face with a towel, Vi began humming as he walked to the dressing room. Closing the door softly behind him, he went to the bureau to dress himself for the day ahead.
Betsy's eyes fluttered open slowly. Her waking thought, upon seeing the empty pillow beside her, was disappointment that Violet was not still lying there. Expelling a dissatisfied breath, she lifted her arms to stretch while rolling to her back. She stretched out upon the bed, a smile slowly dawning upon her face as she heard Violet begin humming an off key tune in the next room.
Betsy rose, tossing her fur aside, she then donned a short, silken robe. She used the privy, then washed her face and hands, rinsing her mouth with mint laced water before seeking out her quarry. Opening the dressing room door slowly, Betsy saw Violet seated in a chair, pulling on one of his boots.
Seeing his face trimmed differently, Betsy's eyes widened, she stood in some disbelief that he could appear even more attractive to her than he had before. What was it with this man? He was a virtual chameleon. Betsy found that she did not mind in the least. She felt again just as she had when she very first lay her eyes upon him. "My Lord." Leaning back weakly against the door, her spoken words and the closing latch gained Violet's attention.
He glanced up to see her standing there, "Good morn, lovey. And how did you sleep once you finally quit clawing at my back last eve?" He smiled appreciatively at her, his brow raising to go along with his teasing words.
Betsy snorted against her will, the reaction just popping out, reminding her of spitting her tea on him so long ago. At least his words had broken the spell his ravishing looks had weaved upon her. "Who clawed? Or should I say, pawed, at whom?" Betsy swaggered as she approached Violet, seeing his eyes light with pleasure, her confidence grew.
"I, I was the one pawing." Violet agreed, licking his lips, speaking trancelike as she moved closer. Giving her a false sense of security, he sat there dumbly, until she came just close enough, then he stood and grabbed her up, burying his face in her neck as she gasped, and then giggled, as his chin stubble tickled her nape. He held her firmly, one hand under her bum, the other around her upper waist, as her toes dangled a foot above the floor beneath her. Betsy's arms came around his neck, while her lips met his in a sweet, soft, morning kiss.
"I am sorry, Kitten, I did not mean to wake you. 'Tis still early if you would like to return to sleep." Violet spoke quietly, kissing her cheek, before setting her down, then placing his hands upon her shoulders, rubbing softly.
Betsy closed her eyes and purred low in her throat. She rolled her head upon her shoulders as he rubbed them, working out the muscles that had lay dormant while she slept. "I slept well, Violet." She realised. "And I am now wide awake." She looked up at him and smiled brightly, "I believe I shall rise also. Is not the reverend coming early this morn?"
"He is." Violet nodded. " 'Tis why I am headed down, I would like to greet him when he arrives." Violet embraced her one more time. He placed a kiss on her nose, before smiling his pleasure with her. "Would you like me to have some chocolate sent up?"
"Nay, I want to greet the reverend also. Go on ahead, I will follow as soon as I am ready." Betsy followed Violet to the sitting room, where he strapped on his weapons, as she leaned against the doorframe watching him.
He retrieved his plumed tricorn, then turned and gave his wife a sweeping bow, as she stood watching him, her eyes aglow. "I shall see you downstairs, lovey." He stole one last, languorous kiss before quitting their rooms. Stepping lively, Violet whistled softly, smiling contentedly, as he followed the scent of coffee and the sound of familiar voices below.
Betsy's eyes followed Violet as he left their rooms, she openly admired his backside as he sauntered away from her. He had been gone a few moments already yet, she still grinned wide as a jack o' lantern while pulling on her breeches. Betsy shook her head slightly, as she tugged the laces closed, wondering how she had ever been so blessed. Never, ever, in her wildest dreams, could she of imagined the things had come about in her life. This was their roof she was under, in a home she was blessed to share with her gorgeous, loving husband, whom she adored with her entire being, the thought making her giddy with happiness and wonder. Pulling her shirtwaist over her head, Betsy smiled ruefully. 'Twas a roof, also, under which the King slept, along with her lady, Arianna, and the Duke, and Will..... Not to mention, her newly found great grandfather.
Betsy giggled, thinking back upon Will and Violet's introduction. She should have expected no less, yet.... The giggles continued as she painted a mental picture in her mind of Will smarting off and getting clocked. It was quite a different picture than the one she remembered yesterday when Violet had greeted Will upon his arrival. Betsy was very glad they had become friends, as she loved them both very much.
A low, throaty laughter took over, as Betsy remembered Arianna dragging Drake away to their rooms the eve before. Betsy had known her lady would not be immune to the swordplay. God only knew, Betsy was not immune, and she did not believe she ever would be. After brushing her long, loosely curling hair over her shoulder, Betsy tied it off, leaving the silken tresses to cascade down the front of her white, lace, frilled blouse. Finding her boots, she took them and dropped them on the floor at the foot of the bed. Walking around it slowly, she straightened the covers, fluffing the pillows, before sitting at the bottom to pull on her new boots. She stood and tugged them up, over her knees, then went back to the dressing room for a red sash. Tying it about her waist, she quit their chambers, heading jauntily down the hall to join Violet. Betsy turned, to start down the stairs, when a short, low whistle made her cock her head to the side, and stop on the second step.
"Elizabeth!"
Betsy turned towards the harsh whisper, looking down the hall, opposite she and Violet's domain, where the King's upper half hung out his doorway.
Betsy smiled, turning back, to step up and approach him. "Good morn, Sire, I was just going down."
"I need your help." The King beckoned Betsy, even as she came closer.
She whispered, "What is it?" As if he were about to impart a great secret.
"With my costume, I need help." The King pulled Betsy into the room. His valet stood to the side, an arm across his chest, the other raised, his finger tapping upon his lips.
"He is of no help at all." The King closed the door and jerked his head towards the now offended man.
His valet scoffed in unappreciative candor. "I am trying my very best, my liege. I am not accustomed to outfitting a pirate, however." The valet raised his nose a titch. "I was not trained in how to disguise the Monarch as a degenerate criminal."
"Well, you should have been." The King advised. "You never know, my good man..... You just never know."
Betsy chuckled at the two of them as she looked the King over. He wore black trousers and boots, a tan shirt that buttoned up the front, and she noticed he had not been shaved of his morning's growth of beard. Elizabeth lifted her brows in amusement at the extent of his costume, thinking that surely he would have attended quite a few masquerades in the past, that he would be well acquainted with how to disguise himself. "Do you not wear costumes when you attend masquerades?" Betsy asked, she first looked to him, then she looked to his valet.
The valet shrugged his shoulders and looked to the King accusingly.
"Of course I do, every time." The King said proudly.
"What costumes have you worn before?" She asked curiously, as she began rummaging through his things.
The King's valet, meanwhile, cringed at her callous treatment of the royal garments.
"I always wear the same costume, every time." The King said assuredly.
Betsy thought from the way he acted, and the way he said it, that it must be a very good costume indeed.
She turned to face him, "Well..... What is your costume?"
"The King, of course." He grinned widely, knowing she had guessed incorrectly, if at all.
Betsy laughed at him, while shaking her head, plucking a red tunic trimmed with gold braid from his things. "Put this on, but first take off your shirt."
She tossed the tunic to him, then looked him over, as he did as she instructed.
His valet about had an apoplectic fit. He could not reach the King fast enough to assist him in the manner that he should, and also, block the King's chest from the young miss's view.
Betsy's eyes shone with amusement. As if the royal man could not put on his own tunic. She then laughed softly to herself while going to the hearth. It had been too long since she had served as a maid, she decided.
Having assisted her lady always in the past, Arianna was not one to stand idle with arms lifted to be dressed as a dress form. Arianna attacked a gown as if it were a foe to be defeated. Betsy had, for the most part, smoothed her lady out afterwards and tightened up her laces. Lifting a chunk of burned out coal from the front of the grate, Betsy approached the Monarch. She began shadowing his jowl slightly, darkening his stubbled jaw and upper lip, as he made faces, giving her better access.
The King's valet nearly fainted dead away with every rule that was broken, as Betsy turned their King into an unrecognizable, swashbuckling pirate.
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