Between Wolves & Doves

Chapter 42 Invitations

"For the eight millionth time woman. I do not need any new clothes." Kylo growls out with what he hoped, sounded like his powerful Lordly finality on the subject.

Iris continues on around him. Undeterred by his grousing.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm busy paying your objections no attention." She grins too sweetly. Laying another swatch near his collar. Tucking it into his cravat. Crushed rubies the colour was called.

She's smiling far too sweetly. It makes him narrow his eyes at her. He stands there glaring down at her like the hugely annoyed pine tree of a gigantic man that he is.

She's holding yet bloody more swatches of fabric up to his neck. Seeing what best suited his pallor and next to his inky hair. She's grinning and humming to herself with her choices, discarding ones that look no good, and he's slouched, standing with his arms crossed like he's suffering a fate worse than death.

It looked like a textile mill had been dumped unceremoniously in the parlour where they were both now standing. Squares of fabric every - dark - and lush colour and texture imaginable draped over the settees and the chairs. Linens. Wools. Velvets. Cottons. There's hat boxes and shoe boxes. Cravat linens in every cursed colour - colours he didn't even know were colours. And woe betide if he picked up a swatch and called it the wrong colour.

Their local men's tailor, a very dear and sweet elderly man, Mr. Gelin, is stooped over across the parlour with a hunch inspecting some more swatches that Iris asked him for. Some heavy grain velvet for a new coat. He's a dear friend to Kylo, tailored all his clothes since he settled here at Ranlor. The man is the best couturier this side of the alps. His old nobbled hands are twisted and gnarled with rheumatism now, but his eye for needlework and colours is second to none. Luckily he had a whole fleet of assistants to do his sewing work for him.

He's a kind disposition and a gentle touch. He's never once stuck Kylo with a pin when measuring him for a new garment. Always wearing a snappy colour waistcoat with a flower pinned in the lapel and a fantastic coloured cravat in an elaborate bow around his neck. Today's cravat is heart throb red. And the waistcoat was a rich shade of raspberry pink with a blush satiny floral pattern. In the lapel of his waistcoat today is a snipped pink rose.

The fixtures of his personality lay ever present in the measuring tape snaked in its usual spot around his neck. And the gold half moon glasses perched far on the end of his nose. And a general air of easiness and warmth.

He's flicking through his swatches and smiling at the present fact of his Lordships grumpiness. "You should learn by now, my Lord, a wife is always right." Mr. Gelin remarks with a mirthful grin. Wagging his finger at Kylo like he should know better. Almost ' tsking ' at him.

"I've been married for 34 years and do you know, I've hardly ever been right. Not once in all that time. And I'm better off for it." Mr. Gelin insists.

Kylo side eyes his sweetly smiling and always right wife. A low growl simmers in his chest. Catching on his breath as he exhales.

"What a horrible way to live." He smarts. Raking his eyes along the corner of her darling sickly smile.

"How are we doing with the velvets, My Lady?" Mr. Gelin asks Iris. Calling across to her where she's holding them up to Kylo's chin.

"I like the wheat gold but I think it's too much for a whole coat. Yellow would be far too draining on his skin tone. How about the bottle green-" Iris asks Mr Gelin. Who nods and agreed wholly with her choice.

"Bottle green?" Kylo whined at her as if in an extraordinary amount of pain.

"For a new over-coat." Iris explained nonchalantly and rather quickly. His role was to stand there. Silent as the proverbial headstone.