Seeing You Not Seeing Me (COMPLETE)

XVI.a ball worth fighting for(?)

Jude had just finished bathing and was now eating as Mari brushed his hair when she suggested what she had been meaning to say for months, "Master Jude, now that a ball is coming, what do you say we trim your hair just a little bit?"

Jude halted midway, the spoon in the air which Mari took notice of but not commented about. His expression unreadable.

Mari tried easing the tension up. After all, she knows he is sensitive about his appearance. "Even just a little bit. I wouldn't want any of those women looking at your handsome face way too much,"

Mari almost let out a soft sigh when Jude agreed. "Okay,"

Jude could tell Mari was surprised at his sudden and easy agreement. She had expected it'll took a week or two for him to give in.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Okay," Jude repeated.

Yet, after a second, Jude self-consciously brushed his protective beard, mumbling, "But let's leave the beard alone, please,"

With that, Mari understood. Her knuckles brushing across his cheek, "Then please tell me what your preferred haircut is. Are you a sideburns-type of guy? Those prim and proper or the just-woke-up sexy hair?"

Jude let out a soft snicker, "You decide, I trust your style, my darling," which caused her to jokingly scowl as she ran her fingers across his thick waves of hair.

After lunch, Mari finally cut his hair, from mid-shoulders length to the ends of his ears and boy does he look good. In the end, Jude gave in and let Mari trim his beard just a little bit in exchange for a kiss. Well, not really a kiss. More like a make out session.

All throughout the day, she complimented him over and over and over again until he laughingly pleaded her to stop. Mari had never seen Jude blushed that hard.

All while Jude and Charles were downstairs, talking to their family lawyer who arrived two days after their arrival here in London, a wise kind man named Mr. Branwell.

Mari busied her time preparing Jude's attire for the ball, to his trousers, to his shirt, his cravat, and shining his boots.

Later that day, Jude still hasn't returned. A knock came when Mari opened it. There stood a woman in her mid-forties. One of the household staff, in her arms, lies a massive battered box, striped in the color of white and brown.

"This came from Mrs. Elmstone, Miss," uttered the woman, and quickly, without any warning, she dropped the box, causing Mari to lightly shriek and before she could reply, the woman left.

Her emerald eyes following the woman, Mari let out a soft sigh. The night after Jude and she arrived here in London, the household had been nothing but plainly rude towards her.

That very first day, Mari went downstairs to ask where she could prepare tea, saying it's for Jude but the housemaid only scowled at her, her judging eyes scanned her from head to toe. The housemaid told her that she'll get it ready and not wanting to stir any quarrel, she simply agreed.

When she came back upstairs to Jude's room that day, all while she's reading the newspaper to him, the housemaid entered the room, bringing the tea, of course, and Mari swore she intentionally spilled the tea to Mari's lap, causing her to shudder and when Jude asked her what's wrong, she simply said none and let the housemaid who was smirking go.

Mari shook those memories, instead, she focused her attention on the box. Bending, she lifted it and stride towards the bed. When she opened it, the lid almost broke in the corners, Mari let out a soft sigh as the gown for it is the most beautiful evening gown she ever laid her eyes to. Not that she saw many since back in Eyam, all wearing morning frocks or their usual working frocks, including her.