Joan Champernowne Chamber.

He grinned mischievously and replied jokingly, "Indeed you are right - you have married the best man in court and all shall be envious of you."

He chuckled at his sarcastic comment and nudged his nose endearingly against hers, "But when they see my wife - my beauty, they shall think I have the luck of King's."

He remembered her speaking of the incident when she was younger, the cause for the conservative dresses. She had not been his then and yet he had dreamed of exacting revenge upon the knave who dared touch such a perfect jewel as Joan. There was not a feature that did not exact such perfect symmetry upon her face.

He smiled gently and absent mindedly caressed her back, "It's because of that...knave, " he muttered, "That fool who thought to...violate you."

He scratched his stubble irritatedly, even the thought of him made Anthony furious. He didn't want Joan to be afraid. There would be times when he wouldn't be near - he wanted to her be constantly protected and safe...perhaps it would be best if she was a lady in waiting. There were undesirables in the city - hunger bred discontent and there was plenty of poverty in England.

"I want to kill him," he muttered, almost a boyish temper in his words. There was no malice in Anthony yet he meant his words. He detested the thought of fighting for his country - he could think of nothing worse...or more idiotic. He did not abide by convention, he saw no pride in writing one's name in history through being a good fighter...but to fight for Joan, he may make an exception for her.

None the less, he ultimately preferred the simplicity and calm of life in the country. If it were not for his ambition, he would have been a content farmer.

He smirked and mumbled boyishly, "I would not be foolish enough to get caught," he held his hand over hers. He had been caught up in enough mischief on his travels to know how to evade the hand of justice...he had no malice in him but his respect for those in power was not resolute.

None the less, her warm touch soothed him and he smiled warmly with a sigh, touching his lips to her forehead as she lay by him, "But, yes, love," he replied, "You are my last...and greatest love. I would have it no other way."

He sighed as he thought about it - not really. His life had been charmed, he had been blessed with fortune, friends and favour. His travels had gone without trouble, he had never encountered any misfortune. Indeed, his time in Europe had only served to forge friendships and leave lasting ties in foreign lands. His family were of good health - thanks to his sister and so he had never known anything unpleasant.

"I'm lucky," he replied, his lips still brushing against his forehead as she spoke, "Past, present...and I'm sure future - shall be as calm and happy as I am in this moment."

Anthony laughed heartily as she hid beneath the crisp sheets. He tugged away at the linen so that he may look at her. As he brought away the sheet it were almost as if he was pulling away her veil on their wedding day. She looked radiant: cheeks flushed and rosey, hair unkempt and tousled about her face and a small smile tugging at the tempting corners of her lips.

"Aside from spending the day with you?" he asked teasingly, "I actually thought I may take a ride down to Cornwall and see how the estate is doing."

The weather looked terrible from their room - the rain thundering down and yet he predicted the sun would be setting a brilliant orange and the land would be washed clean when he arrived at his home Chavenage.

He glanced out the window before moving to lean over her. Anthony nudged his nose playfully against hers, his lips brushing against her lips as he did while a bright grin developed upon his lips. It was strange, he thought, that the last time he took her to Chavenage they barely knew one another - it was a whim and now they would go as husband and wife. She would be the mistress of the estate now, free to dress it up as she pleased and wait for him by the fire when he returned from helping on the fields.

"You can go down by carriage," he mumbled as his lips pressed against her cheek, "I would not want my wife to catch a chill...for I intend to have you naked the entire time we are there," he said mischievously.

"Whatever are you suggesting?" he asked with a chuckle.

He sat up in the bed and stretched his lean arms above his head, noticing the shower had eased and now only gentle drops of rain tapped upon the window. Anthony had never had this before - never had the familiarity with a woman like he had with Joan. Despite her younger years and innocence, Anthony felt safe with her, as if he could deliver his troubles to her and she would return them neatly resolved. Normally he would have a left a bed after he had been with a woman or they would leave. Yet, this - the laying about with her, warm and soft by his side - he would be content to live like that forever.

“Well,” he began teasingly, “Not exactly a carriage…”

He looked over his shoulder to where she was, his bright and clear eyes looking her up and down. More than their passion and playful moments - there was a familiarity between them now. He suspected that he was utterly predictable to her now - that his appetites and habits were no mystery anymore…and he did not mind. The honesty between them was unusual for him - but welcome.

His mind travelled to his time in Europe - the litters that would carry about the nobility in Italy. Servants would hold and carry the rich Venetian beauties through the mucky streets in the citadel - their little boxes draped in red and plum silks, filled with pillows and furs. How the men would call and whistle at the women who went past, concealed so they were only a tempting silhouette - occasionally they would oblige and wave from their coach. No such adventures did Anthony have there…but there was the stables when he was growing up.

“More…where the carriages would be kept,” he said with a wink and reclined back into the bed, “But would my angelic wife want to hear such tales?"

He shook his head, "She was not old," he replied with a grin but his face soon became earnest - Rosamund never had the chance to grow old. Would he tell her of that girl with whom he had been so infatuated with as boy? His family knew that she doted upon him and he her...but never how serious they both grew. Their pledges to each other were broken by the ultimate separation. Anthony wondered - often - what would have happened had they been given a chance. Yet, it was the first time he thought of Rosamund since he had met Joan.

He would spare Joan her name - that somehow made it less real, "She was a kitchen maid," he said simply with a sigh and glanced out the window, "I was young, she was younger and we were mischievous. Our families would not have approved and so we met in the stables in the evenings."

He returned her embrace, wrapping her warm body in his lean arms. It was strange, he thought to himself, strange that he now felt sad thinking of Rosamund…but only because she was gone and not because he pined for her. Anthony never thought he would be happy with any woman but he had thought Rosamund could have made him happy. Perhaps - at least subconsciously - he realised that the only reason he believed so was because things were cut off before they had a chance to end. When his father told him of his marriage to Joan - he thought of Rosamund and quietly pondered how things should have been if he had married her - to hell with the consequences. Now - he was convinced that Joan was the match for his heart. She knew him better than Rosamund had - she loved him for who he was.

“I love you, Joan,” he mumbled - as if it were the first time he said it, as if he had only just realised how much he needed her. He moved to hold her head in his hands, his bright eyes looking into hers, “You have redeemed me…and I am your humble servant."

“None,” he said with a genuine and faint smile. There was none at all. He had left England only months after things ended - still grieving, still heart sore and lost. He learned to forget her during that long year away from home but her face would still come to him in the evenings. Memories whispering to him like her voice upon the wind.

He looked at her with surprise and nudged her nose with his lips, “Have I ever given you cause to think you do not please me?”

Joan - quite to his surprise - was more than capable of driving them towards joy. Even when he admitted to himself that he had fallen for her, he did not expect to have the bliss he felt when he was with her. She made him forget and gave him clarity - she was the refuge he never knew that he needed.