A/N: Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed and favorited Doors. This was originally a one-shot, but I got some very kind requests to continue this story. I see now how addictive reviews are. Thanks for everything, and I hope you enjoy this next bit about two characters that I do not own, but love dearly.
He stares at her from the corner of his eye; she's softly, beautifully lit in the firelight, sitting in the club chair, knitting, darning a pair of socks, whatever it is busy women do to pass the time quietly, usefully. It should feel so natural, so right. She had said things would be easy between them, that they could be easy with one another as soon as…he feels his face flush just to think of it. It's so very difficult to be natural around her now; not now that he has discovered the private island of her. Not now that he has seen her (in broad daylight!), felt the softness of her skin beneath his, traced her curves with his fingertips. It's all he can do to keep from touching her now. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, turns the pages of his book absentmindedly. She looks up and smiles, a quick, sudden thing. His heart clenches at the sight. He'd never thought to see such a loving, unguarded smile from her. He'd never dared to hope she could feel anything more than mild exasperation for him.
Flustered at being caught out, he returns to aimlessly skimming the pages of a book he's read far too many times.
No, things have not been easy between them since that afternoon, not by a long chalk. Acting on his desire, their desire, has made their life together so much richer, but so much more difficult. For him, anyway. She seems to have bloomed in some lovely, secret, indefinable way. Of course she was so very beautiful to him before, but her beauty was understated, proper, correct, a marble bust in a dim, shadowy library. Now she is bursting with color and light and it's not only he who notices. The greengrocer tips his hat to her in the street, something far too knowing and smug in his glance. The vicar holds her hand a little too long after Sunday's interminable service. And Dr. Clarkson, that old fraud. He gets very Scottish around Elsie these days.
And what is worse, he finds himself wondering. It's become a bit of an obsession, really. Who was he? Who was the man, or men, curse the thought, that Elsie had known? Because of course she had to have known at least one man before him. The collar round his neck tightens. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter at all, really. He had known a few women, a very few, during his life, but that was different. Wasn't it? Damn and blast this collar. He looks at her again, covertly. He has a feeling he knows what his wife would say to that. And it had been so lovely, such a beautiful, loving moment between them. He knew then that he truly loved her, had always loved her, and he suspects that she felt the same. They've been together since, several times since in fact. He cannot keep from touching her, especially in the night when it's dark and she is so close and soft and warm. And yet he knows, or at least suspects, that she has known another man before him. She was too responsive, too eager. He shakes himself. It's poisonous to have thoughts like these, then, absurd to be jealous. He's certain she doesn't hold his experiences against him. But then it's different for a man. Isn't it? He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He knows exactly what his wife would say to that.
He sighs. He doesn't want to hold this against her, he doesn't want to think of it at all and yet it's all he can think of now. Another man holding her, loving her in that special, private way. He thought, he expected her to have reserved herself. While it's true he hadn't been chaste the entire time he's known her, he'd only broken faith a handful of times since she came to Downton. Only those few times in London when the need to be close to someone, anyone (her) grew too great a burden to carry and he'd sought solace through the only means available to him. He'd never want to confess that to her. But the damnable thing is that she would accept his behavior, excuse it even, because she loves him. He loves her, terribly, and it's making him stingy, possessive, angry. He feels cheated.