A/N: I apologize for the delay. I just couldn't quit tinkering. One more chapter to go, probably with a bump in the ratings. Thanks for all the wonderful encouragement. I really appreciate it!

By the time he comes in for lunch, that raging fire has burned down to an icy calm. She's warmed the soup from yesterday evening, toasted a few slices of bread. The water's on for tea. She stands at the sink, rigid in her composure. He hesitates before walking to the sink to wash his hands, aware that something is badly amiss. He touches her shoulder gently.

"I'll just wash up for luncheon, shall I?"

She nods, turns to retrieve his mug from the draining board, busies herself by preparing his tea.

"Won't be long before the crocuses are in bloom." He folds and refolds the tea towel.

"Mmmm."

"Soup for luncheon?"

"As you see."

Oh dear. It's worse than he thought. She never holds herself so stiffly, never says so little, unless she is deeply angry. He casts his thoughts across the last few days. What had he done? She couldn't possibly know about…but then again, when hadn't she been able to read his mind? She knew what he would say or do before he did himself most days. And how was he to manage this? He hadn't been able to dismiss his feelings so easily. He knew it was wrong, criminal, to hold her past over her, to act as judge and jury without evidence, without knowledge, and yet he couldn't help himself. Her looking at another man the way she looked at him, pressing close, laying with him. It doesn't bear thinking about, but he can't stop. He's a hypocrite, he knows that. It's not as though he's kept himself apart from her, not as though he hasn't loved her nearly every time the opportunity's presented itself. He can feel his face flush. There's no defending it; there's only moving on. If only he knew, if only he had some idea. He sits at the table, prepares to eat.

"Won't you join me?"

"I will, Mr. Carson." She sits beside him, intensely focused on the spoon as it travels between the soup bowl and her mouth. She knows that she has to be the one to cast the line, but she can't seem to unbend. She's so very, very angry and underneath so terribly hurt and shamed, gods damn it. But she's got to get them over this hurdle. She sniffs; it's not likely that he'll ever be able to do it.

He takes a deep breath and jumps. "Is everything alright?"

She sits for a long moment.

"Only you seem a bit…quiet." His voice is gentle, cautious.

"I do?" Oh out with it Elsie, girl, out with it now. There's no parlor, no private space to hide and brood. Best to have it out and have done with. "I could say the same of you these past few days. Anything troubling you?"

"Well I…I…not especially." You damned fool, you hopeless liar.

She sighs. "What's this to do with, then, Mr. Carson? Are you displeased about something? Something to do with me?" She hesitates. "With us?" Oh, how cruel to discover at last how deeply she loves him only to learn that he does not, cannot, feel the same.

He can't make himself say the words; there are no words to describe what he feels. No polite words at any rate.

"I…well, you and. Well, it's not as though it's any of my business."

"What isn't your business?"

"Your life, your past."

"And what about my past? What is it, precisely, that you would like to know?"

That's just it, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Carson," he corrects himself angrily, "It's not for me to know anything unless you…" he trails off, unsure as to what he really wants. Does he really want to know? A hot burning sickness twists in his gut. Yes, yes he does want to know.

"You want to know whether I've known a man before you. Well the answer is yes. Yes I have." She stands abruptly, grabs her bowl of soup and takes it to the sink. She needs something to do with her hands, somewhere to hide from the shock and disgust she's afraid she'll see. She thinks of Thomas, suddenly, and of how difficult it is to live when you feel. She turns on him. "And you? Have you known a woman before me?"

He is shocked, taken aback, when he sees the look in her eyes. Could he have hurt her so much? All these years he fooled himself into believing that he'd risked only his own heart, that only he had been longing for something more than companionship, friendship even. Even down to marrying her he'd believed that she hadn't really cared for him all that much. That it was duty and convenience that brought her to him. Not that he cared, much. He just wanted her, on any terms. He hadn't expected anything (liar), but now they are lovers, he can't pretend any longer. He loves her, he desires her, all of her, even the parts of her that were never his, could never be his. He wants. And now he's on the verge of ruining it all.

"You know that I have," he says quietly, standing and taking a cautious step toward her. "But-"

"But what, Mr. Carson? But that was different? It's different for a man? Yes, I expect it is," she says bitterly. "Very well. You'll want to know all about it. He was a lovely, fine young man…"

"No." He closes the space between them, puts his hands on her shoulders, handles her roughly. "No, Elsie. There's no need to tell me anymore."

"Oh, but there is, Mr. Carson. It will fester if I don't." He releases her, takes a step back.

"I was a young lass with stars in her eyes and he was a fine young lad from the village. He was the son of the schoolmaster and I a farmer's daughter. He might as well have been the son of a lord. It didn't last, Mr. Carson. It couldn't. It didn't sit well with his Da that he'd taken a shine to me, so his Da sent him away. Far enough away to drive some sense into the lad, perhaps." She smiles, a soft, pained thing that pierces his heart. Then she fixes him with that familiar steely glare and lifts her chin.

"But I've no regrets, Mr. Carson. None, and you should know that. You should know that about me. I haven't shamed myself and I don't believe that I've shamed you. Oh aye it hurt. But I knew after that. I knew I'd always have to be in charge of my own self. I've always been free to choose." She takes a step towards him. "I chose you. I choose you, Charles."

The room is still and silent. She lets it rest around them.

He crosses the room in a moment and crushes her to him. His eyes are damp with tears he can't bear to shed.

"I love you" he whispers into her neck. "I love you."

She moves roughly against him, her mouth seeking his and they kiss for a long lovely moment.