Anna unfastened the last button. "There. You can slip out of it now, Mrs. Carson."

"Thank you, Anna. I had no wish to trouble you, but I do appreciate your help. I could never have gotten it off on my own."

Anna refrained from making the obvious jest, but reigning in a cheeky grin proved more difficult. "I assure you it was no trouble, Mrs. Carson. Do you need anything else?"

"No, no. I can dress myself from now on." She turned suddenly and took Anna's hand in her own. "Thank you, my dear."

Anna felt tears spring to her eyes. In spite of what many said, Mrs. Hughes, Mrs. Carson, had a soft heart under that stern exterior. Softer perhaps than any knew, save one. "You're welcome. I wish you very happy, Mrs. Carson, and I do hope you enjoy your wedding trip."

Mrs. Carson dropped Anna's hand smartly. "I'm sure I shall," she said crisply.

Anna knew it was time to leave the woman in peace. Though several words of reassurance came to mind, she had no way to voice them. "If you'll excuse me…"

Mrs. Carson nodded, then turned to busy herself by rearranging her traveling clothes. Her shoulders slumped as she heard the door click softly behind her. She might have asked Anna something. In spite of her boldness the other night, Elsie was quite nervous about this evening. It would be expected, particularly after the kiss they shared, and while she knew what it entailed in theory, the thought of practicing it made her insides shake. She sighed. Best get on with it. She slipped out of her wedding dress, carefully folding it and laying it amongst the tissue paper in its box. She turned and studied her reflection. Anna had done a marvelous job with her hair and even insisted on a bit of color for her cheeks and lips. Elsie touched her face lightly; she didn't look like herself at all. She knew herself to be plain, severe even, but today there was a softness, an almost girlish quality. Hadn't she always heard a woman was loveliest on her wedding day? She smoothed her hands over the new undergarments Anna had insisted upon. "You cannot wear your corset underneath this dress. The delicate silk won't hang properly at all." She protested, of course, but Anna would not relent. "It would be an embarrassment to both you and Mr. Carson." And that had been that.

Because the ladies had gifted her a wedding dress, Elsie had been able to purchase some fabric for a rather elegant traveling dress. Miss Baxter had offered, quite sincerely, to make the dress for Elsie. It was a lovely dress, a deep green which suited her coloring exactly. Mr. Carson always did admire her in green, even if he never used the words. This dress, too, must be worn with her new undergarments, according to Miss Baxter. She supposed one day she might have to give up her corset, an enemy for so long that now it was a friend. Not unlike Mrs. Patmore. She shook her head over her wandering thoughts, and put the box with her delicate gown on the top shelf of her wardrobe. She would move it to their new rooms when they returned. Her heart clenched in anxiety. When they returned to Downton, they would truly be husband and wife. Wouldn't they? She looked crossly at her reflection. "You won't be anything if you don't get going here, lass." She grasped her new dress, shook it lightly, and stepped into it as if donning armor for battle.

*CE*

The mercifully short train ride to Lytham St. Anne's was awkward in the extreme. He offered her his arm at the station, and she took it, stiffly. He took advantage of their newly wedded state to assist her into the carriage and was thanked for his trouble pleasure with a definite scowl. She occupied the window seat, her back as straight as though she were wearing her corset, which he knew she could not be. Though the material of her coat was thick, he could feel the absence of rigid lines he remembered feeling just the other evening. Best not think of that now, mate. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His wife looked askance at him.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Fine. Perfectly fine," he boomed. "And you?"

"As you see," she said stiffly. Why, oh, why must she talk to him as though she were disciplining a maid at Downton?

He took a deep breath. "It will be gone four o'clock by the time we reach the inn. I thought perhaps we might have an early supper."

An early supper? What would they do to fill those long hours until it was time to sleep? You know how he plans to fill the time, you foolish woman! "An early supper?"

Charles turned to smile at her. "If you've no objection? I confess I was too nervous to eat before the ceremony and too preoccupied after. I am rather starved at the moment."

She smiled back weakly. "Of course," she murmured.

At least she was talking to him! "Were you able to eat anything this morning?"

"Mrs. Patmore forced me to drink a cup of very strong tea and to eat a boiled egg." She smiled at the memory. "It was all I could manage, though she threatened me with more." They were very close now, his face only inches from her own. "I suppose I'm a bit hungry as well."

He could feel his face slacken; he must really look like an old booby now. She was biting her lip in that way she had; she did it whenever she was uncertain or hesitant. It was oddly endearing; many years ago it had amused him to have proof that the inestimable housekeeper was capable of some minor vulnerability. IT had made him feel strong, impenetrable even. Now he could admit freely that she was the stronger of the two and always had been. But now, he knew, it would be his strength they must both rely on. The thought terrified him.

*CE*

Charles fiddled unnecessarily with the clasp on his traveling case. The room was quite spacious; an en suite, which was an extravagance he felt they could both afford and deserve. He could tell she was pleased, even if her demeanor was still somewhat stern. Dinner hadn't eased matters between them. "Perhaps you might like to change for the evening?" Her look of surprise terror made his stomach clench painfully. "Only should you wish to," he added lamely.

"Of course," she said weakly. She opened her own carpetbag and pulled out two neatly folded bundles, then turned toward the door of the bathing room. "Will you be changing as well?"

He took in the narrow set of her shoulders and stifled a sigh. This wasn't at all how he'd imagined this evening. What did you expect, mate? D'you think she'd just fall into your arms the minute you two was alone? "Yes. Yes, I think I will." He watched as she marched (there could be no other word for it) into the bathing room and shut the door.

He sighed and rubbed his face wearily. He thought it would be easy between them. It always had been; mostly always. He gingerly pulled a carefully wrapped bottle and two glasses from his case. He'd agonized for days over a choice of spirits, but in the end had settled on a particularly fine claret he'd been saving for several years. Saving for what he'd never allowed himself to speculate. He thought it a good choice, solid and respectable, with a hint of the sublime. He hadn't packed a decanter, of course, but he could open the bottle and let it breathe.

*CE*

He fussed so long with the wine that he realized he had better hurry and change before Mrs. Carson finished her preparations for the evening. He removed his necktie and collar, draped his suit and waist coats across a chair; he would hang them later. He quickly removed his cufflinks and studs, thankful for another reason that he had never chosen to employ a valet for himself. He unbuckled his trousers, pulled his shirt off and was beginning to remove his vest when the door opened. As he turned toward the sound, his trousers fell down. Elsie jumped and inadvertently backed into the bathing room where she banged her head, rather smartly, into the open door. Charles pulled up his trousers and rushed to her.

"Are you alright?"

She refused to meet his gaze. "I am. Stupid really. I didn't mean to-"

"Let's have a look at you." He gently tilted her head down, then felt for a knot. "Nothing appears to be amiss," he rumbled. She continued to look away from him. "Elsie," he murmured.

"Yes?"

"You're lovely."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true," she said softly.

He leaned closer. "Do you not think me handsome?"

She looked up quickly. "I do." She studied the wall again. "Very," she muttered.

"I think you beautiful. Very." He leaned in closer still and placed a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"Charles, I-"

"It's been some time KISS that I've considered you KISS the loveliest woman KISS in Yorkshire; in all of England."

"Oh," she breathed. She wanted to reach for him, but he was wearing only his vest and trousers. It seemed...unseemly. An hysterical chuckle escaped.

"What is it, Elsie?"

"Nothing. Only, I wanted to touch you, but then I thought…which is ridiculous really because-"

"Elsie?"

She looked up at him. "Yes Charles?"

"Trousers be damned," he muttered. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her as he had been longing to since the moment she had agreed to become his wife.

A/N: I know. I KNOW. And I am sorry to leave you there. This scene took an unexpectedly comic turn. Look for an M-rated chapter to follow.