Another Sunday, another instalment. Bit longer this time, because I got quite preoccupied by… train tickets. I know I said we were going to be alternating points of view, but it seemed more important to have Elsie's thoughts for this, so we've had two in a row from her. More Charles soon, I promise. Thank you as ever for your kind words and reviews - do let me know what you think about the direction this is taking!

The second class compartment that he had showed her into was empty. She hovered in the middle of the six seats, waiting for him to tell her which were theirs, secretly hoping she would be able to sit in the corner seat by the window, looking the way they would be travelling, so she would be the first to catch sight of the sea. But the corner seats were always the first to be booked (since they meant that only one side of you had to be pressed up against a stranger for the duration of the journey) and most likely they would be squashed somewhere in the middle.

He was close behind her, pulling the door across and latching it, then turning to stand next to her. He was moving his hands about as he always did when he felt guilty or flustered - tugging on his jacket, then putting his hands behind his back, then clasping them in front of him, never still. She turned to him and reached out to grasp one of his hands in hers. He looked up, startled out of his disquiet by her touch.

"Have you got the tickets? Which are our seats? Are you sure we're supposed to be in second class?" Elsie heard the tremor and the tension in her own voice as she asked him. She longed for the easy comfort she had always felt when alone with him before, in his pantry or her sitting room, late at night. Now, everything between them was different, to be relearned, discovered anew, and she was nervous.

He let his hand slip from under hers and reached inside his jacket for the envelope containing the tickets. Wordlessly, he handed it to her without opening it. She looked from his hand to his face, and saw that he was nervous too, for some reason apprehensive about how she was going to react. What on earth had the daft man done now? What mischief could he get up to with something as mundane as train tickets?

Feeling somewhat exasperated now at his continued silence, she tried to open the envelope but found the paper slipped between the smoothness of her gloved fingers. Piqued enough now to risk a little impropriety, she abandoned ceremony and dragged off her one glove and flung it carelessly down on one of the seats.

Finally ripping open the envelope, she realised that it was too thick, too full just to contain a couple of train tickets to Scarborough and back. She reached inside and pulled out a veritable wad of paper. There were tickets, yes, half a dozen of them, wrapped in a note addressed to "Mrs Carson". She pulled this off and thrust it at him, more interested in why they had three times as many tickets as they needed than who was writing to her now. He took it from her and held it without unfolding it, his gaze fixed on her face.

"Mr Carson, what on earth is going on?" She finally gave voice to her confusion. "Whose idea was this? I thought it was just us travelling, but there are six return tickets here - the whole compartment is booked." She couldn't help it, her voice shook a little as she got to the end. She had so wanted for it just to be them, for them to have this time completely alone to learn how to be them, away from everyone else who otherwise filled their every waking moment.

He heard her distress, and his face - so hopeful, so wanting her to be happily surprised - collapsed. He stepped into her and put his hand on her arm. "Oh no, no - it isn't what you think. I've gone about this all wrong. She…" He tailed off and began flapping his free hand about again. She finally caught on.

"It was her idea, wasn't it? To book the whole compartment both ways?"

"Yes." There was something slightly grudging, mocking in his tone, but he tightened his grip on her arm as he heard the bustle on the platform, the train nearing readiness to pull out of the station. "The one you call 'the blessed Lady Mary'. She found me at the station last week, when I was trying to buy two third class returns from York to Scarborough. And well, you know…"

She laughed now, her heart thrilling to see how the cheer instantly returned to his face as she did so. "And she overruled you, didn't she, like she always does? Insisted on buying us a whole compartment in second class?"

"Mmmm. She said she explained it all in the note." He waved the piece of paper at her, and now she looked at it properly, she couldn't understand how she'd been able to miss Lady Mary's distinctive script curling around her new name. She was just reaching for it when the train jolted away from the platform, and she staggered and lost her balance.

Immediately, Charles slid his hand from her arm and had her waist encompassed in the crook of his elbow. With her pressed close against him, he leaned down and murmured, "Steady, Els. I've got you."

There it was again. That name for her that nobody had uttered for forty years at least. She relaxed against him, becoming accustomed to the motion of the train as it sped up and even more determined to interrogate him about his new way of referring to her before too much longer. She reached one hand between them, and took Lady Mary's note from his grasp, before patting his chest and looking up at him. "Thank you. Shall we take our pick of all these seats, then?"

He loosened his hold on her, and she turned to plump herself down in the corner seat she had been eyeing earlier. She expected him to take the one opposite her, but yet again he surprised her by picking up her glove and taking its place in the seat next to her. He laid the glove across his knee and stroked the soft material. "These are beautiful," he said.

She had dropped the note and the envelope with all the tickets on the little table under the window, and at his words she paused in the act of removing her other glove. He was reaching for her other hand. "May I?" he said, flicking his eyes up to hers. She breathed her assent at him, unsure exactly what he was asking.

He took her hand between both of his and stroked it, before gently sliding his fingers inside to her wrist and drawing the glove slowly down and off her hand. Her wedding band caught the light slanting into the compartment now as the train dashed onward, and she was reminded of the moment in the church, not three hours ago, when he had taken her hand in his like this and slipped that ring onto her finger. She caught his eye, and there was that look again. Just like in the corridor, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his lips lingering on her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

The moment seemed to stretch and lengthen, and she had no idea how long she had sat there trembling, the train racing now, her hand against his mouth, staring into his eyes. But then there was a click and the conductor was sliding open the door of their compartment - all theirs! what foolish luxury! - to check their tickets. She snatched her hand out of Charles' grasp and grabbed the tickets. The conductor looked slightly baffled by the whole fistful she handed him, but he dutifully clipped all six, returned them to her and then departed, sliding the door back across.

She risked a glance at her husband's face again. He was looking slightly dazed still, both of her gloves held tightly in his fist. For her part, she was now madly curious to know what his sainted Lady Mary had written in this note. She picked it up off the table and unfolded it. Coming out of his daydream and seeing what she was doing, he suddenly became very absorbed in examining the stitching of her gloves. She chuckled to herself - of course, Charles would never try and read a note addressed to someone else, even if it was to his own wife. Glancing down, she read:

Dear Mrs Carson,

As your husband has probably told you by now, I found him at the village station a few days ago, making the arrangements for your trip to Scarborough. I asked about your plans, and he told me of your desire to get straight away from Downton after the wedding. As he explained, I was reminded so strongly of how I felt after my own wedding, that I wanted Mr Crawley all to myself straight away, and that just for a while we should be able to think only about each other, and not be the people the family or the estate demanded that we be.

I know you and I have not always been completely aligned in our ideas about weddings, but we are, it seems, in perfect agreement about honeymoons. As such, I have taken the liberty of purchasing you a little piece of that solitude with which to begin your marriage. I hope you and Carson find it to your liking.

Yours sincerely,

Lady Mary Crawley

She was an uppity minx all right, Lady Mary - but as she had always suspected, Mr Crawley had brought out the best in her. Even amid all the dizzy happiness of this, her own wedding day, she felt a pang for Lady Mary and the husband she had lost too soon.

Folding the note again and putting it in her bag for Charles to read later, she looked over at him again, apparently still so very interested in her gloves. Impulsively, she leaned across and kissed him softly on the cheek. Yes, she thought, as she drew back and took in his shocked, delighted expression, I shall tell Lady Mary that this is very much to my liking.