A/N: Special shout-out to theglamourfades because her birthday has come around again. I hope you've had a wonderful day. :)

4. The Day in the Village

The next day passed quickly. Maeve had convinced Seamus to drive them into Dundalk, and Anna had been almost as excited as the children about seeing a completely different kind of town. Of course, she'd known that it wouldn't be very different to the towns that were found in England, but it felt much more exotic somehow, to be exploring in a different country. The twins had complained more than usual, no doubt tired out by the increase of activity, but it had still been a thoroughly enjoyable day. They'd planned the next one to be a lazy one in order to give the children a little more time to recover, and Anna was currently in the kitchen with all three of them. Grace and James were not paying the slightest bit of attention to what their mother was doing, crawling about on the floor and taking it in turns to push James' train around the room. They frequently banged into the table legs, and Anna winced every time they did so; no doubt the furniture would be horribly chipped by the time they left.

John and Maeve had decided to take a walk together around the fields that were on the back of the row of small houses. John had said that it was best to keep his knee moving before it had time to seize up, and Anna had left them to it, knowing that it was just as important for the two of them to have some time alone to catch up on the things that they had missed over the last two decades. She had elected to stay behind, and had decided that she'd like to bake her own cake as a thank you of sorts before they found a proper present for Maeve in the village.

"Mummy?" Martha's voice interrupted her musings, and she turned to her eldest daughter with a smile.

"Yes, my love?" she said, ruffling her hair gently.

Martha frowned a little. She was standing on one of the chairs so that she could reach the worktops, her little fingers gripping the edge tightly so that she didn't fall. Her face was covered in flour, and there was even a dusting of it in her hair. "What do we do now?"

"Well, we wait for the cake to rise. Then we'll know it's done."

"Is it rising yet?"

"No, I'm afraid not. We only put it in five minutes ago."

Martha frowned again, and dusted the tip of her tiny index finger in the spilled flour. "What else do we do now?"

"We're supposed to tidy up while we're waiting."

"Mummy, do we have to?" she whined, looking up at her with beseeching blue eyes. "That's boring!"

Anna chuckled, slipping her arm around her waist. "Well, I'm afraid the most necessary things in life are always boring. But what if we finish this chocolate off first?"

At the sound of chocolate, Martha's eyes lit up, and Anna smiled lovingly as she passed her the bowl. Martha ran her fingers around the rim impatiently to collect the melted residue, shoving them into her mouth in the most graceless way possible. Anna rolled her eyes affectionately, stifling a yawn as she found a cloth to sweep away the excess flour.

The days were exhausting her more than she cared to admit. John knew that she was finding it difficult to keep up most of the time, and she hated to be a frustration to him, but she just couldn't help it. It had never been easy, looking after three young children, and the extra activity that the last couple of days had brought in such a concentrated amount of time meant that she was feeling more sluggish than ever. And, more concerning for her, she and John had still not been intimate with each other. She knew that John would be patient and wait as long as was needed, but it still didn't make it any easier. She knew that he was eager—she'd been on the receiving end of his affections enough times—and she herself was no less so. It had been far too long since he had last touched her. The three weeks that she had spent apart from him had been torturous, though John's idea of meeting with other small hotel owners had been a very clever idea. They had spoken on the phone as often as they'd been able, and he had sent her several loving letters during his time away, but it hadn't made it any easier. And the fact that they had been united a whole week before coming out to Ireland without even once managing to resume their intimacies had been tough. There had been so much to plan that there just hadn't been time, and they'd had more than enough on their plates leaving strict instructions for the stand-in staff while they were away.

Still, she was hopeful that they'd be able to make love again soon. Even if it was in his cousin's house, there was still something delicious about the idea of making love in a place that was new to them, between sheets that weren't theirs. She hummed, feeling a pleasant flush shudder through her body at the thought of the unfulfilled promises they had, and then allowed her expression to sober. Of course, there were many other things that needed discussing too.

"Mummy?"

For the second time, Martha's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she shook her head to clear it of all worries. Plastering a bright smile onto her face, she turned back to her daughter.

"Yes?"

"Is the cake ready now?"

Anna chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Not yet."

"Can't we open the oven and see?"

"No, we can't. If we did that, the cake would go sad."

Martha wrinkled her nose, trying to process this. "Mummy, why would the cake be sad? Are we hurting it? Will it cry?"

Laughter bubbled up deliriously within her. "We're not hurting it, I promise. But we shouldn't open the door."

"All right." Her daughter looked so serious that she couldn't help but kiss her again, lingering against her to breathe in the scent of her skin. Tears threatened for a brief moment. Her baby was growing up far too fast.

She went back to cleaning before she embarrassed herself, wiping up the spilled egg yolks from where Martha had missed the bowl the first time, then running water for washing up.

"Mummy?" Now Martha sounded pensive. Just like her father.

"Yes, love?" she said again, turning from the sink and reaching out hands to steady her as Martha wobbled a bit on the chair that she was standing on.

"If I tell you something that I shouldn't tell, is that bad?"

Anna raised an eyebrow. "Martha Rose Bates, what have you done?"

"Nothing!" Martha said indignantly. "Gracie broke the vase, not me!"

Anna winced. "Oh, dear Lord. When did that happen?"

Evidently realising that she'd let slip something that she hadn't meant to, Martha clamped her mouth firmly closed. Anna sighed, knowing that there was no sense in getting angry over an accident. "All right then, what's this thing that you're not supposed to be telling me?"

"It's Pa," Martha said matter-of-factly, turning back to the spilled flour that she'd missed to draw several squiggles. Anna wasn't quite sure what they were supposed to be representing.

"Pa?" she voiced instead. "Now I'm intrigued. What's Pa done?"

"He…he swored me to sec-sec…"

"Secrecy?"

"Yes, that."

"My, that's very mysterious. Come here, love."

Anna opened her arms and Martha moved forward into them. Anna heaved her up with a huff, adjusting her to her hip, and the little girl wrapped her arms around her neck.

"Now then," said Anna, craning her head back a little so that she could stare into her daughter's face, "what's Pa been saying?"

"I promised. Will I be bad if I tell you?"

"Well, it can be a secret between you and me then."

"Another secret?" Martha looked positively giddy at the prospect.

"Yes," said Anna. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

Martha nodded eagerly, her blonde hair tickling Anna's nose. Her blue eyes were dancing with excitement at being considered old enough to have another secret.

"So what's Pa sworn you to secrecy over?"

"I told him that you were crying when he wasn't here," she said. "And he told me not to tell you."

Anna stared, torn somewhere between embarrassment and disappointment. "That's the big secret?"

Martha nodded happily. Anna gently placed her daughter back down on the chair. Disentangling her arms from around her, she moved back towards the counter, reaching for a cloth to mop up the excess flour that Martha had been playing with.

"Although I don't quite understand," she said as airily as she could. "When did you see Mummy crying?"

"I told you, when Pa was away," Martha said without preamble, bending down a little on the chair, as though she was trying to work out the best way of getting down. Anna abandoned the cloth at once, lifting her to the floor before she fell and hurt herself. She could feel herself shaking as she pressed a kiss against her hair, closing her eyes for a brief moment.

"You saw me?" she asked.

Martha nodded innocently, moving over to peer into the oven, as though the cake would have miraculously risen in the five minutes that had just passed. "Why was you crying, Mummy?"

"Never mind," said Anna, forcing a smile. "I was just being silly. It's nothing to worry about. Now, come away from there. I don't want you to burn yourself. Go and play with Grace and James for a moment while I tidy up."

Martha nodded dutifully, skipping across the room and falling to her knees beside her siblings. Anna took a deep breath, turning back to the mess on the counter, the melancholy settling over her shoulders again. It was silly for her to be feeling this way. There was absolutely no reason for it. But John knew. He knew that she'd been upset. And while Martha clearly didn't see the complexity of it, John would. She knew him. He wouldn't rest until she'd unburdened herself to him. And she would. She had no choice in the matter. She was just a little afraid.

On cue, there was the distant sound of the door opening in the hall. Anna whirled around, wide-eyed, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. John was back. He'd take one look at her face, and he'd know that something had happened. She wasn't ready to face him. Not yet. She heard both his voice and Maeve's as they exchanged teases, and then heard the tap of John's cane as he moved closer. In the next instant, the door opened, and he was standing in the threshold.

"Pa!" Martha squealed excitedly, launching herself at him at once. Laughing, he caught her around the waist, pulling her against him for a hug. His affection made Anna's heart balloon.

"How's my favourite girl?" he asked, dipping his head so that he could look down into her face.

Martha giggled bashfully at his words, snuggling further against him. "We made a cake!"

"A cake, eh?" said John, his eyes finding Anna's across the room. "That certainly sounds exciting. What kind?"

"Chocolate," she informed him as he let go of her so that he could greet the twins, bending down with a groan beside them.

"My favourite," he said, reaching out to push James' train across the floor. "And how are my other favourite girl and boy?"

They laughed in unison, clambering to stand between his legs. John pressed a kiss against each of their cheeks, breathing in the clean smell of their skin and closing his eyes to savour the moment. And then his eyes met Anna's properly. They were searching, and Anna's breath caught in her throat. Her worst fears were confirmed. John knew that something was wrong.

"Martha," he said without taking his eyes off her, "would you mind taking your brother and sister to find Maeve? She's got something for you."

Martha's eyes lit up at the prospect of a present, and she came forward eagerly, holding out her hands to take hold of her siblings.

"Come on," she said bossily. "Follow me." She all but dragged them from the room. It clearly didn't please them—they were both whining indignantly—but Anna couldn't focus on that at the current moment. John's eyes were burning into her.

"Alone at last," he said as he began to make his way over to her slowly.

"It's not often that you can say that anymore," said Anna, trying to keep her tone light.

He didn't reply as he reached her, slowly wrapping his arms around her waist. Anna tipped her head back, offering her face for a kiss, and he took the opportunity, dropping a quick one against her mouth. When he parted from her, he kept his hands around her waist, his eyes scrutinising her every feature.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he asked her.

"Who says there is anything wrong?"

"You," he said tenderly, his thumb travelling from her cheek to her jaw. "You seem sad. What's happened?"

"Nothing's happened," she said quickly. "I've had a nice morning with my children. What could possibly be better than that?"

"Nothing," he conceded. "But even so, I know you. There's something bothering you today."

"Trust me, John. It's nothing at all."

"Very well," he sighed. "I'll not pursue the matter further. But I don't believe you."

She tried her best to smirk, running a finger down his cheek. "Well, now you know what it was like for me when you'd be all cryptic and frustrating when we were engaged."

He kissed her fingertips as they ran across his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. "Well, I hope that I can cheer you up."

"Oh?" Inside, Anna's heart leapt in her chest. "What are you proposing?"

He pulled her closer, his arms travelling down to just above the curve of her bottom, holding her there. "I've arranged for us to have a day out together, just the two of us. Maeve has agreed to it. She said that she'd take the children down to the park again, so we can have some time to ourselves."

"Well, that sounds lovely," said Anna, blinking in surprise. "But are you sure that Maeve doesn't mind?"

"She offered at once," said John. "She's good with children. They'll be fine for a few hours."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," said Anna, a smile threatening to break out on her features. "So you have something planned for us?"

"I do," he growled, bending down to kiss her quickly. "I was thinking that we could have a browse around the village together. We haven't had a real opportunity to do that together yet. I'd like to buy you something new. It's been a while since I've been able to, and since we're doing all right with the hotel, I'd like to treat you."

"John, you know you don't have to do that."

"I do know. But you're my girl and I want to treat you well."

"You do treat me well. Have you ever heard me complain?"

"Not yet, I haven't. But then again, you might have some complaints in other areas." He raised his eyebrows, and his meaning was clear. "We haven't practiced in a while. I might be rusty."

"John Bates!" she said. This time, she couldn't stop herself from giggling. "You're a terrible, terrible man."

"But you still love me?"

She sniffed. "I'm not sure. Apparently I'm not your favourite girl anymore."

John chuckled, pulling her closer. "Can't I have three favourite girls?"

Anna's face fell almost imperceptibly, but she forced a grin back. "I suppose you can."

"All right, what was that look for?" John wanted to know.

"What look?"

"That one a few seconds ago. You know what I mean, Anna Bates."

She sighed heavily. "I don't want to talk about it now."

"But you're admitting that there is something that needs to be discussed?"

She knew that she wouldn't be able to keep it from him for much longer, much as she wished that she could. "Yes, I suppose."

"And it's…it's serious?" His voice caught a little in his throat. He looked terrified. Anna cursed the fact that the playful mood had been lost.

"John, please, it's nothing to worry about."

"How can I not worry when you say things like that?" he said lowly. "Christ…"

She took his face firmly in her hands, forcing him to look at her. "John, stop it. Calm down. I just want to enjoy the day that you've arranged for us. I want us to enjoy being together."

"But—"

"If I promise that it's nothing too serious, do you promise to let it drop and to forget about it until tonight? Tonight we'll talk, but we've not got enough time to now. Just trust me, all right?"

He sighed. "You know I trust you."

"Good. Come on then, let's finish tidying up here. I'm afraid Martha wasn't very interested."

"That's because it's boring."

Anna rolled her eyes. "Like father, like daughter."

John chuckled, reaching around to the bowl and dipping his fingers into the mixture that hadn't been scraped into the cake. Anna was suddenly very aware of the way that he was licking it from the tip. Given their current abstinence, that was a very bad idea—

"So then, are you all set?"

Anna jumped at the sound of Maeve's voice. She was smiling brightly at them, her cheeks flushed bright red with the wind, unwinding a scarf from around her neck.

"I think so," said John obliviously. "We're just going to tidy up this mess, and then we'll get going."

"What a gentleman," Maeve teased. "If he's like this at home, then you've done well, Anna."

"Yes," she murmured, though she talking in another respect entirely. "I have."

After leaving the children with Maeve, promising that they'd be back sometime in the afternoon, Anna and John made their way into the village. They held hands on the country road, fingers twined securely. It brought back memories for the both of them, of the times at Downton when they'd walked to and from their cottage before the children had made an appearance, not caring who saw them, because they were in love and oh so happy. They hadn't had as many chances for hand-held walks in recent years—keeping a hold on their children had been a much bigger priority—so they relished it now, glancing at each other every now and then, unable to stop themselves from beaming. Anna thought that they probably looked like giddy sweethearts, but she didn't mind in the slightest. To her, it was yet another sign that their love for each other would never die even a little. And that made her feel safe.

John seemed to be granting her wish of not spending every second worrying about her. Instead, he regaled her with tales of the little bit of history that he'd picked up about the place over the last days. Anna found it incredibly endearing that he got so animated about such things, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his tone as he explained everything that he could remember. She squeezed his hand lightly, glowing when he squeezed back harder, his eyes adoring.

When he stopped them on the road to bestow a gentle, chaste kiss against her mouth, reminiscent of the way that he'd done it back in their days at Downton, she was almost set aglow. If this was going to be the tone of the day, then she knew that she'd enjoy it very much indeed.

They made it to the village for midday, Anna moving to link her arm through John's so that it looked at least a little more respectable.

"What do you want to do first?" John asked her, dipping his head so that he could see her face.

"How about luncheon?" she said. "That way we don't have to stop for the rest of the afternoon."

"Luncheon sounds good," he agreed. "There's a little teashop just along the way. I'm sure that'll be fine."

"Sounds perfect," said Anna. "Go on then, lead the way."

The teashop was beautiful, a quaint, picturesque building tucked away down one of the few side streets the town possessed. Its windows were wide and welcoming, allowing the light to flood in. Thankfully, it wasn't overly crowded, due to the cold March winds that had kept a lot of people inside their warm houses. John supposed that in the summer months it would be teeming with people sharing cold lemonades and iced cakes, giving the place a warm and friendly atmosphere, but Anna didn't think that the time of the year made too much of a difference.

"It's still nice and cosy," she declared as they made their way towards the front door. "And it'll be nice and warm inside, so that'll make it even better. Besides, I'm intrigued about this St. Patrick's Day. Mr. Branson's tales always made it sound quite exciting, and where better to learn about it than Ireland itself?"

"I'm surprised Mr. Branson can remember the days," John commented. "As far as I know, most Irish men tend to drink themselves silly in celebration." His expression darkened, and he said no more. He had his own memories of bawdy St. Patrick's Days. He hoped that Anna wouldn't pursue the matter further. He didn't feel comfortable talking about such things with her.

To his relief, Anna seemed to sense his discomfort and made no attempt to ask him about his own experiences. Perhaps she knew that there were things that were better left unsaid. What she did do was pull on his arm and lead him through the door of the teashop. The waitress standing nearby looked up at their entrance, smiling at them.

"Good afternoon," she greeted them. "Table for two, is it?"

"Yes, please," said Anna, looking round at John as he removed his hat. "That would be lovely."

The waitress led them further inside the room. True to Anna's predictions, the room was warm, a little fire crackling merrily in the hearth and keeping the cold March temperatures at bay. John helped Anna out of her coat and then pulled out her seat, tucking the coat safely around the back of it as Anna sat herself down, before helping push her back under.

"How gentlemanly," Anna teased as he rounded the small table and sat himself down.

"Oh, I like to be a gentleman every now and then," he said airily, then smiled at her, moving his hand across the table to catch hers. "And I like to be romantic every now and then as well."

"Romantic?" said Anna, arching her eyebrow. "Bold words, Mr. Bates."

"What can I say? I'm a bold man."

She giggled, pulling her hand away from his so that she could peruse the neat little menu tucked under the china plate.

"The Victoria sponge sounds delicious," she said. "I think I'll have that."

"What about a sandwich first?"

She shook her head. "Just the cake."

John's lips quirked. "You can't be serious."

"I have a sweet tooth," she said defensively. "You ought to know that by now."

"I was only teasing," he said, and Anna sighed.

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Would you like to share with me?"

"That's all right," he said. "I think I'll go for something a little more substantial."

The waitress made her way over at that point, and the two of them placed their orders. When she had gone, John leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. Anna turned her gaze on their surroundings. They'd been seated near to the fire by happy coincidence, and she could feel it warming her thoroughly. There were pastel paintings on the wall, of flowers and other pretty things. The room itself was decidedly feminine, but there was the odd man dotted about, accompanying his wife for the day. Other tables were filled with groups of women—housewives, Anna surmised, taking a break from their long hours of housekeeping to share a few hours with like minds.

"Here are your teas." The waitress' voice cut through Anna's thoughts, and she accepted the cup with a smile.

"Thank you," said John as he took his own. The waitress lingered.

"We don't get many English 'uns round these parts," she said bluntly. "They're usually not welcome."

"Yes, well," said John. "I'm sure that that's understandable."

"So what made you brave enough to come here?"

"Visiting a cousin, actually. My mother was Irish, so I still have family over here."

The waitress seemed interested at once. "A cousin, eh? And who might that be?"

"Mrs. Maeve Dunne," said John.

"Mrs. Dunne? Oh, I'd heard that she was entertaining! I didn't realise it was you! Is she not with you today?"

John smiled politely. "No, she's at home. She offered to look after our children for the afternoon while we have a better look around."

"What are you planning, then?"

Anna could tell that John was a little uncomfortable with the waitress' direct way of asking questions—he preferred it when people minded their own business—so she took the reins smoothly.

"Well, we're just having a browse around this afternoon," she said. "But tonight we'd like to see the St. Patrick's Day celebrations."

The woman's eyes lit up at the sound of that. "Oh really? Well, in that case, I can tell you that there's a carnival that's going to be setting up in the park this afternoon, and it'll be open for tonight. You could always have a look around that. They're always more fun when there's more to celebrate."

"That does sound like fun," Anna agreed.

"Bess!" came a shout. "Bess, stop talking and come and help in the kitchen!"

Bess flinched at that, and scurried away at once, leaving Anna fighting a smile.

"Who does that remind you of?" she said.

John chuckled, reaching for his cup of tea. "It's almost like a home away from home."

"What do you think to the idea of the carnival, though?" she asked, taking a sip from her cup. "Does it appeal to you?"

"Well, I'd say that it's better than the pub. And there aren't any other places to go here."

"And you're worried about the pub because of the drunks?" she teased.

"Well, it's not the place for a lady."

Anna raised her cup, speaking conspiratorially behind it. "Mr. Bates, if you recall correctly, it wouldn't be my first time in a pub. And I don't remember being that ladylike last time, either."

John flushed at that, fumbling for his own cup. "Oh, I believe that I can remember that. All too clearly."

Anna reflected for a moment on the things that might have been. The thrill of the forbidden. Being taken back to his room, an unmarried woman. Knowing him in the way that she'd longed for, the last veil of intimacy uncovered. And yet, despite the fact that they could have escaped some of the pain and heartache that the years had brought to them, Anna was glad that they'd waited. They'd built a wonderful life for themselves from the ruins of their misery. She had a feeling that things wouldn't have been quite as wonderful now if their lives had taken a different path.

"Perhaps we could start there with just one quick drink before moving on, then," she said now, shaking those thoughts away.

"Very well, then. If that's what you want."

She smirked a little. "Well, it would make for an exciting change."

"Are you implying that you find our life dull?"

His tone was hurt, but his eyes were twinkling with playfulness. Anna pretended to consider the question hard, twisting her wedding ring absent-mindedly around her finger. She thought about Martha's habit of saying whatever came into her head, Grace's inability to stay still for long, James' fussing. Each of their children kept Anna and John on their toes in their own special ways. Their family could be called many things but, Anna thought, it could never be described as dull.

"No," she said at last, lips curling up into a smile. "I'm not implying that at all."

They were interrupted momentarily by the arrival of their respective orders. John raised an eyebrow at Anna's cake, but she ignored him, picking up her fork and tucking in as delicately as she could. Shaking his head with a slight smile, he picked up his own sandwich, taking a bite.

"So we're definitely decided on the carnival?" said Anna, swallowing her mouthful.

"I think so, yes."

She grinned brightly at him. There was a fine dusting of sugar on her lip. John desperately wanted to lean across the table and kiss it away, and had to bite his tongue hard when her own came out to swipe it clear.

"It would be a new experience," she said.

"Oh, most certainly. In all of our years together, we've never once been to a fair together. That's rather tragic, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, most definitely. We've always missed out on the opportunities. It would be nice to rectify that. You could try to win me a prize."

His eyes flashed, and he lowered his voice. "I can think of one prize that could be mutually beneficial."

"Mr. Bates," she hissed, glancing around to make sure that no one had heard him, the shadow of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "Behave."

He didn't respond, but his eyes were twinkling, and she couldn't help but giggle.

He really could be impossible, but at least he was hers.

Their time in the teashop passed quickly, and soon they were bundling themselves back up into their layers, ready to face the nippy day once more.

"Where do you want to go now?" John asked her as they stepped back outside, wedging his hat onto his head.

"I don't mind," she said.

"Come on, you must have a preference. Never before has Anna Bates turned down the chance to take control."

She giggled a bit at that, flushing a bit pink at the insinuation, then slipped her hand into his. "Very well then, if you insist. I'm afraid that you'll be regretting it soon, though."

"Never," he vowed. "Whatever you want, you shall have, love."

"Well, I'd like to see a bit more of the village. With the children, we didn't get a chance to look around, and it would be nice to acquaint myself with it before we have to go back home.

John chuckled. "Well now is your chance. And I promise I won't start complaining."

She pecked at his cheek. "You're sweet for saying it, even if I don't believe you. Now come on, let's go."

Anna had been surprised to discover that Carlingford had more to offer than she'd initially expected. It was such a small place that she hadn't been expecting much beyond the customary shops. She supposed looks could be deceiving.

It wasn't surprising that John had dragged her into the bookshop. He never could resist the pull of a book, even though she often protested that he had more than enough as it was. She couldn't mind, not really. John's hunger for reading was endearing, and the fact that he was passing it on to their children made it even more so.

She browsed the shelves now quietly, taking her time to run her fingers over the beautifully bound covers. The bookstore was only very small, but books were packed in everywhere, and there really was a beautiful selection. She could hear John's cane tapping quietly somewhere in the background, but she turned it out as she hummed quietly under her breath, examining the covers.

And then one in particular caught her eye.

It was bound in handsome leather, and the words down the spine were printed in fine gold that gave it an extra air of worth. Enchanted, she picked it up, flipped it open, fell into the words inside. Her fingers stroked the pages reverently as she read.

"What do you have there?"

It wasn't until she heard John's voice right behind her that she noticed that he'd stopped browsing the shelves, and she jumped almost a foot in the air at his voice so close to her ear.

"Mr. Bates," she scolded. "You gave me quite a fright."

His smile was lazy and coy. It made her stomach flip. "I apologise, dear wife. Now, may I take a closer look?"

She flipped the cover over so that he could see the title. His smirk only widened.

"Stories of Red Hanrahan and the Secret Rose?" he said. "How intriguing."

"It called to me," she explained, fidgeting a little sheepishly.

"I'm not surprised. We're in Yeats' home country, after all. His work is going to seduce you here."

"It seduces you everywhere."

He chuckled, stepping closer. "I think seduces is probably the wrong word to use. Otherwise you might have something to worry about."

She giggled too at his implication, letting her eyes rove over his face. "Who says that I'm not worried? These last four weeks might just have been an excuse to you."

"Believe me," he growled. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about."

"I've not seen you with this one," she commented, quickly changing the subject.

"That's because I don't own it. It's fairly recent, and I've not had the chance to buy it yet."

"So no doubt it'll be making its way into your depressing collection soon enough," she teased.

"Yeats isn't always depressing," he argued.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Really? I beg to differ."

He bent in closer to her. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of his breath ghosting the back of her neck, and felt immense gladness that they were hidden out of sight of the rest of the shop, sequestered away in the back corner behind a huge stand.

"When my arms wrap you round I press

My heart upon the loveliness

That has long faded from the world…"

She shivered as she realised that he was reciting a poem to her, his voice low and growling, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. His hand ghosted across her back. For a moment, she felt a thrill, thinking that he was going to do exactly what the poem described. But he kept his hands maddeningly away from her, bending lower over her on the pretence of inspecting the book more closely.

"For that pale breast and lingering hand…"

Her eyes half-lidded at the sultry image of John's hands on her body. She just couldn't help herself. Not now.

"And when you sigh from kiss to kiss…"

Her eyelids fluttered. She fought the urge to swing around and pull him down to her, regardless of the very public setting. Half of the words were likely not as coaxing as she was interpreting them as, but there was something about John's hoarse voice that made them so, that somehow made them racier. If he'd read to her like that back in the day, she would have fallen into his bed swooning, damn the consequences for herself.

John let out a breath when he finished the poem, daringly touching her hip. "So, do you still beg to differ?"

"What?" She shook her head, brought back to the real world so suddenly.

"Yeats. Do you stand by your claim that everything he writes is depressing?"

She blinked, trying to make sense of everything. "Well, that poem isn't exactly cheerful. It's all about lost beauty, isn't it?"

He smirked. "Is it? It's open to interpretation, love. But I have a book at home that might change your mind. A volume of Yeats' most romantic poetry. I'll read it to you."

She had no doubt as to where he'd be reading it to her, and her cheeks flamed . He did nothing to abate the reaction, trailing his fingers up her arm.

"And who knows what treasures can be found in here," he growled, moving ever closer.

Her eyes fluttered closed when he eased the book out of her hands.

"I think you should buy that book and prepare some poetry reading," she said breathlessly.

He chuckled. "It would be my absolute pleasure."

Back out on the street once more, John coaxed her into slipping her arm into his. She did so gladly, leaning her cheek against his arm.

"Right, where to next?" she asked.

He gave her one of those smiles that just made her melt. "Follow me, and you'll see."

The only dress shop in Carlingford soon became obvious. Anna's eyes widened as John grinned widely, pulling her playfully towards the door.

"Come on," he said. "It's time that I treated you to something nice."

"John, no," she protested. "You don't have to do that."

"When was the last time I treated you to something?" he said softly. "I regret not being able to shower you with the finest jewels every day of my life."

"Don't be silly. Everything we do is for the children. We can't afford to do any different with so many of them. Believe me, this trip is enough of a treat for all of us."

He frowned, looking down. "But when was the last time I bought something just for you to enjoy?"

"You should save your money, John. You never know when you'll need it."

He huffed. "I can spare enough money for this. Please, let me treat you."

She relented with a heavy sigh. She loved him for wanting to make the gesture. Of course she did. But she didn't need them throwing away silly money.

The bell above the door tinkled cheerily as they entered the shop together. Two women who had been gossiping at the counter sprang to attention at once, smiling broadly.

"Good afternoon," one of them said, evidently the one in charge. "How may I help you today?"

"Good afternoon," said John, his voice a deep burr. Anna shivered to hear just the hint of an old Irish drawl slipping through into the undercurrent. "My wife would like to have a look at your collection of dresses."

"You're English," the first woman said. It was becoming a bit of a theme. "Forgive me, but it's odd to find your kind around here."

Your kind. Anna was a little bit disconcerted by the bristling animosity towards the English, though she should have expected it. The army had made a royal mess of the situation over here. It was no wonder that people were so bitter. She wondered how Lady Sybil had coped living in Dublin.

John seemed less intimidated, keeping his hold on her hand. "That's right, we are. At least, I'm half English. My mother was Irish. We're here visiting my cousin, Mrs. Dunne."

"Oh, Mrs. Dunne!" said the second woman. "We know her well. We had no idea she had a cousin!"

"We haven't seen each other as we'd like for some time now. But we're here visiting with our family. This is my wife, Anna Bates. I'm John Bates."

"Hello," she piped up, wincing a little at how strong her accent was.

The animosity seemed to have tempered just slightly at the mention of John's Irish heritage, and the two women stepped forward to shake her hands.

"Mrs. O'Shea," said the oldest, and gestured to the younger woman. "And this is Miss Flynn."

"It's very nice to meet you," Anna answered self-consciously.

"Now, you said Mrs. Bates is looking for a dress?"

John smiled at her, guiding her forward with his hand on the small of her back. "That's right."

"It's kind of you to escort your wife on such a womanly excursion," said Miss Flynn as she took hold of Anna's arm and pulled her forward.

John's eyes found hers. "Oh, I don't see it that way. The pleasure is all mine. We enjoy spending time together."

"We run a hotel," Anna added. "We've not spent as much time together as we'd like over the last few weeks."

"Well, I'm certain we'll have the perfect dress for you somewhere, Mrs. Bates. Why don't you have a browse, let us know when you've found something?"

Anna nodded, and John stepped forward with her, following her faithfully. She suspected that he didn't have a clue what he was looking for, but she was touched by his eagerness all the same. Every so often he would pause and offer her a dress to look at, and she would take the opportunity with a soft smile of her own, running her fingers across the material, cooing over the details.

"Perhaps you should have been a fashion designer," she teased. "You seem to know what suits me."

"I've watched you for years," he growled lowly in reply. "I know exactly what suits you. Every shade of colour…it's all catalogued in my head."

"So what colour suits me best?" she whispered. "What do you like?"

He regarded her for a moment, his gaze heated, and then slowly reached around her to sift through the rack behind her. Her breath hitched.

"I like you in anything," he whispered. "Or in nothing at all."

"Mr. Bates!" she scolded lowly. "Behave yourself."

She caught sight of his smirk and her stomach fluttered. She loved that expression on his face. It never ceased to affect her. Even after all these years, it fired her like nothing else. He sobered soon after, however, running his fingers across a dress and then pulling it free.

"This suits you," he said, his gaze steady as he looked at her, even as he pinked. "Blue. It's your colour."

The dress that he'd picked out was breath-taking. It wasn't extravagant in any way—they could hardly afford to splash out on luxuries like clothes—but it was still very pretty. The dress arms, made of some sheer satin material, stopped daringly at the elbow. The waist was tucked in, the hemline scandalously high. The shade was a deep blue, bluer than any that she'd ever seen before. She knew why he'd picked it out.

"It brings out the colour of your eyes," he said as if he could read her mind, leaning closer. "Try it on."

"John," she protested one last time. "You don't have to."

"Believe me, it's for my benefit just as much as yours," he said with that same smirk.

There was no arguing with him when he was so determined. "Oh, very well."

He swept up a hat from the table display beside it, thrusting it into her hands. "Take this too. It'll finish it off nicely."

In the next moment, the two women were bustling towards her, sweeping her up and almost frogmarching her into the dressing room. They came in with her, helping bundle her into the dress. She wondered if this was what it had been like for Lady Mary when she had dressed her each and every day. Anna was rather glad that she hadn't been born into a higher station. It was rather uncomfortable, having someone poking and prodding as they dressed her. There were other reasons why she was happy that she had been born the person that she was too.

"Almost a perfect fit," Mrs. O'Shea declared. "It just needs a little tucking here," she touched her waist, "and then it's perfect. You're so slight. Mr. Bates said you had children. Are you sure he's right about that?"

She smiled slightly. "No, he's right. We have a few."

"Well, you couldn't tell."

Now her smile was melancholic, and she scrambled to cheer it up. "I suppose you're right."

"Most women would kill to know your secret. I was never the same after my boy."

"I was just lucky, I suppose."

"Lucky isn't even the word," sighed Mrs. O'Shea. "Now, dear, that's you all set. What do you think?"

They stepped aside to give her a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and she had to stifle a gasp. John had picked out a splendid outfit. It really did suit her, even if she was saying it herself. The hat was handed to her, and she placed it on her head shakily, adjusting it until it was just so.

"Would you like to show your husband?" Miss Flynn asked.

She nodded wordlessly. She would like to see her husband's reaction to this.

The two women left her then, slipping through the curtain. Anna could hear them conversing with John as she took a deep breath, preparing to make her entrance. Slowly, she drew back the curtain.

John's eyes landed upon her at once, as though she was a magnet. His mouth fell open. His gaze roved over her. His eyes simmered unreservedly, but she was aware that this moment wasn't entirely private as the two women tittered in the background. Still, she moved forward as confidently as she could, coming to a stop in front of him.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think you look sensational," he said without missing a beat. "God, Anna."

She smiled shyly, fiddling with the gloves she was wearing. "Thank you."

"I mean it," he said, stepping closer. "You have to wear that tonight. I insist."

"It's too extravagant," she protested, but he waved it away.

"Nonsense. Nothing is too extravagant for you."

She nodded. She wouldn't argue with him here. Besides, it wasn't as if it was a horrible preposition. She loved the dress. She did. And wearing it for him tonight seemed like the perfect event. It was just…she didn't feel beautiful enough to wear the dress. But how could she explain that to him?

Mrs. O'Shea bustled forward. "So you're going to purchase it?"

"Yes," said John decisively. "The whole thing."

"Right then, my dear, why don't you go and get changed while your husband deals with the payment?" said Mrs. O'Shea as she bustled over to the counter. "Miss Flynn will sort the adjustments for you now." John shot her a cheeky wink, and she felt herself blushing as she returned to the dressing room.

When she emerged again, John was waiting by the desk. Miss Flynn took the items from her and busied herself with finding her equipment.

"Come back later this afternoon to pick it up," Mrs. O'Shea told them. "It will be done then."

After tipping his hat to the two women, John led her from the shop, his eyes full of boyish delight. He slipped his hand into hers.

"There you go, then," he said. "We're ready for tonight now."

She giggled, squeezing his hand. She supposed they were.

They spent a pleasant afternoon simply overlooking the sea, relishing the opportunity to spend some quiet time together. While they loved their children beyond everything, sometimes it was nice to get away just the two of them together, without constantly being on the watch for what their children could be up to next. They were rarely blessed with an opportunity like this—Anna thought the last time they had spent any proper time alone together in a day was before the twins had been born—and it was nice to enjoy each other's company without any interruptions.

At last, however, they deemed it time to return to Maeve's house. John offered to carry her shopping bags but Anna refused, stating that she'd rather carry them herself so that she could hold his hand with her spare. That had been met with a crinkle-eyed smile, which had set her heart soaring.

When they opened the door to Maeve's house, they were greeted at once by their shrieking eldest daughter, who barrelled into their middles with all the force of a mini hurricane. Anna almost toppled over, then giggled as she dropped her bags to the floor to sweep her daughter up. Martha wrapped her arms around her neck and nuzzled against the side of her face, her blonde curls tickling.

"Mummy!" she squealed, kissing her clumsily.

"Hello, my little darling," she cooed as John bent down to retrieve her spilled bags. "Have you had a good day with Maeve?"

The little girl nodded enthusiastically. "It's been fun! We ate some cake and played some games and she let me help her sew and she read me a story and…"

Anna shook her head with a grin at her daughter's unrelenting tirade, hitching her closer and pressing a kiss against her temple. "It sounds like you've had a good time."

"We have," said Maeve, coming to the entrance of the sitting room. "I put James and Grace to bed for a nap, and Martha and I had fun with stories."

"What did you read her?" asked John as he unbuttoned his coat and hung it up on the hooks by the door. "It wasn't The Three Little Pigs again, was it?"

"Actually, Martha was the one telling me stories," said Maeve, grinning broadly. "I heard about some very interesting times at your little hotel, and I was privileged to hear your own world famous tale about a princess meeting a hairy monster."

Anna giggled more loudly at that, turning to shoot John one of her smiles as he turned a fetching shade of crimson and pretended not to know what she was talking about.

"I like that story," Martha informed them innocently. "But Pa isn't a hairy monster, is he, Mummy?"

"I shouldn't say so, love," she chirped, moving to stand by his side.

"Don't be so sure," John growled, reaching out to take Martha into his arms and jostling her until she shrieked.

"Are you sure you don't mind watching them tonight too?" Anna asked as Martha giggled and snuggled further into her father's embrace. "We don't mind staying in. It's a lot to ask of you, and I can't help but think it's a little unfair that we're leaving you to cope on your own."

"Oh, don't worry about me, love. I've coped this afternoon. They're angels, all three of them. Now, I'll just go and put the kettle on."

"Thank you, Maeve. I'll check on the twins before I go and get ready."

"Where are you going?" Martha asked, peering over her father's shoulders. "Can I come?"

"Not this time, love," said John, bringing her back around so he could kiss her cheek. "Tonight I'm going to take Mummy out."

"Where?"

"There's a little fair in the village."

"Pa, please let me come! It sounds like a fairy tale! Are you going to be a princess, Mummy? Are you going to be Cinderella?"

Anna laughed at that, tucking her blonde hair affectionately behind her ear. "I'm not quite sure about that, my love."

"I disagree," John declared. "I think you're right, Martha. Mummy is going to be treated like a princess tonight."

As her eldest daughter giggled shrilly, Anna couldn't stop her own grin from spreading. She had a feeling that the royal treatment was something that she would most certainly be getting that evening.

A/N: The poem was "He Remembers Forgotten Beauty" by William Butler Yeats.