Violet lay on her bed, aware of how empty her room felt now that her lives collection of belongings was packed up in boxes and her battered leather suitcase. Her ladyship was treating her with a sort of cold happiness, dismissive she might say.

Her household in general had been more shocked than pleased about her upcoming marriage.

The house maids seem rather gleeful about her moving away though.

Sighing she stretched her long legs under the bed clothes and glanced at the cloak on the wall. It was 5:43am. Only 15 more minutes till she needed to get up and face the day. The night had felt longer than usual. It had been 2 days since Warwick had kissed her goodnight and she felt so lost...oh how ridiculous! Pining for the man she loved.

It wasn't so silly really.

She slipped out of her single bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain to watch the dawn break. Her room was cold so she slipped a soft woollen cardigan over her plain white nightgown, hugging it about her self and relishing the warmth it gave.

Sleep had evaded her the past night.

Violet was nervous.

Not of marriage, not of Warwick and certainly not of the wedding night, which she was quite excited about though she would never admit it...No, she was worried about letting him down. Of being a disappointment. That was the one thing she feared the most. Being a failure in another's eyes.

The cold air of the morning swirled around her room and told her quite plainly it was time to get dressed. Violet sighed again and ran her hand through her tangled hair, it was going to be a long day.

...

Warwick sat on a park bench alone. He had been sitting in his study waiting for dinner but had suddenly felt so incredibly trapped...maybe it was because every other couple at 165 seemed to be falling apart at the seams. Why? Was it the war? He gulped and closed his eyes tiredly at the on coming headache. There was another thing that was eating his conscience; he had not told Violet the truth about his involvement in the first war. She would hate him.

"Warwick?"

He jumped and stood up abruptly only to find his own Violet standing across the path from him.

"I went to Eaton Place but they told me you'd gone for a walk..." She trailed off, biting her lip.

"Are you scared?"

He blinked in surprise. Her question was so direct, so personal and exactly what he had been thinking. She did seem to be able to read his mind.

He cleared his throat only to find it made his headache worse.

"I am"

Her smile was accepting and he was surprised at the relief that flooded her face.

"Me too"

There was a pause as the tension flickered between them and then quite suddenly they had crossed the distance between then and were in each others arms.

Pritchard clasped her to him, holding her so close, so very close.

Her lips gently pressed against his temple, soothing away the pain and doubt, her touch cool and delicate. He closed his eyes and let her help him. It was new, this feeling, dependence. He was normally so self-sufficant but now he found he needed her so desperately

"Only one more week" He found himself murming aloud, running his hands down the curve of her back, she gasped quietly in response.

"I really should go back now...her ladyship will want to change for bed" Violets voice was reluctant and, judging by the fact her hands were still about his neck, was in no hurry to go. He kissed her once more and pulled away, calm and smiling. Somehow his worry and stress had melted away. She moan quietly and brought her hand up to his face, pulling him back to her.

He kissed her with passion, bringing one hand to to cup her cheek, anything to bring her closer to him. Her sent was intoxicating. In the cool night air her warmth clung to him. It was delightful.

The world around them was forgotten.

...

The train rattled along the countryside with surprising speed. The scenery whipped by the coach windows and went unnoticed by the inhabitants of carriage B4.

Mr and Mrs Pritchard sat in the far corner of their little room, happily reading the newspaper together. Violet was curled up against Warwick, head balanced on his shoulder.

To be perfectly honest the paper didn't hold much interest for Pritchard. He was relishing the security of this new life. The woman beside him was so right, so perfect for him he was still struggling to accept that she existed!

Gently he placed his hand upon her leg and rested it there, letting his fingers absorb the warmth for her skin. She kept her body still, though her breath had hitched at the contact. Violet turned her head and raised an eyebrow enquiringly "In public dear?" Warwick grinned back and moved closer to her, careful to make sure the newspaper she was holding hid his wandering hand.

"We are married now Mrs Pritchard"

She smiled and bite her bottom lip. The action was so innocent, and one he normally associated with her, but yet in this new light it suddenly became (dare he say it?) erotic.

Tenderly he skimmed his fingers over the smooth fabric of her green day dress and felt the surprisingly familiar outline of her stocking. He wasn't sure how to continue from here so he simply sat for a long time stroking the line.

At first Violet attempted to continue reading the column on Oxfordshire gardens but after reading the same line four times (One should always take care when planting new seedlings in spring) she gave up with a sigh, half caught between exasperation and...pleasure.

His touch was light and dainty, as one would have after years in service.

It seemed to be causing her mind to cloud over.

All she wanted was him.

"...Warwick" her voice came out slightly high pitched than usual. "Yes?" His hands seemed to be gaining confidence across her thigh, drawing circles on the dress "I want...more" His hand stopped and she almost let a whimper slip.

There was a pause in which Violet nearly dropped the newspaper she was in such a his voice cut the tension.

"Tell me what to do"

Her breathing seemed a struggle and her thoughts were so jumbled by his closeness. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath and let her desire speak for her.

"Your hand...run you hand along my leg..."

Slowly, suddenly trembling Pritchard ran his hand down to her knee and then brought it back up, causing the fabric to pucker and ripple. He didn't stop, such boldness had suddenly taken a hold of him, his hand continued on up her thigh and came to rest on the curve of her hip.

He could feel the outline of her curves though her skirt.

Violet didn't speak. She was almost afraid of what might come spilling out if she did.

Warwick kissed her forehead lightly, as her head still rested on his shoulder, and was rewarded with a small quiet moan.

He looked down at her profile and was entranced by her expression; lips slightly parted and trembling, eyes closed with a soft fluttered of pale eyelashes and flushed pink cheeks. He had never, NEVER, had such control of a woman. The power was intoxicating.

The carriage door opened with a resounding thud.

They sprang apart, flustered and back in reality.

"Tickets please"