What a night yesterday! I hope you enjoyed it. Be rest assured that I won't be discussing the recent episodes here and I encourage my readers to not spoil season 5 for others by commenting on what's happening in their reviews. I am, however, always eager to discuss recent episodes, so drop me a pm if you want to talk :)

Thanks as always to Kouw – whom all of you should thank as well. I would have taken this story in a very dramatic direction if she hadn't stepped in and prevented it. I'm ever so grateful for her advice and the way she always manages to improve this story!

Elsie hurried home towards their cottage, growling in frustration. Of all the days, her stocking had to rip today, making her even later than she already was. She had spent too long with Charles in Ripon and then Mrs. Charleston at the post office would not stop talking about some inane topic or another. It had taken her a little over forty minutes to finally put a stop to the other woman's logorrhoea without appearing overly rude.

And then she had – and she still wasn't sure how it could have happened – gotten caught in a bramble bush on her way back to the cottage. She didn't really have time to head back to the cottage to change but showing up at the Abbey with torn stockings was unacceptable. She nearly laughed out loud as she imagined what her husband would say to that.

She stormed into their quaint cottage and placed her basket on the little table near the entrance before hurrying upstairs. She didn't even take the time to unpin her hat. She made short work of the torn stockings, unclipping them from her garter and tearing them off. While she usually went to great pains to repair any torn garment, this pair had already been mended a fair few times and she could afford to live a little.

Just as she was in the middle of refastening her second stocking, she heard sounds downstairs. She was surprised to hear her husband entering their cottage and calling out for her. She had certainly expected her husband's errands to take longer.

She hurried downstairs and found him in their living room, looking at her curiously when she entered.

"Elsie, I thought you'd have gone to meet Mrs. Patmore by now?" He smiled at her in amusement but then his eyes were drawn to the torn stockings in her hands.

"Ah yes… I'm afraid I'm running dreadfully late. Mrs. Charleston would not stop complaining about the new director system the Post office has planned. I almost couldn't make it out of the office and then I ripped my stockings and had to change" Elsie gave a nervous laugh, unsettled by the strange look on his face as his eyes kept returning to the garment in her hand.

"Well, then you'd best be off. I wouldn't want you to miss your lesson because I'm very much looking forward to its result." Charles cleared his throat in embarrassment, not quite sure why her stockings – torn from her legs – suddenly had such an effect on him.

Elsie nodded, balling the stockings together in her right hand so that she could throw them away outside. She swiftly walked to the door where her food basket still stood. Charles followed her and handed the basket to her.

"I'm not sure when I will be back, but I'll try not to be too late," she told him.

"Don't worry. I'll fix the shelf in the kitchen and read for a bit. I'm not sure I'll still be up when you return; I am rather tired."

"Of course you are, you're still recuperating," she replied gently.

They stood opposite each other, both unsure of how to say goodbye. Elsie waited for him to do or say something.

Charles studied her face, taking in the faint blush in her cheeks. His eyes finally came to rest on her lips, those lovely, full, rose-coloured lips. He wondered if it were alright if he just…

"Well, I'll be off then," Elsie burst out, entirely too loud. His gaze had been too intense, he had been too close. She needed to get out of the cottage.

He snapped out of his fantasy upon her exclamation, taking a reflexive step back.

"Yes, give my best to Mrs. Patmore."

With a curt nod in reply Elsie Carson swept from the cottage.

Once she had walked far enough to not be visible from the cottage anymore, Elsie huffed in frustration, barely withstanding the urge to scream her irritation to the high heavens. She had always prided herself about not living in a sack, about knowing what her maids and the footmen were giggling about, about what married couples did when they were alone.

But every time her husband gave even the slightest semblance of wanting more from their marriage, she withdrew in a panic. It wasn't that she didn't want it, she was a healthy woman. And if Tenant of Wildfell Hall was to be believed, then there was nothing wrong with a woman having the occasional fantasy and longing.

Her theoretical knowledge didn't make the actual practise easier to manage, though. More than anything really, she was afraid of misreading the signs – of misreading him. Another thing she had never thought she could fail at. But there were so many new emotions possible for him to express now – without the rules and regulations placed on him as a butler – so many unknown ways in which the brown of his eyes now changed in accordance with these new feelings that she felt it nearly impossible to keep up with his transformation.

There was no doubt that they had grown closer during the last week; his misguided admission of love had opened up a part of her. And yet she could not be sure of the depth of his feelings. Her biggest fear was making a fool out of herself by bestowing unwanted affection on him.

She rolled her eyes at her own behaviour. This wasn't her; she wasn't this insecure, floundering woman. She had entered this marriage wilfully, deliberately. She had known that companionship might be the only thing he had to offer her. (But oh how she had wished for him to be more, to be the 'sometimes' she had spoken of so long ago. A man for her to look after, to care for, to share the burden with. A man who loved her and for whom she'd gladly give up some of her fierce independence because they were equals.)

She sighed in resignation but then squared her shoulders in defiance. She'd do well to remember that she was the formidable, temperamental, independent Scottish housekeeper.

Only she wasn't, not anymore.

I'll admit that it is a bit of a filler chapter but I wanted some more Elsie introspection before the action starts in the next chapter. I cherish all your reviews and would be stupendously happy if you left another one!