Months have passed since the visit to Lytham St. Anne's. In that time the Butler has turned over his book (one of them) to Mr. Barrow and the Housekeeper has turned over her keys (all but one) to Mrs. Baxter; the other she gives to Mrs. Patmore for old times' sake. Mrs. Carson finds that her fears that her husband would have trouble leaving the Abbey are unfounded, as they have settled into the satisfying hum of a daily routine. He makes his rounds each morning, attending to the fires in the sitting room and guests rooms, readies the table for breakfast. Each place setting exactingly set, perfectly arranged. He snips fresh flowers from their garden, he has become quite the gardener in their retirement, a fact that she is very proud of, and arranges them in a vase in the center of the table. Checks them twice before giving them his approval.

She readies breakfast. If they have guests, it is a treat of fresh made scones (her mother's recipe) and blackberry jam (her own). His chest puffs out proudly when he tells them that his wife's jam won first prize at the county fete. She serves eggs and bacon (from Lady Mary's pigs) and porridge with fruit if they request it. After breakfast, he clears and they do the washing up together; she washes and he dries. As they finish, he is known to sneak a kiss, just beneath her ear on that spot that still makes her smile, her knees a bit shaky. The combination of his warm breath, his scent, the press of his lips against the sensitive flesh of her neck, leave her feeling like a young lass. And though she knows it is coming, when he turns to leave her to attend to his day, he extends one of his big paws and gives her bottom a gentle pat; she hears the faint strains of a familiar tune humming from his lips. She stole my heart away.

Their days are busy when they have guests. Luncheon and supper to serve. Elsie is an excellent cook. Though he would never dare admit it, Charles worried just a bit as to her culinary skill until she whipped up their first meal. Something to satisfy their hunger the morning after their wedding night. Any doubt he may have had she quickly erased. Elsie Carson proved that she could satisfy all of her husband's appetites.

They attend to their guests when they have them and when they do not, he serves on a few committees within the community and the church; he complains that Mrs. Wigan serves on one of them as well. The woman continues to ruffle his feathers. Elsie listens in amusement when he complains of the woman's rudeness. Elsie, herself, volunteers with Mrs. Patmore at the church's charity food and clothing drive. She still helps to organize the church fete; Her Ladyship had asked her personally to continue to oversee it. Truth told, she is happy to do it. To keep her hand in, her mind sharp in organizing such a large undertaking.

At the end of the day, after sheets are changed and beds made, the rooms dusted and floors cleaned, dinner served and guests accommodated, Charles and Elsie finally have time to themselves. When the days are warm, they spend them enjoying the swing in the garden. Elsie particularly enjoys these summer nights, with Charles in his shirtsleeves (only when they have no guests), his tie loosened, and his mood light. His arm stretched out across the back of the swing, his hand cupped around her shoulder. Sometimes they sit in silence, enjoying the sounds of nature. Other times they reminisce of their days in service, those who were their charges, the latest letter from Mr. Branson, or they speculate on when Mrs. Patmore might finally retire to her cottage. When they are well and truly alone, she snuggles close into his side and he plants a kiss to her hair. A satisfied sigh rumbles from Charles' chest, he pushes her aside gently so that he can look at her, see her face, the lovely smile that she offers him. He takes her hand, pushes himself up from the swing bringing her with him. Kissing her gently, he asks a question; a question she answers as she leads him into their cottage.

xxxxxxxx

He returns from the village post office. Another encounter with that woman, Mrs. Wigan, he complains. He sorts the post, places the bills on the kitchen table, and then sees two letters in particular which makes him smile.

"Seems that we each have one today," he says happily, as he passes her letter across the table to her.

She looks at the envelope, sees the return address, and knows immediately who sent the letter. "Well, I wonder what she's sent us this time," Elsie chirps as she begins to open the brown envelop bearing her name.

Charles has already opened the envelope bearing his name "Mr. Charlie Carson." He removes the paper inside and shows the envelope to his wife. "You know, I would never let anyone else call me 'Charlie,'" he says with feigned grumpiness, tapping the envelope with his forefinger.

"No one else would dare call you 'Charlie'," she says laughing. She sees his eyes glance over the paper that he is holding and then she looks over her own. She smiles. It is a drawing of Charles surrounded by Becky and several of her friends. Elsie is choosing a card from a deck fanned out in his hand. The detail is amazing and the expression of joy on Charles' face is captivating; the smiling eyes, upturned crooked smile, rosy cheeks, dancing eyes. Becky has managed to capture the sweet man that usually only Elsie gets to see.

They write Becky faithfully. Charles writes twice a month, as does Elsie. She writes of the goings on of the guesthouse, of the community, of Charles and his garden. Makes inquiries of Becky and her friends. He writes of silly jokes that he thinks she will like, sends snippets of cartoons from the newspaper, of funny things that her sister does. Tells her of a kitten that has come up to their door and that Elsie cannot bear to turn it away.

"Let me see your picture," Elsie says as she moves to pass hers to across the table to him. She notices that he hesitates. "Charles," she says softly. As he looks up, she notices his eye are wet, misty. He passes the paper to her, his lip trembling just slightly.

She takes it, vaguely recognizes the subject with her youthful curves, full hip and bosom. An angular face with chiseled cheekbones, wide sapphire eyes full of both innocence and mischief, and supple lips. The curly dark hair with streaks of auburn flowing wild and free in the breeze, the last carefree days of youth before adulthood and duty came calling.

"Beautiful," the word sticks in his throat.

"That was a lifetime ago," she says softly. "I'm afraid I don't much recognize her now." She has almost forgotten that farm girl; told him once that she was not that girl anymore. He had been right; life has altered her.

"Don't you? her husband asks sincerely. "Because I do." He reaches across to take her hand. Becky has given them each a gift. With pen, ink, and colour she has captured them as she sees them. Him – handsome, kind, generous, funny, and loving. Her – beautiful, mysterious, carefree, and now loyally standing beside him. She has sketched into paper what is etched into their hearts; confirmed what they see that others might not.

"You know, I've been thinking," he begins hesitantly with a ragged breath. "I have something I would like for you to consider. I know that it might be unusual but I would like you to consider it nonetheless."

"Charles, I hope this isn't another business venture," she teases.

"Will you never stop teasing me about that?" he asks pointedly.

"Probably not," she laughs as she squeezes his hand.

He steadies his breathing. She can still make me feel off-kilter, blast it. "Elsie, I've been thinking that now that the business is running smoothly and now that we've been married a while and had some….."

"…time to ourselves?" she finishes for him.

"Yes," he says with a slight blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. "I was wondering what you might think of inviting Becky to live with us? It would make you happy wouldn't it?"

He watches her pull her lip between her teeth hard; it blanches as she bites down on it. She pulls her hand from his, rises to her feet, to stand. She turns her back to him, gripping the cool porcelain of the kitchen sink. He has just asked her the very thing that she has wanted since that visit with Becky all those months ago. He has explained why he waited until now but she wonders if he is only doing it to make her happy?

"Charles, are you sure of what you are asking?" she asks quietly.

TBC…Please, if you are inclined, let me know what you think. I appreciate all of your reviews (to guest reviewers to whom I cannot respond individually "Thank You!,") reblogs, favorites, and follows. x